What becomes of the broken hearted

I’ve fallen in love twice. Once when I was very young – 16 in fact – and it was one of the most overwhelming and confusing times of my life. The other time was much more recent – three years ago when I was at University. This was much more straight-forward and comforting, and I felt like I finally knew what all those songs played on Magic FM at 1.00am were about. But when they ended, by Christ Almighty did they hurt.

Being in love is one of the most uplifting and magical feelings a person can have. It feels like you’re being wrapped in a big, warm, soft towel straight out of the bath, or getting into crisp, clean bed linen after you’ve shaved your legs, or having that first spoonful of melted chocolate when PMT is being a complete and utter bitch. Nobody can tell you any different to what you know, which is that you are soaring on Cloud Nine and this person, the Ron to your Hermione, is everything you will ever need.

But sometimes, whether you are expecting it or not, when it all comes to an end, reality doesn’t half slap you like a bitch. Whether there’s infidelity, constant arguing, overwhelming control issues or even if there’s just no spark anymore, there are very few things that people can say to convince you that it will get better. But it does. Oh God, it really does.

When my heart was broken the first time I was nothing more than a pathetic puddle of tears and anxiety. I was 17 years old and, although we both knew our situation was only temporary and he was – and remains to this day – one of my dear friends, there was absolutely no consoling me. Luckily, I had an amazing group of girlfriends waiting for me with flowers, chocolates and a card telling me how much they loved me at school the next day (best boyfriend subs, ever). But I felt so utterly destroyed that I was adamant I would never let myself feel that way again.

That was, until I fell in love again.

Now, I didn’t think it was possible, but this one hurt even more. Weeks of restless nights, random outbursts of tears, anxiety and very little eating followed. I lost 9lbs in the two weeks after it ended (as shitty as it was, getting dumped really did do wonders for my figure). I couldn’t bare to leave the house incase I saw him, and although it was an amicable agreement and we separated as friends, I couldn't help but hate him for making me fall for him so hard that I couldn’t pick up the pieces when it crashed (not his fault, I know, but try telling an emotional woman that). Thankfully, I had the same group of amazing girlfriends – and one very cuddly housemate who kept feeding me Chinese food – to help me pick up said pieces and realise that actually, I am just one step closer to being happy again.

If you’ve been through (or are still going through) a break-up and have experienced the pain associated, you will know that as shitty and horrible and gross as it is, it’s part of life and nobody has a smooth sail all the way through. But if falling in love has taught me anything, it is that I am one f***ing strong woman and I can take any shit that this world throws at me, because if I can overcome those feelings, oh honey I can take on the world. And it should tell you exactly the same.

So, your Survival Kit 101 for mending a broken heart is as follows:

1. Surround yourself with your favourite people. You have no idea how much they will put everything into perspective.

2. Don’t starve yourself or binge eat. Honestly, neither option will make you feel any better. Stick to moderate rations and the occasional therapy session with Mr Ben and Mr Jerry.

3. For the love of God, don’t listen to an endless stream of soppy love songs from the 80s. I actually listened to a lot of Ludovico Einaudi, a relaxing tempo was quite distracting. Highly recommend.

4. Tell yourself every day that you are one step closer to being over it. You will feel like you’re talking a bit of arse, but one day you will actually believe it and believe me it is so empowering.

It’s not all a ballet-dancing, romantic-singing, puppy-cuddling love story in life, but batting out a home run when the Universe throws its shit at you will make you feel better than Andy Murray when he fiiiinnaalllyyy took home that Wimbledon trophy. This is coming from an overthinking, overemotional sack of sad potatoes, but trust me, it is possible; I’ve done it twice.

You got this, girl

Feminism. Empowerment. Almighty frickin' gloriousness.

These are all terms that intimidate the bejeezus out of me.

Feminism: Incase you haven’t noticed; I’m a woman, so naturally I will advocate the premise of gender equality until my face explodes. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that feminism is a topic that I touch on lightly.

Empowerment: Not really a term I would affiliate with myself, seeing as I’m a complete wimp in confrontation with a 94% chance of tears and/or dying if I come remotely close to a debate with someone. Unfortunately, confrontation and empowerment often come hand-in-hand – you have to face arguments and criticism when attempting to give any form of influence, right? So yeah, empowerment… *shudder*

Almighty frickin' gloriousness: Now this just speaks for itself. I hear this phrase and I picture Beyoncé, high and mighty on her throne of sunshine and gold, being fed crunchy red grapes by the Angel Gabriel himself while she sings sweet lullabies to the children of the highest order. This is not quite the scenario one comes across on a fortnightly basis.

Now, intimidating as these phrases may be when put into action, does that make it okay for us to avoid them completely and revert to ridicule and slander towards other women? I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve heard words with more kick than a sour apple bon bon being thrust in my direction by other women.

Sure, you might have good reason to wish crippling period pains and a lifetime of bad eyeliner on these girls that you may curse at. They could be your best friends new friend, your exes new girlfriend, that girl you went to school with who has always been so much prettier than you, or even the girl who had the audacity to turn up to a nightclub in an outfit slightly less exuberant than a wrap dress and 8 inch Louboutin's.

But I tell you what ladies, there is no better feeling than embracing the envy (because lez be real – that’s what it boils down to) and telling that girl she is a ten, because that’s exactly what women need: feminine empowerment and to be told they are almighty fricken' glorious. We have enough grief from creepy middle-aged men with more money than social skills and a willy stick small enough to shape your nose contour, so why is it so natural for women to despise each other before getting the chance to bond over Kim Kardashian and that guy from Towie with all the tattoos?

So how about this: go and high five your best friends new friend for having awesome taste in people you want to hang out with, be excited for your exes new girlfriend for finding happiness with someone that you were never going to be with forever anyway, tell that girl from school that she frickin' WERKS it like Sharon Needles in the RuPocalypse and she is awesome, and you tell that girl dressed a little more casually than everybody else that she is SLAYING because beauty is individuality.

With this philosophy, my darling girlfriends, we will be amazing. We will not have Feminism seen as an extremist movement trying to take over the world. We will not look wide-eyed at those that empower us and feel like we will never have that influence, because we ourselves will be empowering our sisters. And we will be oozing almighty frickin' gloriousness.

Introducing... an amateur's first run

Ambition:

noun
1. an earnest desire for some type of achievement or distinction, as power, honour, fame or wealth, and the willingness to strive for its attainment.

Delusion:

verb (used with object)

1. to mislead the mind or judgment of

It's easy to confuse the two. So easy in fact, it's deterred me from pulling myself off my backside and grabbing the life that I tell myself can happen.

For years I’ve been an absent daydreamer, staring intently out of windows and living a fantasy life in my mind as though I’m the glamorous centrepiece of an RnB music video. Of course, this is until the song finishes and I look down to realise that I’m sitting in my pants with crisps in my hair, and in my bewilderment I’ve spilled tea all over the carpet.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to set yourself a target and believe that you’ll prevail and be an Olympic athlete by Christmas, but one of life’s biggest challenges is when the day you begin your new lifestyle arrives and you’re as unprepared as Trump was for his commencement to Presidency. I mean sure, on Monday morning I’m going to run six miles and eat a goat’s cheese salad, but it’s a lot easier said than done when in fact you’ve spent the weekend binging on Pot Noodles and Pringles with a cigarette break at 30 minute intervals.

I’m still as unprepared for adulthood now as I was when I left the utero, and the thought of publicly putting on the running shoes and attempting the first few steps makes me feel slightly terrified, if not a little bit whoozy. But you’ll never learn how to swim if you don’t go in the deep end, right? You’re much better off learning before you inhale a shit load of water and die.

Inspirational sporting metaphors aside, expressing myself through the art of linguistics is one thing I would often pride myself on, (that and my insuppressible ability to laugh hysterically at my own jokes), so for you, dear readers, I am finally going to put on the running shoes and try to persuade you to agree that I am, in fact, almost as good as I think I am. You may not laugh at my jokes (if you do, high five), but I promise that I will try to brighten your days with some crude anecdotes and an awkwardly relatable insight to adulthood, if you'll let me.

In my life I’ve procrastinated almost everything I’ve done, but up to this point it's still allowed me to live. I’ve travelled the world, made lifelong friendships, had vicious fallouts, moved house (more times than your average nomad), fallen in love, had a broken heart, embarrassed myself, impressed myself, hated myself and loved myself – so this should be enough inspiration to create some relatively interesting reads, right?

Here’s hoping.