Mmm, yummy green juice
I’ve got a sick fetish. No, it’s not tickling bald men’s feet, that’s more of a hobby than anything. My guilty obsession is with women’s magazines, specifically those ‘My 9 to 5’ articles, detailing the busy lives of ‘normal’ women. I consume them with an almost sadistic glee, feeding my inner anxiety goblin. Green juice at 5am followed by half an hour of quick (but deep) meditation followed by a HIIT boxing class? It’s all in a day’s work for these ladies. While I can appreciate wanting to show off your best self in a magazine, I’m pretty sure we’d all feel better about ourselves if someone told the truth.
Truth is, no one floats through each day, simultaneously smashing deadlines and necking a spinach latte, all while holding downward-facing camel and looking damn sexy doing it. We don’t run home from work, vacuum our flats and whip up a no-fat no-gluten no-fun cauliflower pizza, all while making sweet (and dirty) love to our partners.
Truth is, we’re all just muddling through. Some days (OK, one day), I’ll head to a cardio/rave class before work on a Monday. I’ll twerk and I’ll booty shake with such gusto, the rest of the class will wonder if I’m Beyoncé’s sister from another mister. I’ll continue to channel my #girlboss in the office, where I spend all day putting out fires (of the social media variety) and generally being awesome. Some days I’ll change into my workout clothes, do a little cry in the work toilets and take myself home to a stuffed-crust pizza topped with smarties.
Some days I’ll go for a run in the park and literally feel like I’m crossing the finish line at the London Marathon. Crowds wearing T-shirts with my face on will chant ‘THIS GIRL CAN’ over and over, as I sprint up a hill without even breaking a sweat. Some days I’ll jog for two minutes on the treadmill, before getting a stitch and finding comfort in a large bag of Maltesers.
Some days I feel like I’ll only get some sleep if I sacrifice a key part of my life. Friendships, relationships, work, exercise, eating, personal hygiene… something’s got to go.
When I read one of those picture-perfect articles, it makes me want to do that frustrated dance from Billy Elliot. Except I’m knackered, so I have to settle for long nap instead. In my dreams, some tired soul reads this article and realises that she’s not the only one to go from absolutely killing it to choking back the tears in one week, or even one day. So if you’re out there, let’s make a lady pact. Let’s just keep on keeping on. Drink that green juice. Twerk your heart out. Do a little cry. It’s all part of life’s rich tapestry, as my Mum would say.
And anyway, I’ve heard it gets way easier once you have tiny people to look after, right? RIGHT?!