BODY BULLIES

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Today, it's six weeks until our family vaycay to Bali.

Six weeks for me to keep up my healthy eating and exercise regime (aka. shredlyf) in order to feel the best I possibly can, as I'm laying beside the pool in my bathing suit. I've been doing really well - I enjoy exercising - it gives me a buzz. And eating healthily makes me feel good.

 

But hey - if my results aren't everything that I have hoped for, I'm not going to cry about it. I'll know that I've tried my best, and I'm happy with being healthy and positive on the inside, over everything else.

 

I'm not going to lie, I am somewhat critical of myself. I don't like the fact that weight doesn't fall off after enduring one pump class. I don't like the fact that I can't automatically be a supermodel after having broccoli for dinner. I'm conscious of my lumps, bumps, wobbly bits, and scars.

 

But I'm doing my best to shut out the negative talk, and actually take a good look around myself - to see how far I have come.

 

The negative talk didn't originate from within myself, mind you.

 

While I've always been an outwardly confident kind of person, the bullshit I was fed from other people (from an extremely young age) has caused me to have a negative relationship with my appearance for most of my life.

 

When I was 10, my best friends turned on me. They said I was too fat to play with them. I doubt they would realise how much their words hurt, and continued to hurt me.

 

When I was 11, I overheard a classmate say, "Amy is probably the biggest girl in school, even bigger than the teachers." Cheers mate.

 

When I was 12, I was handed a Jenny Craig leaflet and told that I should probably go get some help. I ran to the toilets crying, while the bullies laughed behind my back.

 

When I was 13, I was told that my boobs "didn't count" because they were made of flab. (Slightly laughable now.)

 

When I was 14, one of my friends pulled on my jeans, which were a good few sizes too big, and danced around giggling "Look how baggy they are!" She didn't mean anything by it, but it still made my heart sink.

 

Even as an adult, when people should have been kinder with age and maturity, it continued to occur.

 

A female work colleague from another department used to bitch about how fat and unattractive I was to another co-worker - who also happened to be my friend, and told me everything that was said. She also used to give me daggers as she would walk past me in the corridors. I had never actually done anything to provoke this sort of behaviour from her. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but I should have reported her for bullying and harassment. I was too scared, in case it made her come after me.

 

Another time, Clint and I were living up north at the time. I was at a friends house for a 'gathering' - and I was sitting around the table with a few random people. I started flicking through a magazine and a random guy piped up; 

 

"People like you wish they could be as skinny and pretty as girls in those magazines. You never will be, so you may as well stop trying, fat bitch. Your boyfriend is only with you for sex; there's no good looking women up here. He will dump you when you get back to Perth."

 

I know. I can't believe someone could be such a fuckhead, either.

 

I kept re-living that encounter over and over in my head, and cried about it for weeks and weeks. I never told Clint about it - I was afraid that if I did, he would open his eyes and see what I thought everyone else saw - an overweight, ugly, mess of a woman.

 

The worst part about all of these negative comments; is that, after all this time, I still remember every single word. I feel like they've been burned into my brain, and I will never forget how low I was made to feel in those particular moments in my life.

 

Of course - I was my own worst enemy. As an impressionable teen - I believed what I was fed. I believed that it was my fate to always feel like I was nothing. I never bothered to exercise - besides playing netball on Saturdays. I never bothered caring about my diet - what difference would it make anyway?

 

Turns out, it would make a hell of a difference.

 

 

 

My dad passed away when I was 21 (that's another blog I've written.) Although it wasn't the cause of his death, his coronial investigation revealed he was on the brink of heart disease, and had dangerously high cholesterol. It was advised that all of his descendants have tests done, to see if we were also at risk.

 

You guessed it.

 

Amy, at age 21, had the cholesterol levels of someone aged in their early forties.

 

Not good.

 

And that put my arse into gear. That was my starting point.

 

I began to eat healthier and exercise in a desperate bid to improve my health. As my weight decreased, my wellness and confidence levels rose to make up for it. I was the happiest, and healthiest, I had ever been.

 

The beauty of those "comments" remaining permanently in my memory, meant I could now use them as ammunition. The fact that nobody thought I could do it, made me want to be the best version of myself that I could be.

 

I fell pregnant with Jack when I was 22 - and I didn't let that stop me. Following his birth, I was jumped right back onto the horse, and was officially the fittest, healthiest and happiest I had ever been.

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Guest Blogs

BODY BULLIES

June 22, 2016

|

Amy Waterhouse

 

 

 

Today, it's six weeks until our family vaycay to Bali.

 

Six weeks for me to keep up my healthy eating and exercise regime (aka. shredlyf) in order to feel the best I possibly can, as I'm laying beside the pool in my bathing suit. I've been doing really well - I enjoy exercising - it gives me a buzz. And eating healthily makes me feel good.

 

But hey - if my results aren't everything that I have hoped for, I'm not going to cry about it. I'll know that I've tried my best, and I'm happy with being healthy and positive on the inside, over everything else.

 

I'm not going to lie, I am somewhat critical of myself. I don't like the fact that weight doesn't fall off after enduring one pump class. I don't like the fact that I can't automatically be a supermodel after having broccoli for dinner. I'm conscious of my lumps, bumps, wobbly bits, and scars.

 

But I'm doing my best to shut out the negative talk, and actually take a good look around myself - to see how far I have come.

 

The negative talk didn't originate from within myself, mind you.

 

While I've always been an outwardly confident kind of person, the bullshit I was fed from other people (from an extremely young age) has caused me to have a negative relationship with my appearance for most of my life.

 

When I was 10, my best friends turned on me. They said I was too fat to play with them. I doubt they would realise how much their words hurt, and continued to hurt me.

 

When I was 11, I overheard a classmate say, "Amy is probably the biggest girl in school, even bigger than the teachers." Cheers mate.

 

When I was 12, I was handed a Jenny Craig leaflet and told that I should probably go get some help. I ran to the toilets crying, while the bullies laughed behind my back.

 

When I was 13, I was told that my boobs "didn't count" because they were made of flab. (Slightly laughable now.)

 

When I was 14, one of my friends pulled on my jeans, which were a good few sizes too big, and danced around giggling "Look how baggy they are!" She didn't mean anything by it, but it still made my heart sink.

 

Even as an adult, when people should have been kinder with age and maturity, it continued to occur.

 

A female work colleague from another department used to bitch about how fat and unattractive I was to another co-worker - who also happened to be my friend, and told me everything that was said. She also used to give me daggers as she would walk past me in the corridors. I had never actually done anything to provoke this sort of behaviour from her. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but I should have reported her for bullying and harassment. I was too scared, in case it made her come after me.

 

Another time, Clint and I were living up north at the time. I was at a friends house for a 'gathering' - and I was sitting around the table with a few random people. I started flicking through a magazine and a random guy piped up; 

 

"People like you wish they could be as skinny and pretty as girls in those magazines. You never will be, so you may as well stop trying, fat bitch. Your boyfriend is only with you for sex; there's no good looking women up here. He will dump you when you get back to Perth."

 

I know. I can't believe someone could be such a fuckhead, either.

 

I kept re-living that encounter over and over in my head, and cried about it for weeks and weeks. I never told Clint about it - I was afraid that if I did, he would open his eyes and see what I thought everyone else saw - an overweight, ugly, mess of a woman.

 

The worst part about all of these negative comments; is that, after all this time, I still remember every single word. I feel like they've been burned into my brain, and I will never forget how low I was made to feel in those particular moments in my life.

 

Of course - I was my own worst enemy. As an impressionable teen - I believed what I was fed. I believed that it was my fate to always feel like I was nothing. I never bothered to exercise - besides playing netball on Saturdays. I never bothered caring about my diet - what difference would it make anyway?

 

Turns out, it would make a hell of a difference.

 

 

 

My dad passed away when I was 21 (that's another blog I've written.) Although it wasn't the cause of his death, his coronial investigation revealed he was on the brink of heart disease, and had dangerously high cholesterol. It was advised that all of his descendants have tests done, to see if we were also at risk.

 

You guessed it.

 

Amy, at age 21, had the cholesterol levels of someone aged in their early forties.

 

Not good.

 

And that put my arse into gear. That was my starting point.

 

I began to eat healthier and exercise in a desperate bid to improve my health. As my weight decreased, my wellness and confidence levels rose to make up for it. I was the happiest, and healthiest, I had ever been.

 

The beauty of those "comments" remaining permanently in my memory, meant I could now use them as ammunition. The fact that nobody thought I could do it, made me want to be the best version of myself that I could be.

 

I fell pregnant with Jack when I was 22 - and I didn't let that stop me. Following his birth, I was jumped right back onto the horse, and was officially the fittest, healthiest and happiest I had ever been.

 

 

I didn't do it for the sake of what other people thought. I didn't do it so that other people had something nice to look at. I did it for myself. For my health; and then, for my baby boy. For me, that has been the biggest motivator so far.

 

I didn't change as a person once I became healthier. I had the same personality. The same friends. The same loving boyfriend (now husband). How I looked on the outside had absolutely no impact on my life whatsoever. However, I did feel a million times better about myself on the inside - and that's when I realised - that as long as I was always the best person I could be - I didn't have to give a shit about what anyone else thought of me.

 

Getting back into shape after having my second boy, Lachlan, has proved a little tougher. I'm more stressed. I still eat chocolate a little more than I should. I'm busier. I have two boys to look after. My body has been through pregnancy twice now. But I'm trying my fucking darnedest.

 

If I focus on the physical results I've seen since having Lachlan, I personally don't think I've changed that much so far.

 

But - when I step back and take a look at the bigger picture - I'm still very much on the right track.

 

Mentally - I am a stronger person - because I know I am above all of the body bullies and their lame comments. I'm doing all the right things, and I know results will come - eventually. I'm in this for myself, not for anyone else. 

 

Physically - My body has housed two gigantor babies, for fucks sake. That's something that I - and all other mums need to remember. You may bounce back, or it may take time - but what our bodies have achieved is nothing short of amazing. We are amazing. We are beautiful. Shredlyf success or not - our bodies are beautiful.

 

And nobody should ever believe anyone that tells them differently.

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If you want to read more of Amy's wonderful blog head to https://flatwhitesandstripes.wordpress.com/ or follow Amy on Instagram @amywaterhouse_