22 & not a clue

My boyfriend showed this video to me in bed the other night, and after it finished I was in tears and he smiled and said 'you don't see who you really are'. That got me thinking, no I'm not going to start Carrie Bradshaw style asking ridiculous rhetorical questions, but we as women are really quite hard on ourselves. The simple act of describing our face to a stranger does not marry up with how that stranger would necessarily describe us.

Yet we're becoming a society who take 'selfies' and send 'sexts', we are giving away our bodies soo freely these days thanks to the internet. It's this perpetual contradiction that we take photos of ourselves and yet can meet a stranger and struggle to say one positive thing about our physical selves.

I've struggled with my body image all my life. I am still struggling. I have never met a woman who is  100% happy with herself and I don't blame the media, I see it more that we don't promote a healthy outlook on our bodies within society from a young age. Mum better not be reading this, but daughters don't grow up being told to love themselves, instead mothers take the chocolate bars away and furrow their brows. Words like diet and weight creep into everyday language as that little girl creeps towards tenuous teenagedom. There's suddenly this sense of urgency that she'll become a hefty teen, life will be difficult for her, the other kids will pick on her because she's heavier.

Life will always be difficult, instilling a sense of foreboding about body image at the tender age of 11, 12, 13 and beyond isn't going to help. We need to teach our daughters to love themselves. Then teach them to make better choices, involve them in cooking, make them do at least one kind of sports or regular exercise from an early age. Basically, encourage being healthy to be happy over being thin to fit in.

It is my sincere hope that this generation of women, who have grown up with slut marches, fat shaming, thin privelege and rise of the plus size modelling world will go on to raise their daughters to love themselves first and appreciate being healthy second. Loving the skin you're in should be a given.

One extreme to the next is my preferred third gear, uncertainty being a comfortable second and worry a very reliable first. I am quickly learning that fear of the future will freeze you to the spot if you let it. That procrastination is very expensive and most importantly that sitting on your hands is sometimes the only thing you can do.

With somewhat guaranteed well paid temping work in one hand but a potentially career building internship in the other which do I choose? To be frank the question is null as I have neither had the interview nor gotten the job. Like I said one extreme to the next is my third gear. Regardless, I have been tossing it around in this cavern of mine all weekend, have driven one boyfriend and one mother absolutely scatty with the matter and tied myself in knots.

Why? For the simple reason that I am so keenly aware that every step I take now may determine my career path further down the line. So whilst temping will pay well, put my mum's nagging to rest and ease my bank balance, it won't particularly help my career. I am having to sit on my hands, and I hate it. I am having to weigh it all up and make an adult decision which may shape things to come in ways I can't even imagine at this point in time

But then, every thing I have done with my life to date was uncertain to me at one point in time, or were the beginnings of adult decisions which shaped events that came after. What makes this moment of uncertainty unique to me is that it has never concerned my career before - probably because I have never had one. Now as I stand tentatively clinging to this bottom rung I am frozen in how best to proceed.

So I am off to this interview, I am going to smash it, give myself more options and then make a decision. Until then I will sit on my hands and continue to have hypothetical conversations with myself, or to the dishes, or maybe even at a wall. I always did like Shirley Valentine.

There is this viscious chicken or the egg paradox which comes with living in London. You can't get a flat without a job and getting a job is infinitely harder when you're sleeping on a friends sofa without your own flat. So when I lost my dream flat in Shepherds bush for the second time I realised I wasn't going to get it all. 

Last Saturday a good friend dragged me to the Liverpool match. Despite being two of four women in the entire pub, we had a great night. That being said there was one incident that added a slight ugly undertone to the evening.

I have already been back in London a month. Most of which has been spent either sleeping on a friends sofa or in front of my battered cream (*grey) mac book scouring the net for either a home or a job. After many viewings of would-be drug dens & one dream adult-cream-carpeted-wooden-floored chick pad I got my dream home & I move in in under two weeks. Hurrah!