Am I fat?: The Daily Battle with Body Image.

"Do I look fat in this?" "How do I get rid of saddlebags?" "How can I make my thighs look smaller?" These are all questions that regularly go through my mind. I don't have an eating disorder, and I know I'm not overweight, but these are the typical worries that overwhelm myself and the majority of women (and now men) at least at some point in their lives. 

I have finally discovered why I have been in such a bad mood today. I wasn't concerned about exams or revision, but instead I was wearing a pair of waist high trousers that are a little too tight. Therefore all day I have been aware of my tummy, and consequently have had a typical "fat day." I love food, don't get me wrong, and I like to enjoy the best of both worlds. I try to eat healthily the majority of times, with plenty of vegetables and freshly cooked food. Nevertheless I am not afraid to have a McDonald's or to bake with my friends (so naturally it always goes downhill every evening.) However I still find that somewhere there is a niggling voice in the back of my head telling me that I shouldn't be eating certain things, and so generally a day of indulgence is always followed by an evening of food guilt.

It concerns me that me and so many others out there should have to think like this. Why should I really care that "Abs are made 80% in the kitchen and 20% in the gym," when really, who will ever see my abs? I'm pretty sure that one holiday once a year to the Lake District, is not worth sacrificing a year of carbs for. Some-days I do think that if I went on some crazy diet and lost a stone then it would be totally worth it because of how much more confident I would feel about my body. But really, would I really be more confident just because my thighs didn't touch each other? Surely I would be more insecure because of the amount of people that would be concerned about me starving myself?

I know there is an "obesity epidemic" lurking out there, waiting to get us, but there is also the dark world of "pro-ana" where people inspire themselves and their friends to only eat ice cubes and wait for their bodies to shut down, in the pursuit of looking like a skeleton. Clearly, we live in a world of confusion. Millions and millions of people in the world are starving, and can't even produce breast milk to feed their children. Moreover, millions of people out there are so big that they can't even walk up the stairs. Yes, these two extremes are both horrible problems that need to be resolved, but is it really fair that these two extremes push those people in the middle into a spiral of worry about the damage that one McFlurry might do to us? Should I really worry about eating white bread because I fear I might look like "half-ton Uni student?" I don't think so. 

Apparently the perfect body shape for a woman is 36-24-36. So not only is my waist too big, but my hips are too small. Does this make me fat? Does this make me unattractive? Moreover, the British Model Association considers people at 34-24-36, and at least 5'8". So now, my waist is too large, my hips are too small and I'm too short. None of this should ring alarm bells, but for me it does. Since when has it become acceptable to live in a world where people like me are allowed to suffer from anxiety about the way they look, just because they are forced to believe that a model, with five inches airbrushed off her waist, is the only acceptable way to look? It makes me sick to think that vulnerable thirteen year old children are going to aspire to look like Abercrombie & Fitch models, whilst the other half are going to sit and make themselves obese, eating cake, because they are so depressed that they don't look like Abercrombie & Fitch models.

 I know that tomorrow I will wake up and face the same battle with my body image. I will do the same as millions of other women in the world. I will look a my thighs and wish they were thinner, I will wish my hips were slightly larger and my waist slightly smaller. I will wish away any arm flab and I'll hope my boobs decide to grow a bit more.

Luckily for me though, I have my head screwed on. So following the horrible confrontation with the mirror I will put on clothes that suit my body shape, and I'll eat a healthy breakfast that probably still contains too much sugar. Then I know that at some-point in the day I'll get at least a small compliment about one thing or another, and it will probably be enough to make that niggling voice go away for a little bit, like it needs too. Eventually I'll learn that image is not just about body size, it's about the way faces light up when they smile, eyes gleam when their laughing, and cheeks dimple when they giggle.

If you do one thing differently from your usual routine tomorrow, give yourself a compliment, smile in the mirror instead of frowning and start the journey to get rid of that voice that needs to go away. 

Time to enjoy worry free! 

I'm an addict...

I admit it. I'm completely obsessed. Addicted even. There is nothing more satisfying than ripping open that new packet of pens that you've been wanting for ages, only to line them up side-by-side on your desk and test each one out individually by writing the same word, or drawing the same line repeatedly. You have to make sure that you use each pen the same amount, sharpen each pencil so it as at the same level as its neighbor. When the packet is new, it's slander to put them back in anything other than in the order of the color spectrum. The moment you decide to throw away the packet, and just keep the pens in a pot on the side of your desk, is huge, you've either decided you want a different set of pens that you'll cherish forever, or you'll regret the moment forever. Stationery addiction is a very real issue. You are not alone. You are not the only person who gets a tingle up your spine when you walk into Paperchase, or when you walk into a specialist pen shop. My friend once commented, on entrance to a pen shop, that "a pen's a pen," - she made a lucky escape to remain a friend.

 As a student, I am unable to regularly purchase beautiful new stationery, and I am now finding that my collection is rapidly depleting. The main difference to university from school, is that upon entrance, every shred of organization that you learnt in school goes straight out the window. It is extremely unfashionable to carry a bulging pencil case into a lecture hall: the fashion is to stumble in five minutes after the lecture has started and scrabble around your bag until you find an old cracked leaky biro. This is a stationery addict's worst nightmare, but frankly, in order to fit in, some sacrifices need to be made. Consequently, my beautiful trusty collection of Stabilo highlighters that have kept me going since secondary school has become fragmented, and I frequently fear for the whereabouts of orange, peach and bright pink. Instead I have ended up with an old green, and two blues. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? Trust me, on this occasion, losing the packet was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

If found, please return peach, orange and bright pink

Nevertheless, this term I have decided to make some changes. My friends have come to terms with the fact that I am a stationery hoarder, and they are no longer surprised when I whip out a shark shape stapler in a seminar. Last week, I purchased a magnificent yellow safari Lamy. The reaction's have been diverse. Some friends have simply asked "What's a Lamy?!" to which I reply with a glassy stare. To others it has been a relief, they too have been able to carry their fountain pen into the lecture hall with pride and hold it up high when its time for the ink cartridge to be replaced. My diary takes pride of place on my desk, where my kindle can slot nicely in, and even my tutors remark on my inspirational organization skills.

I can have more pens than I will ever need, and the pain when one runs out is too much to bear. My first paycheck will probably be diminished in Paperchase, on a lovely holder for my paychecks, and I will never stop mourning for those pens that manage to go walkabouts from their perfectly complete set. So here I am loud and proud, coming out as a stationery addict. If you are too, throw away those obligatory manky Biro's: hold your head up high, pop your Lamy in your pocket and always carry a complete set of pens and a shark-shaped stapler with you.