THE MOTHER'S DAY SPECIAL

In light of Mother's day this year, I thought I would dedicate a whole post to my wonderful Mummy. For those of you who either know me, or my mother or have been reading my blog, you should know I have not always thought of her as my 'wonderful mummy'. I think I have a tendency to exaggerate slightly, because no matter how much we have argued over the years, and my god there have been some catastrophic ones, which ended with me throwing a hair dryer at her head and kicking the washing down the stairs (helpful as usual!), we have always always always loved each other to the moon and back!

When I think of the tricky parts in my relationship with my mother, I never really take my childhood into account, because let's face it, I was a fucking nightmare with everyone not just her, so it doesn't really count! It definitely all started when I hit puberty... a little bit too early if you ask me, or anyone who had the pleasure of knowing me through those dreadful years! (many apologies). We always a had a love/hate relationship, one day we would be incredibly close and do girly shopping trips to Guildford or get pedicures at the dreadful VIP NAILS in Petersfield, a place where you are more likely to catch an STI from a deadly ladybird, than you are to leaving a fully satisfied customer with perfect nails (yes, we do still go despite this and yes, there is a kind of ladybug which carries CHLAMYDIA), then the following day we couldn't even be in the same room without screaming at each other. I know you are probably thinking, god so dramatic! all mothers and daughters argue, which granted is true, and remains true for the most part of our relationship, but for a period of time while I was dealing with all my many issues, it became so much more than just petty arguing.

As I mentioned in my previous post, my mother was completely and utterly perfect, beautiful, fit and slim, which as I grew up became increasingly difficult for me and I began to resent her and compare myself to her. I remember being terrified at the prospect of going home from school for the weekend as I knew she would be able to tell instantly if I had got 'fat'. Usually this would be every two or three weeks, so I would binge like you would not believe for the first week, then starve myself and eat rabbit food for the second in a dreadful attempt to lose weight, before I had to get in the car with my mother for the hour long journey back from Bradfield! It's slightly scary how well she knows me, I mean, yes I am an open book and easy to read, but she was, and is, still able to pre-empt any problems that were about to happen, before I even had time to acknowledge them. Having said this, she too is an 'open book' which meant every time I walked out of my boarding house to drive home with her, her face would be like a picture - either a very happy one (rarely) or very sad one. I would yell at her in the car because I knew she was judging me and I resented her for that, however I knew full well that the only reason she ever said anything was because she cared so much. She knew how much my weight affected me and upset me, but I was in denial so never looked at the bigger picture or thanked her for trying to help.

A huge part of our relationship revolved around food and my weight - it still does to an extent but in a much more positive way. When my mother was younger she went to school in Switzerland for a year, and in her words not mine, 'got soooooo fat!', she lived off a diet of bread, cakes and cigarettes - but she only put on about a bloody stone! I would get so frustrated when I talked to her about my binges or the obscene quantity of food I ate, she would respond with, 'oh god I ate so badly today too! I had half a pack of biscuits this afternoon!'. I would reply something along the lines of, 'yes, but my version of badly is three packets of biscuits, a pizza, cookie dough and 5 chocolate bars'... slightly different! I know she was always trying to help, but I always felt like she never understood how extreme my issues always were, and that her attempt at making me feel normal actually made it worse and gave me more validation I was a fuck up who ate too much!

In my family I am by far the most emotional one, closely followed by my wonderful Daddy who cries almost as often as I do - especially when I sing! It was always an ongoing joke that my mother was the heartless one who didn't cry when I sang, didn't want the cuddles and was least affectionate. Pushing my mother to her limits became a hobby of mine, and one I became incredibly good at. I would nag constantly, make rude comments and belittle her until I had tipped her over the edge and she would fight back. I think the main reason I always argued with her more was because we would end up yelling at each other for HOURS and I needed someone to retaliate and argue with to get my anger out, whereas Daddy and I would just end up in floods of tears, cuddling. During the summer after my gap year when I was very depressed and quite frankly, vile, our relationship deteriorated hugely. My whole family were fed up of taking sides and it had got to the point where we could hardly sit in the same room without wanting to scream, punch or fight each other. I would scream bloody murder, I would kick things, I would throw things, I would break things! I was so frustrated by the way I was feeling and felt so hard done by as no one in my family EVER took my side, it was ALWAYS my fault - errrr OBVIOUSLY, I behaved like a brat!

It should be quite obvious in this little story that everything worked itself out, otherwise I probably wouldn't be writing a blog about it, but it wasn't easy and took a long time to fix everything, everything I had very nearly blown to smithereens (good word isn't it). There came a point when I realised if I didn't stop soon it could be too late, I was in the process of destructing my family beyond repair, and it was all down to me to fix. My daddy, who is the least confrontational and argumentative person in the world became angry, and had no choice but to take part in the war between mummy and I. Josh and Lando began to resent me, and coming home was no longer enjoyable for anyone if I was there. So it had to stop, and I was the only one who could make it. Before I move on to therapy and fixing the crazy mess I made, I would like to say, I am sorry. I am sorry to my parents for causing so much pain and angst for such a long period of time, but also to my brothers who I unnecessarily dragged into my shit show just for the sake of it. Thank you for supporting me through it and for being so patient. I love you all more than anything in the world!

So enter, Family Therapy. I went with my parents, leaving Josh and Lando at home - I did not want to involve them anymore than necessary as I knew this was my problem, not theirs. Being at therapy with my parents meant I was finally able to express how I was feeling, the extremities of my eating disorders, the fact I thought mummy wouldn't understand my depression and would think it was weak, and finally discuss everything I had hidden from her over the previous years. It was great, we finally talked and cried through years of issues, despite the fact we did have a ridiculous crazy german therapist (more on the mad therapist next week!). A lot of what I said shocked and upset both my parents, but I also learnt that I was selfish, I leant I was not the only person in the room who had struggled with some form of mental health issue, and that almost everyone has been affected by something in one way or another, I was normal.... ish. Therapy definitely proved that actually 95% of the time during our arguments I really was in the wrong, as much as it pains me to admit it. I know this because, the more I worked through my issues in my own therapy sessions and the happier and less fucked up I got, the less we argued. This includes arguing with the rest of my family too, I became less aggressive and argumentative, more willing to help around the house and started slowly including myself in family conversations and meals, rather than retreating to the garden with a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of vodka, and my laptop... where I would sit for hours at a time, smoking my night away with back to back gossip girl episodes playing in the background - I did this for the entire summer of 2016.

I think part of the reason I was always so bloody unhelpful at home, was because of my weight (not an excuse). I know I was never 40 stone and unable to walk, but I was very unfit, and felt like a round ball, not helped by the fact mum was watching me eagle eyed as I crashed around the kitchen. Even the simplest of tasks like unloading the dishwasher made me hot, flushed and uncomfortable - especially if I was wearing something relatively restricting and didn't have my hoodie to hide under! So, as well as therapy working wonders, getting into fitness meant I had more energy to help too, even if I still complained about doing it! I am no longer in therapy, but it taught me some incredible life lessons and skills, and means that my mother and I are incredibly open with each other now. We talk on the phone literally every day, sometimes more than once, which a lot of people find bloody weird. It means we are always up to date with each other, can bitch about people who are pissing us off, and just make sure we are both well and happy. This is not to say we don't still argue at all, because we do and always will, but they are now superficial boring fights as opposed to vile, hurtful and vicious fights.

I know the majority of this post has not been me bragging about my 'amazing mummy' which it should have been as it is mother's day. So I will end on this note.

To my B E A U T I F U L mummy, I love you more than you can possibly imagine, you are the best I could ever ask for and do more for me than I could ever repay, be it feeding me delicious home cooked meals, always having my bedroom ready for me to come home too when I need to escape London, buying me yet another pair of gym leggings that I don't need, or just being there for a cuddle and to talk. Thank you for supporting me through countless years or terror, you're the best and will always be my favourite person on the planet to spend time with , sorry i've been so useless for so many years.

I L O V E Y O U

H A P P Y M O T H E R ' S D A Y

Lots of Love x