A quick aside: To the person who found my blog by Googling “How much pussy is too much?”… there’s no such thing.
The other day I heard someone talking about the power of being your own best friend and it fascinated me. It sounds like a bit of a cheesy cliche and on the surface I suppose it is. But if you think about it for a minute, it goes a bit deeper than that.
I don’t mean best friend in the “Hey me, wanna hang out with me for a while?” way, or the hippy-self-love kinda way. I mean it in the cut-yourself-a-break kinda way. It’s not something we do all that often.
I can relate this to my own life the most easily when I think about eating. When I have a lapse in vigilance and binge for a couple of days (and when I say binge, I mean eat a hot cross bun and an easter egg in the same day. Oh, imagine!) I go through this incredibly harsh self-berating routine in my head. I tell myself that I’ve got no self-control. That I’ve gone and done it again. That I’m going to have to work out harder tomorrow. A whole lot of ridiculous crap. If one of my friends told me they’d eaten a whole pack of easter eggs, I say “Hilarious! Good on you. It’s got to be done occasionally, that’s what life’s about.”
Double standards, huh?
I never look at my friends and think “Wow, he has clearly put on about half a kilo and it’s really showing around his chin”. I never tell them that they are lazy for sleeping in and missing the gym. I never expect them to work until midnight or keep the garden immaculate even if it means doing it in the rain. So why the hell do I expect that of myself?
Cutting ourselves a break is one of the hardest things to do.
But it’s probably one of the most important.
So I’m off to eat chocolate. Happy Easter all… I’m back next Tuesday.