Lizzie Writes

Can we please rewrite the single parent narrative?

Wed, 08 Mar 2023 12:26:47 GMT

I was listening to one of my favourite podcasts yesterday, Dirty Mother Pukka, and they were interviewing a newly single parent, comedian Helen Thorn. Her husband had cheated on her for four years, which she discovered after finding a love note in the pocket of his jacket when she was putting together an outfit for her child for World Book Day. Helen was now divorced and co-parenting her two teenagers with her ex-husband. Instead of the usual doom and gloom outlook of how hard single parenting is, Helen spoke about how she felt she was an even better parent now she was parenting as a single woman. She spoke of the joy she found in the moments of chaos because now it was her chaos. She also spoke of the patronising head tilt people do when she says she is a single parent.

In society, we still use terms such as ‘coming from a broken home’ and other negative connotations when talking about single parent homes. In TV shows and films, the single parent character usually doesn’t work and lives in a smaller home – I’m looking at you Motherland, as much as I love it! The kids are feral, the lack of a father figure is always deemed to be negative, and single parents have somehow failed in life as they didn’t make it work with the other parent. I think it’s still fully ingrained in society that a child is more fortunate if they grow up in a home with two parents.

What about the fact a home would be even more broken if the parents stayed together? What are the implications then? Children are exposed to toxic relationships and that has its own consequences.

I think it’s time the single parent narrative is rewritten.

In those early morning wake ups when my son was a baby, I used to have dark thoughts about how I wasn’t enough for Henry. Perhaps because what I had been fed by society. I thought about how he will have a very different upbringing to mine. I grew up with two parents and two brothers - Henry will never experience growing up in a home with both his parents and siblings, I thought.

But I stop myself now from going down that road of negativity and think about what he does have. He has sole care from me and another parent and a step parent who love him and who he sees every weekend. He has siblings from his dad who he has formed relationships with. Henry also has a really close relationship with my parents, who he loves staying with.

Yes, he has seen me cry when I burn out or get to the end of my tether (that moment when a partner coming in to take over is very much missed) but from this he has lots of empathy for others, as we always talk about emotions and why it’s okay to be sad or angry. From all these experiences, he has a confidence I never had when I was a child.

At home he has all my attention and we have the closest bond. I’m bringing him up the best I can, learning from my own mistakes. And I get to make all the decisions for Henry, which is both overwhelming and empowering.

We go on the best adventures together, just the two of us. I’ve never shied away from holidaying on my own with him. Getting on a plane with him when he was six months old to go to Croatia to visit my friend was one of the scariest moments of my life – but we did it!

When he is with his dad or my parents, I make sure I fill up my cup. I feel I am better parent for those times I get a break and do things for myself. It took a while to do things for me again, such as going to the gym and nights out, but I see how it makes me a happier, healthier parent.

I know this all sounds very romantic and positive. I don’t shy away from the fact that single parenting is tough and tests you to your limits. I recently got very poorly and it showed me the need to ask for more help and to rest. It doesn’t mean I’m not coping, it just means I can’t do it all on my own.

I’m fortunate to work for myself and have the flexibility that comes with that. I know lots of single parents don’t have that luxury and never get much of a break as they don’t have family nearby. They are the real superheroes and they might not be as positive as me.

Like Helen, I believe we need to highlight the positives of single parenting too. It won’t take anything away from the 2.4 family set up.

I’m surrounded by single parent families who all have their own story and are incredible parents. Some parents were single from pregnancy, others bravely left a marriage that was beyond repair, and some made the choice of doing it alone without a partner and adopted. Try not to do the head tilt until you’ve heard their story; it’s really not all as bad as you might think.

Food: the most complex relationship in my life

Tue, 31 Jan 2023 17:49:14 GMT

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.

Why Finding Connection is so Important in Parenting

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 06 Sep 2022 20:15:26 GMT

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.

The Importance of Having a Home Away from Home

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 24 May 2022 19:57:51 GMT

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.

Breaking the Stigma of Being A Single Parent

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Wed, 19 Jan 2022 20:52:03 GMT

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).

The Doctor's Waiting Room

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Wed, 27 Oct 2021 14:05:16 GMT

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.

What To Expect When You Become Unexpectedly Pregnant

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 20:44:21 GMT

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!

What It's Like to Wear a Bikini After Weight Loss

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 20:21:46 GMT

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!

Ten Things They Don't Tell You When You Lose Weight

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 20:15:29 GMT

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.

Finding My Feet As A Single Mother

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 20:10:01 GMT

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.

Ten Things I Love About Losing Weight

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 20:05:54 GMT

I've been a gym bunny for well over a year now and I am amazed at how much my body has transformed through exercise. Along with eating healthily the majority of the time (apart from booze-fuelled holidays in Portugal and when I'm feeling sorry for myself during the time of the month), my mind and body are healthier thanks to my fun exercise regime.

Notice I use the word fun. A year ago you would have found me stuck on a tread mill or cross trainer for half an hour but now you will find me trying out all sorts of classes, including circuit training, weight training, and the classes I really love, Les Mills' Body Pump and Body Combat. And most importantly, I have a really supportive and encouraging group of 'gym buddies' who keep me going and keep it fun.

Having lost nearly up to eight stone over three years, my body has required plenty of toning and upkeep to ensure I don't fall off the bandwagon into a heap of sugary temptations and too much sofa time. It's a daily battle but once you find exercise that you enjoy, half the battle is done!

My waist now goes in, the back fat has disappeared, and my thighs don't rub together anymore. I walk taller, feel stronger and I even think my brain power has improved. Most importantly, I am healthier on the inside and my mind is all the better for it. I get bouts of anxiety and exercise has helped me to keep me on a steadier track thanks to those wonderful things called endorphins.

So to celebrate my healthier body and mind, I wanted to share the 10 things I love about losing weight. I hope it inspires others who are thinking or wanting to make changes to their lifestyle. Honestly, if I can do it, you can...

1. I feel so much more confident. I would probably spend half of my day feeling insecure, and that isn't an exaggeration. I still have my insecurities that rise up the surface. The 'fat girl' thoughts remain with you even when the fat has melted away. If a guy used to look at me, I'd think he was looking and thinking, 'Ergh'. It's not about your dress size, its how you feel on the inside and how that carries through in everyday life.

2. I can wear jeans and a top. Muffin top, spare tyre... whatever you choose to call it, we all have the bits of our body we hate and mine is the tummy area. It's an area I continue to work on as any fat I have goes straight to that area. However, I now feel confident to wear jeans and a top. It might not sound that exciting to you but for someone who could never carry off jeans due to lumpy thighs and a over handing tummy, it feels like a real achievement. We all need our goals and this was one of mine.

3. I don't feel self conscious. Now I've shrunk to a smaller size, it's only now that I realise just how many missed opportunities there have been in my life from feeling too self conscious. This was a huge part of why I wanted to make changes to my lifestyle. I often think how my life would have panned out if I had grown up being a size 10. But then I wouldn't be the person I am today if I had. I now spend hardly any time worrying about my wobbly bits. I still have the shadow of the fat girl hang ups hanging over me but slowly they are going.

4. No more name calling. If you're fat you're going to be called names. I've been called some truly vile things throughout my life, particularly at high school where I was actually scared to go to some lessons. You will also experience people voicing their opinion on your weight, and a lot of the time it is done without any sensitivity. If you're ready to hear it (I heard it from an ex-boyfriend), it can knock you into the reality that you do need to make changes. However, only do it if you're ready and do it for you and no one else. It just won't work if you're not doing it for yourself. People should love you for who you are, not what you look like. He's an ex for a reason.

5. I know what foods make me feel good. I know sliced bread doesn't agree with me, so I rarely eat it. I know red meat isn't my best friend so I eat chicken instead. I know dairy is pretty much the enemy so I have cut down on the cheddar. I know vegetables give me energy so I eat a variety every day. I know oily fish is amazing for your skin and mind so I make sure I eat plenty each week. It's just making the right decisions. Why would you constantly put something in your body that doesn't agree with you? Listen and watch how your body reacts, and just cut back. Just make sure you feed your cravings and don't deny yourself, you'll just want it even more. I swear by raw dark chocolate to curb my chocoholic tendencies.

6. I have a new happier lifestyle. I have never said I am on a diet. As soon as that word is mentioned, you instantly crave what you can't have. It's about making healthy changes to your lifestyle and sticking to it. I don't even think of going back to my old ways, my eating habits just feel normal now. I'm pretty good in the week, making sure I fuel my body for my now active lifestyle with tasty, healthy food. At the weekend I allow myself to indulge a little more. Life is for living after all.

7. Inspiring others. Friends and readers of my blog have said I've inspired them to make changes to their life too. It's such a wonderful feeling to help others get the most out of life and feel happier.

8. Fitting into a size 12. I know it's not just about your dress size but for me this was a proud moment! The choice is endless, which is bad for the bank balance!

9. Living life to the full! I've recently quit my 9-5 job I had for over three years to go freelance, something I had wanted to do for a long time but never had the balls to do. It's constantly bringing exciting opportunities that I am saying YES to!

10. Being more open with friends and family. I realise now I had never been able to open up to my friends and family about my weight until now, now I've done something about it. They have always loved me for me, no matter what my size, but now they see me happier and more confident than ever. I couldn't have done it without their support.

A Letter to my Unborn Son

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 19:58:59 GMT

My unexpected pregnancy has been somewhat of an emotional rollercoaster. The end is in sight and I am finally feeling happy, content and secure. Everyone always says things will fall into place and slowly it has. With patience and perseverance, I now find my single-mum-to-be status something to be rather proud of.

I've had no partner to share the joy of decorating baby boy's nursery, cooing over baby clothes and imagining what he will grow up to be like. But that's okay. It wasn't meant to be like for that for me; this is mine and my boy's journey and we've come a hell of a long way.

I now find myself two weeks away from my due date; I'm not sure where the last month or two have gone. It's a blur of moving to a new house, dealing with solicitors, decorating, buying endless baby items and finally getting to nest.

With so much going on, I have felt guilty about not spending as much time in the evenings playing music to bump and talking to him. So I thought I'd write a letter to the my boy, who I will soon meet, to thank him for what he has already given to me.

Dear baby boy,

So here we are two weeks from your due date. It seems like an eternity since the moment I first saw you at the 12 week scan. A tiny bean bouncing up and down with innocence and happiness. The relief I felt, I will never forget. You were real and you were mine.

As my bump slowly grew and I felt butterflies inside, you became this tiny little character. The bond I felt from the moment I found out I was expecting you only grew stronger. I spent endless nights playing music to you. I will cherish those nights. There were many that were filled with tears and uncertainty, as I lay there feeling vulnerable and afraid of our future. Tears were gone as soon as I felt you kick, I was reassured we were going to be okay. I had you now.

Throughout the past eight months, I've been so worried about the stress I have felt and whether it has affected you. However, at the 20 week scan I was told you were growing healthily and had ten fingers and toes, and a strong heart beating for mummy. I found ways to calm myself down which included everything from meditation and hypnotherapy to retail therapy and chocolate!

I want to tell you about the amount of love and support that is waiting for you in this world you're about to enter. Without a partner by my side, my family and friends have made sure I have never felt alone. Whether it's friends just popping round to watch Game of Thrones (you love the theme tune by the way) or taking me on spa days to make sure I relax.

Your existence in this world has shown me so much already and you haven't even taken your first breath. When your world feels truly dark, there is always light shining from those around you and often you don't have to look too far to find it. I've seen goodness and generosity in people that is overwhelming and often from people you don't expect.

I will bring you up to be one of these people. You will be a giver and you may expect it back but it doesn't always work out that way. You just accept and move on. I will teach you to give your energy to the people who don't take it for granted.

I have repeatedly told Grandma, who is a worrier, that I have not felt alone since the day I found out I was pregnant. As you have grown inside me, I have become stronger, more accepting, patient and filled with integrity. No matter how many emotional obstacles I have been met with, I have never felt like giving up because I had you to fight for now.

You have the love of two families coming your way; myself and your daddy are doing everything we can to work together to bring you up securely. So many people tell me they've never known so much love and excitement for an unborn child.

So now when I wake in the night, instead of being filled with vulnerable thoughts, I just imagine the moment I have been waiting for; your skin pressing onto mine, kissing your soft forehead and thanking you for being mine.

I will love and protect you forever.

Mummy.

A Letter To My Baby Boy

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 19:55:58 GMT

Three months ago I gave birth to my beautiful baby boy, Henry. At three months, I finally feel more relaxed and confident in my abilities as a mother. Nothing can prepare you for the birth or those first few weeks of sleep deprivation and bleary eyed midnight feeds. My body still feels like it belongs to a 100 year old woman.

As a single mum it has been a tough journey; from the emotional pregnancy and an unexpected trauma-filled birth. So much seemed to be against us, which only makes me love my son even more.

There’s no partner to make me a cup of tea in the morning or to do their share of nappy changes but I don’t know any different. I don’t feel begrudged and I rarely feel lonely, mostly in the evenings when Henry is fast asleep.

So on one of those lonely nights, I finally wrote for the first time in three months. It’s letter of thanks to my boy...

Dearest Henry,

I write this letter as you lay next to me fast asleep in your deep sleep that tells me you probably won’t wake again until 3am for your feed. As I write, I listen to a playlist I made for your birth which just lulled you to sleep as I danced slowly with you in my arms. You must recall the songs of Joni Mitchell, Eva Cassidy and Kate Bush from your time in my tummy when I would play them to you every night during our intimate pregnancy. You’re three months old now but this is the first time I’ve been able to listen to the recordings since your birth.

Your birth. It was the opposite of everything I wanted it to be. I wanted you to come into this world with the familiar songs playing as you entered in water and I would scoop you up into my arms. Instead there were bright lights, a huge medical team and a screaming mummy who was doing all she could to push you out as she felt something was going to go wrong. And then suddenly I felt your wet, squirming flesh in between my legs and I knew you were here and okay. I didn’t care what was being done to me, all I could do was look for my boy amid the chaos. Everything was fine now you were here. Briefly you were in my arms but then we were parted for what felt like eternity. I had no baby and I had no bump.

I thought we would not bond after being apart, but you knew I was your mummy that first moment your full, pursed lips took milk. And you didn’t stop!

I felt so peaceful as you fed from me, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was keeping you alive. It was as if I was physically pouring all the love I felt for you into you to keep you strong. In those first few weeks at home I used to fear the nights. I would take pints of water and biscuits up to bed with me and make sure I had all I needed so I didn’t have to leave you on your own for a second. You’d feed throughout the night. It wasn’t like I was going to bed but instead just continuing the feeds and changes in darkness with a little shut eye if I was lucky.

Then one day you started to smile up at me, firstly encouraged but then spontaneously. It was the purest joy I have ever felt. My little boy was happy.

In just three months, you have given me the purest, most innocent form of love. I take so much joy from the simplest of things, which has stopped me from longing for materialistic desires. I love walking to the shops with you and the pram; trundling through the woods together when the sun shines; and attending classes where I feel like ‘a proper mummy’ alongside all the other mums. I love bath time where you realise the strength in your chubby legs; soothing your little body with rubs with my cream laden hands; and the giggles I have started to hear when I make a silly noise or kiss you on your tummy.

I won’t pretend that everyday has been easy. There was one morning after three nights of terrible sleep where I cried and cried into your neck as I rocked you at 5am as you cried and cried. I thought, is this what it’s going to be like now? I then remember you’re not going to be this tiny forever. You’re not always going to let me wrap my arms around you to comfort you. You’re not always going to need me to bathe you and dress you.

I will always be here for you, my little boy, even when you’re embarrassed when I give you a kiss at the school gate.

Keep smiling, beautiful boy.

Your mummy xxx

Forget Broken Sleep, Going Back To Work Is The Toughest Part Of Being A Mum

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 19:52:04 GMT

I always thought the newborn phase would be the toughest, but how wrong was I?

In antenatal class they prepare you for the sleepless nights, the endless feeds, the broken sleep, the sore nipples, the pooey nappies, and the inability to even have a wee on your own during those early days of becoming a mum.

However, they do not prepare you for the hardest part of motherhood, which I have experienced so far; leaving them in childcare for the first time.

I always thought the newborn phase would be the toughest, but how wrong was I? In that era, you’re still high off oxytocin from the constant breastfeeding and the adrenaline is still running from creating the most perfect little miracle and finally meeting the miracle after those nine long months of anxiety, hoping everything would be okay. And then I thought teething would be the worst kind of hell.

No, leaving an inconsolable eight-month-old baby, who can’t breathe properly for tears, is the toughest. As a mum, as soon as a cry is heard you go with your maternal instincts to do anything to comfort them. And then suddenly you must walk away, leaving them in the arms of someone you barely know and who doesn’t know your baby. It’s simply horrific and I hadn’t thought about how hard it would be, but I don’t think anything could prepare you for the emotions you feel. I walked to and from nursery in tears and I didn’t stop sobbing as I sat in my very empty house.

I chose a day nursery for Henry, my baby boy, because of how much he enjoys socialising with other children. I imagined him giggling with other babies and being given toys by the older ones. I envisaged him watching the children who could walk and picking up tips for the day he takes his own steps. But this week all I’ve seen are tears, the worst kind of tears that say, “Mum, I need you and no one else!”

Thanks to plenty of reassurance from fellow mums, I know eventually my visions of a happy Henry at nursery will happen. I have realised this week just how wonderful the internet and social media are for new mums. I have shared my anxieties and mum-guilt, and in return received so much reassurance that this is normal behaviour and feelings for both mum and baby. Some of the best mummy bloggers say give it six weeks to get into your new routine and rhythm.

Today, it felt so odd to go to our favourite café without him (day two of leaving him). I jealousy watched a mum and her baby sit together as she sipped a coffee as her baby played happily. I knew I would be doing this within hours when I picked up Henry, but I felt a sense of loss that our weekly routine as we knew it will now be different.

I was told I should do something for myself this week and I did. I had a sports massage as I have had chronic back pain for a couple of weeks due to the complete exhaustion of picking up a growing Henry. It felt good to do something for me again and once Henry is settled, I’m looking forward to having the balance of having time to myself and going back to work, as well as doting on Henry. You do get lost in the sea of nappies, weaning, feeding and talking about your baby’s poo.

I’m fortunate that Henry goes to nursery two days a week as I work for myself and can also work in the evenings. I can’t imagine working full time, especially as a single mother. Being a single mum means me and Henry are very close and together 24/7, which made me realise that Henry would thrive from partial childcare. I’d hate him to grow up being clingy and not feeling confident.

So with that in mind, I am determined to get through this hard phase. Day 1, Henry came home over-tired and I was emotionally drained with little patience. Our last feed of the day, which is normally a lovely moment, was full of pinches and face scratches. There were tears from both of us, as I exclaimed ‘I can’t do this anymore!’ to my good friend, Liz. In response to my full-on mum guilt and general feelings of being utterly shit at the hardest job in the world, she referenced a wonderful line from one of my favourite films, Brief Encounter: ‘This can’t last, this misery can’t last.’

And it’s so true. After day 2 of nursery, we both seem to be feeling a little calmer and our bedtime routine was back to normal.

The signs that Henry will thrive are already there. He has obviously observed the other babies at nursery as he crawled properly for the first time tonight! So that’s a real positive and hopefully the start of more things to come from his time at nursery.

Now it’s time for my bedtime routine; a glass of red, slab of dark chocolate and the latest episode of The Affair, while he sleeps soundly, for now. And with a back that doesn’t ache as much.

You 'Don't Know How I Do' Single Parenthood? I Wouldn't Change It

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 19:47:06 GMT

I m iss the spontaneity of doing what I want and being able to pee on my own, but I wouldn't swap my life for the world...

I need at least triple the amount of hands and feet to be able to count the number of times “I don’t know how you do it” has been said to me since I gave birth to my 15 month old baby boy and became a single mother.

What I normally say back is simple and true: “I don’t know any different.”

I had hoped my son’s father would be present in his life but just before Henry’s first Christmas at just under three months old, he no longer visited. So I really do not know any different. I actually think it would be harder to have lived with a partner and grown comfortable with the support and the companionship in those lonely evenings only for it to be taken away, and then have to learn to cope as a single parent.

It is hard. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t but it’s also been the most rewarding and happiest time of my life so far. Of course, I miss the spontaneity of doing what I want and being able to pee on my own. However, I would not swap my old life for the life I have with my son. I have built a little family and it might only be small but it’s filled with routine, love, giggles and rediscovering the simple things in life, as I see everything again for the first time through my son’s eyes. Structure and knowing what lies ahead is actually good for me.

I couldn’t do it without my support network. I have two loving, wonderful parents only a five minute walk away. We stay over most Saturday nights and I am free to go out for a drink and my mum will then get up with my rampaging son so I can lie in.

I’ve made some lovely new friends who I would not have met without having my son. This Christmas I was at my new ‘mum friend’s’ Christmas party which featured a private performance by a rather famous folk singer. I sat there listening to this beautiful music with a tear in my eye, thinking back on the ups and downs of Henry’s first year and realising how far we had come.

Now Henry is a walking toddler, this parenting lark has got even more exhausting than when he was a newborn. He is constantly picking up anything he can get his hands on and gets frustrated when he can’t express his needs now he knows what he wants. He has recently gone through a difficult patch of not wanting to sleep due to growth spurt and a major teething spout. It’d start off well but by 10pm he would be awake every two hours and then would want to start the day at 4.30am! The only time I think that is an acceptable time to rise is when you’re going to the airport.

My son and I were both frustrated and tired due to these early rises and I ended up shouting at him and made him cry before I did his nursery drop. He had taken my glasses for the fifth time and wouldn’t let them go and I just lost my patience.

I dwelled on the teary episode that day and felt guilty. So guilty. If I had a partner who could take over on those early mornings, I wouldn’t have shouted at him, I thought. My son’s on the receiving end of my tired frustration because I am a single parent, I thought, blubbing into my coffee.

After scrolling through Instagram, I found solace in some of the mummy bloggers I follow. I realised I wasn’t the only mum who loses it; single parent or not! I find social media very reassuring and it connects me to the adult world when I am alone in the evenings after Henry has gone to bed. I know the current trend is to have a social media break or stop using it altogether but for me it is a constant reassurance that I am not alone in this game called parenting and not the only one losing the will to live.

How Exercise Changed My Life

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Mon, 13 Sep 2021 19:23:36 GMT

This is a love letter to exercise. Something I never thought I would ever want to write.

Exercise was something I always avoided from a young age as I got more over weight. Any chance of getting out of PE or swimming, I would take it. I felt so self-conscious taking part.

As I got into my teens at high school, my fear of exercise worsened. I liked some sports, such as netball and hockey, but anything to do with running would literally have me running with fear. I was overweight and didn’t realise what I was running from was exactly what I needed in my life.

As I got into my early twenties I still didn’t fall for those endorphins. I hated going for long walks with my friends on our holidays to Somerset, preferring to stay back at the caravan preparing dinner. I didn’t understand why they all loved to do these walks. It just left me feeling tired and incompetent as I couldn’t keep up as my dress size grew bigger. The thought of going to a gym would leave me in a panic.

When I took control over my eating habits, which were all about feeding my emotions and giving me comfort, it was only then I ventured to a gym. I had already lost some weight but I felt self-conscious when I first started working out and avoided classes at all cost. But then I started to see the benefits, not just physically but mentally. Taking charge of my fitness also helped me take control of my eating habits. I started being a little kinder to myself and my body. I was amazed at how far I could push myself, which helped me feel more confident in my skin.

Soon I was lifting weights and joining in with classes, where I met the most inspiring community of instructors and gym goers. These lovely people who I now call friends would spur me on and make me feel like I could do anything in these classes. I felt empowered, something I had never felt before about my physical health.

The benefits of the gym started trickling through the rest of my life. I took the plunge to leave my job and go freelance, and wore clothes I never imagined I would have the confidence to wear. My asthma disappeared; I can’t remember the last time I used an inhaler. I used to use one every single day before I got fit.

My tummy got flatter, which meant my risk of diabetes and heart disease shrunk along with my waistline. This is far more important than being able to fit into a smaller clothes size, even though that was very nice too.

I educated myself about nutrition and found what worked for me; what made me feel energised and made my skin glow, and also allowing myself to have treats without any guilt. Curly Wurly Bites being a firm favourite.

When I was pregnant and at the fittest I had ever been in my whole life, I kept going to the gym but took the weights a little lighter. It helped me stay focused and positive, and I had a really healthy pregnancy. For the first time, I loved and was in awe of my body. It grew a healthy baby boy.

I had a traumatic birth and still have flashbacks. I was so shocked at how my body felt afterwards. I knew I wouldn’t feel great but the trauma to my body clung on more than extra calories. My legs felt like led for weeks, my core strength was diminished, and I needed the toilet a lot more often. I didn’t realise how long it would take to recover and I made sure I was kind to myself. Getting back to the gym, in my own time, helped me to regain that empowerment I had once felt, after feeling like my body was no longer my own after going through so much trauma.

Lifting weights, spinning my legs madly in spin class, and stretching out in pilates – it all helped me to feel strong again, physically and mentally, after feeling so vulnerable as a new mum.

I mean, there are days I really don’t want to exercise and some days I don’t. A gentle walk is better than nothing. Rest is just as important.

As a single mum, Henry is so dependent on me and I want to be here for as long as possible. Becoming a parent changes your perception of life. It’s not just about you anymore. You are responsible for keeping another being alive. I have dark intrusive thoughts about getting ill and not being here for Henry. Exercise for me isn’t about shrinking my body but making sure it stays healthy and keeps my mind clear and balanced, so I can be the mum I want to be. That’s what makes me put my trainers on and get moving.

The gym isn’t for everyone but if you find what works for you, it can be life changing. I just wish I had found it sooner.

Tears are Therapy

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Fri, 20 Aug 2021 21:30:56 GMT

I lost a dear friend to mental health illness three years ago and this week was the anniversary of his death. This year I’ve cried more tears than I did when I received the news.

Grief is a funny old thing. It will hit you like a ton of bricks when you least expect it. As I tell my little boy, it’s good to cry so I went with it. I let the tears just flow when they rose to the surface. A good cry feels like a detox for the body – letting the things we haven’t dealt with rise and leave us. A therapy session without the need for a therapist.

As my son Henry gets bigger, I see the little boy Ben would have once been. Walking, talking and discovering parts of life he loves. And how sad that we must grow up and face the battles that come our way, which molds us into the adults we become.

I think about how easy it is to feel like there is no way out. I got to a very dark place in my stressful pregnancy but it was Henry’s kick inside my tummy that saved my life. I wish Ben had his own kick but he thought it was his time to go.

It was only after Ben had gone I realised what an important friend he was to me. The old saying, ‘you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.’

I scrolled back through our entire text conversations many times and he had always been a constant. A friend who was there always asking if you were okay, even though he was going through his own struggles. The epitome of a loyal friend.

When I had my baby, Ben asked how I was first before asking about the baby. He really cared.

Like me, he used exercise to control his anxieties but would then also enjoy vegging out on Pringles and sweets. I remember how he once text me to ask if it was really bad that he went for a jog but picked up goodies to indulge in on the way home. I told him, it’s all about balance.

I miss his friendship so much and I often think about how he would’ve been during the pandemic. I very much missed the conversations we would no doubt have had, helping each other through the isolation and asking him what films I should watch during those endless nights in. He was also the epitome of a film buff and a master film maker. The last thing we did together was go to the Electric Cinema in Birmingham.

I felt him close to me this week and it was comforting. Maybe the tears were my way of trying to connect to him in some way. I just hope he knows wherever he is in his freedom, that he is so loved and missed.

Why a weigh-in at school won't help the obesity epidemic

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Tue, 22 Jun 2021 12:34:00 GMT

News that the government is reintroducing the National Child Measurement Programme (NCMP) reached me this morning on social media and it triggered me, as I left the gym funnily enough.

It means that primary school children will be weighed at the beginning of the school year, because ministers are concerned about the obesity crisis getting worse as they fear children have put on weight and have not exercised enough during to the Covid-19 lockdown.

It triggered me because I have memories of this happening to me, like it happened yesterday. I was overweight as a child and the shame this experience brought on me was overwhelming, and stays with me to this day. Hearing this news has made me realise just how traumatising it was for me as a young girl.

I was weighed by the school nurse, I was the last one in the queue, which I realised meant she needed more time with me at the end of the session. She wrote down my weight and then simply asked what I ate the night before for dinner. There were no consequences or support following the check-up, I was just left feeling like whatever I was doing was wrong. This meant that I piled on yet more shame, along with more pounds due to the comfort eating that ensued because of the shame being laden on me at the age of 9.

Experiences such as this are traumatic and trauma brings on stress to the body. When you're overtly stressed your body can be filled with too much of the stress hormone Cortisol. This ironically means that the disruption of cortisol secretion may promote weight gain. This is why mental health should be focused on for the younger generation, not an annual weigh-in, but more on that later.

The last time I was weighed in primary school was in year six and it makes me feel physically ill thinking about the experience, as it only aided me to stand out from my fellow pupils. It happened in the school library and one of my class mates was library monitor that day. She chose to look at the scales slyly as she walked by whilst I was being weighed. She then chose to reveal my weight to the entire class. I had recently lost my grandma and comfort eating had escalated at this point. I was bigger but this experience made me feel small, ashamed and insignificant.

So I really hope the government also hatches a plan to ensure they put funding into teaching children about healthy relationships with food and not labelling foods as being good or bad for us. That our worth shouldn’t be measured by the way we look. That ‘healthy’ comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes. That good mental health is key to a healthy attitude about ourselves and how exercise that we enjoy can keep our minds healthy, not just our bodies. Society’s obsession in how we look needs to shift.

I lost 8 stone in weight and I did this without going on a diet. I moved more and ate food that made me feel good. From fruit and nuts, to chocolate when I needed a pick me up. All food has its place; it’s just using it in the right way and not letting it get out of hand – like any addition.

My focus is now less about what I eat but making sure I move my body every day; whether that’s yoga or a spin class, or it could just be a long walk in nature with my little boy - it depends how I’m feeling. I do it because I know it makes my mind clearer and the endorphins make me feel more confident. I make better choices. I so wish I had discovered the joy of this at a younger age. I just lived in fear of PE, knowing I felt too self-conscious to really push myself in sports. Fast forward 25 years and I'm lifting weights - anything is possible!

We are in an obesity epidemic but weighing children isn’t the route to go down. We need to boost confidence and esteem in our children, not degrade them in this manner. I want to wrap my arms round those self-conscious children who will be queuing up to get on the scales and tell them they are worth far more than what the scales say. Yes, we need to keep track of the health of our children, but this is not the way to do it.

Have we all experienced 'post-traumatic growth' this year?

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Wed, 19 May 2021 12:11:42 GMT

I listened to a brilliant podcast today about ‘post-traumatic growth’ and how going through painful times in our life doesn’t always have to be looked back on with solely negative connotations. Alongside the pain, tears and desperation, we grow. Everything we go through in life teaches us something and through that we grow as a person.

This struck a chord with me. When I think back over some of the harder times in my life, I can see how far I have come. From being called names at school regarding my weight, through to overcoming a stressful pregnancy and traumatic birth, I’m still here and I wouldn’t be the person I am today without going through these times.

The result of my traumatic birth was the greatest teacher I’ve had in my life – my son. Through Henry my patience, will power, determination and strength has grown and I’ve learned to always trust my gut instinct.

This year has probably been the hardest for many. Our lives as we know it were upturned by the pandemic. Anxiety is sky high and for many, going back to whatever normality is, is scary. Some will have liked the peace and contentment of being at home, whilst some will have lost their minds!

Every day for me was a rollercoaster of emotions. From feelings of loneliness in the evenings, to relishing the simpler things we often overlook in life, such as birds singing on my walks with Henry through the park.

Our experiences will all have been different but one thing that consolidates our experience is grief and loss. Whether that’s losing a loved one, your freedom, your job, your social life – we have all lost and grieved this year, and I think we have all learned to appreciate the life we once had a little more and that life is so fragile.

When our children’s children look back at this point in history and we start to relay stories about this time, I think only then will we realise just how well we have done to get through this past year.

I certainly appreciate and am thankful for the simple things in life so much more, rather than chasing after the next best thing. I know now what is truly important to me and that is human connection. Being part of a community and being thankful for who I am lucky to have in my life. Along with how good a glass of fizz tastes at the weekend (Saturday treat throughout lockdown) after a week of parenting and work.

I think it's time we are all a little kinder to ourselves. You might not have learned a new language or mastered the art of banana cake, but just think about what you have learned about yourself and then you will see how much you've grown during this tough time.

Daddy doesn't live here...

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Fri, 16 Apr 2021 19:03:04 GMT

A big talk that was simple and small...

I always knew it was going to come, but perhaps not quite so soon and I wasn’t prepared. I thought about the scenario when I was pregnant, knowing I was going to be raising my boy on my own and questions and queries would come way.

I thought it would be like a scene from a film where I would sit Henry down and explain clearly and concisely. He would cry and I would comfort him, reassuring him that other families have daddies that don’t live with them and lived elsewhere.

I would reassure him that he was loved by both of us and that he wasn’t alone in his situation.

I didn’t need to plan. I didn’t need to worry. Children are so accepting and resilient and I was shown just how much tonight.

I love the age of three. Henry’s sense of humour, zest for life and little conversations with me are going full throttle.

One of those little conversations happened tonight on the sofa and I was left astounded.

“Mummy, some people’s daddy’s live with them and some don’t,” Henry said in a simple matter-of-fact manner. “Like me, Mummy, I live with you and daddy doesn’t live here… he lives in his house.”

I smiled and brushed his fringe from his eyes and thought quickly on my feet.

“That’s right, darling. Sometimes daddies and mummies decide to live apart.” And I gave examples of his friends who are from solo parent families. He smiled and nodded.

“One day you could stay over at Daddy’s house,” I said calmly and to see his reaction, as this was his next step.

“Only if you came too, Mummy.” Henry replied rubbing his tired eyes.

“You’d just go on your own, my darling.” I said, not elaborating.

“And Daddy could sleep with me?” He asked.

And that was that. Henry soon moved onto playing with his cars, just like children do in their little worlds. They move on and don’t dwell too much. Not like us adults, who worry and foresee dramas that might happen. But we should try reverting back to childish ways in this sense. I think it would make the world a lot happier place, and our anxiety levels would lessen.

Henry, the best teacher I ever had.

I'm a Digital Introvert...

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Sat, 27 Mar 2021 21:34:44 GMT

When lockdown began and socializing became no more, people seemed to manically organize online zooms – it was quizzes and drinks galore. In defiance to Boris’ command to ‘Stay At Home’, people were understandingly determined to have a connection with their loved ones in some form.

It felt like everyone had been secretly doing this for years, on the side. They knew how to set up a zoom meeting and how to write a fun quiz. I always thought I was kind of tech savvy, but not compared to friends who could set up Google sheets for quiz answers. I had no clue. And friends I would never normally FaceTime, suddenly wanted to. I found myself making excuses not to join, putting the boundaries in place because I just found the whole thing draining rather than fun.

I weirdly had no strong desire to cultivate this new way of socialising. I was happy to just watch box sets and films on TV, following those depressing press conferences.

I was the only adult in my household, so surely I should be one of those people devising a way of having a girl’s night in without leaving the house?

But I was content with my own company after a day of working at my laptop or looking after my son, Henry. Doing either and adding on the anxiety surrounding the pandemic just left me completely drained by the time Henry had rested his little head for the night. There have been times I’ve felt very lonely, especially after a tricky day with Henry, but I just longed for the real connection, not the digital, although it did help.

Pre-Henry, I was very sociable and was always going out for dinner and drinks after work. Of course, when you become a parent you can’t be so spontaneous and a night out is planned ahead of time. It’s a beaming light of hope in a parent’s diary. A few hours where you’re not sicked on, pooped on, tugged at and whinged at. You’re not mum for those few hours. You can sip on some fizz knowing you can have more than one as you’ll dance it off. You can wear white without worrying about any little mitts ruining it with chocolate stains. Not having a night off to look forward to has been hard (I know its first world problems in comparison to what has been going on in the pandemic).

I am happiest in the comfort of my own home but I do need a balance. I need an evening with laughter and good food to break up the monotony that can be parenthood. Just the one night of freedom every fortnight or so, that’s enough. Then I’ll go back to drinking tea, doing yoga, watching re-runs of Sex and The City once Henry’s in bed again.

I’ve missed my friends so much, but I simply want the real thing. So I’ll be glad to say goodbye to FaceTime and Zoom as lockdown eases.

Real connection with real people. That’s what we need and deserve after the year we’ve been through.

Perfectly Fluffy Oat Pancakes

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Mon, 15 Feb 2021 11:34:24 GMT

I took time to show myself some love this Valentine’s Day! These are the best pancakes I’ve ever made. Give them a go this Pancake Day for something indulgent yet healthy.

I topped mine with fruit but you could top it with chocolate sauce, nut butters or you could make them savoury with smoked salmon and crème fraiche!

To make 4 good sized pancakes or 6 smaller American size pancakes.

100g oats

1 egg

1tsp baking powder

100ml milk (I used oat milk)

Vegetable oil to fry

Topping:

Banana, strawberries and blueberries chopped

1tsp pumpkin seeds

50ml maple syrup

- Place the oats in a blender and blend until you have a fine flour consistency.

- Add the egg, baking powder and milk and blend until you have a smooth thick paste.

- Leave to stand for ten minutes.

-Meanwhile, place the fruit, seeds and syrup in a saucepan and on a low heat leave to simmer very gently.

- Back to the pancakes. Heat the oil in a frying pan until almost smoking. Pour or spoon the batter into the pan to your desired size and cook the pancake for three minutes or until it starts to bubble on top. Flip the pancake carefully over and cook for two minutes on the other side.

-Place the cooked pancakes on a warm plate.

-Give the fruit topping a good stir and once fruit is soft and syrupy, you can pour over the pancakes.

Enjoy!

How I Learned To Love A Body I Always Hated

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Mon, 01 Feb 2021 20:35:43 GMT

I am aware that I am in a privileged position. I have never broken a bone and the only scar I have is a tiny one on my eyebrow after having chicken pox. My body (touch wood) has been pretty good to me. It’s me that let it down.

I used to hate my body. I confess at low, hormonal times of the month, I still do. At my heaviest, I was wearing a size 22-24 and in complete denial that I wasn’t truly comfortable and happy with the girl I saw in the mirror.

I used to spend hours choosing clothes that would hide my wobbly middle and cover my large upper arms, and I would wear a ton of make up to divert attention away from the body I was so ashamed of. People around me assumed I was bubbly and content.

In reality, my body had been a target of criticism the majority of its life. I still don’t understand how people presume they have the right to comment on someone’s weight. I understand why fellow pupils at school would use it as a source of amusement in class; they were just as insecure as I was. But adults, grown adults, who would tell me I was a ‘big girl’ on the bus, or that I should think about losing weight, and even an elderly relative guessing how much I weighed when I was just ten years old.

The shame I took onboard only made me hideaway and comfort eat even more. It’s a horribly vicious cycle, and pointing out that someone needs to lose weight really is not helpful. Do you not think we know and haven’t tried?

I had always been a bit chubby. When I look back at photos of myself, even aged 5, I was what you call ‘cuddly’. I’ve always enjoyed food, cooking it and eating it, and definitely do not have the fast metabolism gene that seems to be given out sparingly by God.

After losing a Grandmother figure, Peggy, to cancer when I was just 11, I filled the empty void with comfort eating. Food was always a past time we enjoyed and did together. We baked after church on Sunday afternoons; she would make the creamiest macaroni cheese for me after nursery; and we’d go out to the Little Chef and eat burger and chips as a treat. Food was for enjoying in Peggy’s world.

Then suddenly she was gone and life was empty and confusing. From that moment, my weight crept up the scales and rolls of fat became firmly attached to my waistline during those vulnerable adolescent years. Those years are tough enough, but when you stand out because you look different to fellow pupils, the shame you begin to carry is catastrophic. And the more ashamed I felt, the more I ate, because it was now my go to source of comfort.

I look back and think of all the family holidays I spent worrying about what others thought. I’d sit sweating on the beach because I didn’t want to walk past slim French families on the way to the shoreline. I wouldn’t join my brothers in socialising with other teenagers because I was felt too shy and had no confidence outside my own circle of friends.

I feel sad looking back because I missed out on so much growing up in my teens just because I worried about the criticism I would receive because I had a bigger body that society deemed grotesque.

No boyfriends, no bikinis, no holiday romances.

I was lucky enough to have the best group of friends a girl could ask for at high school. I think we all sought each other out. None of us really fitted in. We all loved the same music, getting tipsy and had similar upbringings. Not once did my friends ever comment on my weight. And neither did I; like any addiction or issue in your life, you only truly can talk about it when you begin to overcome it.

We loved a night out in our local indie nightclub. We would get drunk on cheap vodka, snog each other and boys we fancied and dance. My friends were my source of confidence. My new comfort blanket.

There was one particular night out where my weight came into the spotlight. My confidence was once again kicked down when a young man asked me to make him laugh outside a night club because ‘fat girls were supposed to be funny.’ This was said in front of my two male best friends who reacted so passionately and protectively because they could see I was crushed. It was lovely to be protected but I felt utterly ashamed and embarrassed and just wanted to go home.

I was so sensitive about my weight; the thought of discussing it until I was ready to do something about it was out of the question.

Even though I didn’t like the body I was living in, I did start living my life a little more once I was in my later teens. I didn’t leave home for university but I did work abroad in a bar in the Algarve during the summers. This helped my confidence and self-worth massively. I was very much accepted by most people for who I was.

But I was simply resigned to the fact that I was always going to be the big girl. I couldn’t imagine ever having the will power to make my body and mind healthier. I wasn’t truly content with my weight, even though I was a bubbly, happy person amongst my friends and family.

The tipping point for me came when I was in my mid twenties and I became an aunt. I now had a young niece who would be looking up to me as a role model. I also had an ex-boyfriend, the first man to ever profess love for me, who told me I should lose weight.

I do not owe it to this man, but in the end I realised I truly had had enough of being a prisoner in this body that I didn’t respect or love.

I wanted to be healthy and live more freely. I wanted to be able to put a pair of jeans and a top on and feel comfortable. I wanted to wear a bikini on the beach. I wanted to feel comfortable in the skin I was given. I wanted to do it for me. No one else. And that was my key to success.

I didn’t do any silly diets. They do not work. I repeat. They do not work. They are a quick fix and the weight comes back like an old friend once you go back to your old ways.

Instead I started to exercise. I found gym classes I loved. I educated myself in nutrition - something that needs to be done in more depth at school. I gave myself a break. I was worthy of being happy and healthy, just like anybody else.

I had boyfriends. I wore the bikini. I had holiday romances.

However, what I didn’t realise is that your mind and body are very much connected. I was so focused on shrinking this poor body of mine, whilst forgetting my mind still weighed 18 stone in shame.

After attending a wedding, wearing a size ten dress, I still felt pretty miserable because I wasn’t the happy thin woman I thought I would be. I was still using alcohol to feel confident in social situations and I drank more than ever at the wedding. I was smaller, but the problems were still so big. So I got therapy.

I started to lose the shame put upon me and my oversized body, as well as the pounds.

Then a few years down the line, I got pregnant and in that moment the love I felt for my body was unfounded. Forget the rolls of fat you might carry, the cellulite on your thighs, the wobbly upper arms. It really does not matter. This body can make a baby. A healthy baby boy. I loved being pregnant. I loved my bump. My stomach was no longer something I wanted to hide. I looked in the mirror and had never felt so beautiful.

I never thought someone of the male variety would make me love my body but sure enough, my son did. He came along to make me realise I was always worthy of being happy and loved.

Not Just a Mum

lizziebethwrites@hotmail.com (Elizabeth Griffiths) — Mon, 11 Jan 2021 16:26:21 GMT

Learning True Self-Care

I always know when I’ve been neglecting myself. It’s normally the moment I snap and lose my temper at my three-year-old boy, Henry. In that moment, I lose all composure and raise my voice and expect my boy to understand why mummy is upset, and just feel utterly resentful. I hate it, and normally do all I can to not get to that point. But we are all human, after all.

I prefer the ‘gentle ’ and ‘free’ parenting approach to being a hovering helicopter mum. I don’t believe in the naughty step and any other discipline tools which cause shame in a child. But at 6.30am this morning, I regretted my ‘free’ approach.

Henry’s dad had brought us a reindeer biscuit kit to do together for Christmas. Nice thought, but at 6.30am Henry was drawn to the fun-looking box on the kitchen counter and demanded we make them ‘right now!’

(Rule number one as a parent: always put toys and activities etc away that create mess and meltdowns. These include paints, glitter, cake kits, play dough, kinetic sand (ugh), and anything noisy and wet.)

Three year olds are tricky. They are aware of their emotions but don’t fully understand how to deal with them yet.

‘I need help mummy!’ Henry exclaimed at me in tears, knowing I wasn’t happy.

I threw the biscuit kit on the counter and angrily separated an egg (not a good idea when in a bad mood - egg shells) into the bowl to whisk an egg white for the icing. The biscuits, thank god, were already baked so we just had to decorate them. Inside I was furious. I needed my cup of tea before I do any kind of activity in the morning. I was also keeping the kit to do tomorrow when he didn’t have nursery and the day was empty of plans.

‘I’m so tired from you waking me early and now you want me to ice biscuits at 7am without a cup of tea in me?’ I shouted. ‘You’ll have to watch me whisk this egg white for five minutes before we do anything!’

Henry looked up at me all red-eyed and tired. ‘Okay, mummy.’

Ugh. Mummy guilt kicked in. I soon realised Henry wanted to take the biscuits for his friends at nursery.

I sipped my tea and took a deep breath and watched him happily ice his biscuits and stick on bits of marshmallows and chocolate buttons.

Predictably, after five minutes of decorating, Henry announced he was bored and wanted to watch Peter Rabbit. I was left decorating the sodding reindeer biscuits on a wet January morning with a cold cup of tea.

These lows points of parenting are the times I fantasise about my old, pre-parenting life. I would be sipping tea in bed or doing some yoga before breakfast. I would have slept a full eight hours so I’d be more calm, composed, and wouldn’t have dark bags under my eyes. I used to be religious about getting eight hours sleep; it’s become a distant memory since becoming a mum.

I would then go to work in a vintage dress with a full face of make-up and meet friends for dinner after work. No care in the world. Only watching how much I was spending on my social life activities.

Once I’d had breakfast, I felt better. I kissed Henry and said sorry and he said sorry too. I explained why I lost my temper and we had a dance to the bouncy theme tune of Peter Rabbit. Dancing makes everything happier in our house.

I dropped Henry at nursery and decided to go for a walk to clear my head and get endorphins to fill my mind rather than the tired, negative thoughts that inhabited.

I normally would listen to a podcast on a solo walk but this morning I did something I hadn’t done since becoming a mum. Instead of distracting myself with someone else’s chatter about parenting or a celebrity interview, I lay my mind and thoughts open to music. I listened to an entire album. An album I listened to endlessly growing up. Blue by Joni Mitchell. I wanted to feel like the old me. This is true self-care: indulging in our passions that have nothing to do with your child.

These were the songs I listened to when I went through a break up, travelling on a plane on my own and staring out the window to clouds, working on assignments for university or chilling on a beach. These were the songs that always inspired me to write my own feelings, as Joni wrote hers so well.

Apart from content for clients, I have barely written my own stuff since becoming a mum. As I was walking around beautiful snowy woodland, my mind was filled with inspiration to write. I was no longer blocked. I was no longer distracting myself. I had let myself be me again and it can only sometimes take a song, a taste, or feeling of past-time times to bring you back.

It’s so easy to lose ourselves when becoming a parent. The needs of our children are overwhelming and simply take over our own. But I have learnt that you can’t be the parent you want to be when you’re running on empty and becoming resentful.

I used to feel like a bad parent for doing anything for myself, whether that was dinner with friends or a gym session. I thought my time should be dedicated to Henry.

Try not to feel guilty. It’s so important to do things for yourself and for children to see you doing things for yourself. You are, after all, their greatest example.

Henry is an active little boy because he sees me work out. Henry is a sociable boy because he sees me spend time with friends and grew up going to cafes.

You are their role model. It’s also okay to show them you lose it sometimes, you are human.

So here I am, writing with a hot cup of coffee with the view of my garden before me. In a few hours I will get Henry from nursery and I know I will be a happier, calmer mummy. I am writing again. I am letting myself write after all this time. And it feels good to be back.