Hi, Internet!

It’s been a while, eh?

Well, here’s the news: I’ve moved over to Wahay!

Come say hai, won’t you?

Sara x


Hello, gym.

As you may have guessed from my clever title, I’ve joined the gym. Well, rejoined.

The gym is scary, intimidating and sweaty. Much like my PCOS and sleepy thyroid. Over the last year, my final year in college, my symptoms have been such a drain. A daily drain. During third year, I tackled my IBS, headaches and flushes with copious amounts of immodium, motilium, rennies, any painkiller small enough to swallow and a dark bedroom. As the year passed by me, I began to notice the detrimental impact these habits have had on my mental health. Bringing immodium to a festival is smart. Refusing to leave the house without taking it is not.

I take stock of my life all the time. Everyone does. We think about our lives and we make plans. My final year was full of plans, but deep down I knew I physically wasn’t able for them. I took a hard look at my situation and made the most natural decision; it’s time to look after my health. Every time I joined Weight Watchers, the gym, started going for walks or just watched my portion sizes, it was purely for vanity. Yes, I knew my health would improve, but it was never the motivation behind my change. My failed changes.

My sparse blogging has opened my eyes to the amazing community of ‘plus size’/’size inclusive’ women writing about their experiences online. I started blogging out of fashion frustration. It’s difficult to find clothes at my height/size. I wanted to accept my size and be strong enough to say no to the constant pressure to lose weight. That is exactly what has happened. Only the outcome is a little different than I originally expected.

I’ve said it to my parents and friends countless times: I can deal with my size. I have accepted my body. I don’t wake up and think I’m horrible. I have bad days, but they are few and far between. However, I cannot and will not live with these symptoms anymore. I feel unreliable because I am unreliable. I am tired of missing out on life.

My symptoms irritate me daily. I miss out daily. I feel unwell daily. Instead of actually doing something every day to combat them, I took immodium and skipped meals. There will always be this niggling part of me that wants to lose weight, but it was never enough to motivate me. Now, I’m going to the gym and thinking about the headache I’m not going to have later and the upset stomach that won’t be keeping me at home this weekend.

So, today marks half way through week three and I’m sure I’ve lost a few pounds. That’s great. It all helps. The best part is knowing after less than three weeks of exercise I haven’t had a migraine, my flushes have already reduced and my stomach, well, it’s rebelling against the exercise, but we’ll get there.


Saying it’s been a while feels like such an understatement.
Finally finished college, joined the gym and blogging will resume normally very soon.
To the lovely readers who took the time to e-mail me, I’m sorry I haven’t replied to you yet. I will, I promise.


Dear, Ireland.

Dear, Ireland.

Lately, my brain has felt a little like smush. It’s all about the thesis right now, but I’ve been allowing myself to think about what lies ahead as a soon-to-be graduate. Not fun.

You are in my bad books.

I don’t want to emigrate. I don’t want my friends to emigrate. I’m anxious about how the next year will affect my mental health. How will I support myself?

I don’t think anyone knows what’s going to happen in 2011, but I have decided I will be staying here. I’m not leaving my home because of the mistakes another generation made. I want to be part of a generation that provides for the next, and I can’t help if I’m not here.

I think it might be time to stop talking about what I’m against and start finding things I’m for.

I am not leaving you and I’ll do everything I can to fix you.

Love, Sara.

P.S. Don’t think you’re off the hook just because I’m staying.


Mammy bribes (rant alert)

Yesterday, myself and my Mam went over IKEA, Ballymun. My previous IKEA experiences have always left me depressed and wanting to break in to the place at night so I can live there; a pretty normal reaction, I think. Mam seldom lets me drive, which would be fine if she wasn’t so obvious about trying to trap me in her car so she can drive really slow and force ‘the chats’ on me. Normally, I wouldn’t admit this but you’ve got to hand it to her, she’s nifty when she needs to be.

This time the chat was about my weight – surprise, surprise – with college finishing in May and my routine soon to be shattered, Mam thought my new goal could be to lose weight in my free time. (Is that why I’m fat, because I don’t have much free time?!) I didn’t have much of an argument for her; yes it would benefit my health – what can you say to that? At least she’s consistent and always comes armed and ready to bribe me. Conversations like this with my Mam are generally quite funny with a sour after taste. It’s only when I get home I realise how much time and money my parents are willing to throw at me to motivate my weight loss. Yes, I’m relatively happy the way I am but I’m also very good at ignoring things like my diabetes tests last summer and how my thyroid/ovaries affect my organs and my health. If I’m not suffering with hot flashes or headaches, well, I’m a class A pretender.

Do any of you guys feel pressure from parents/family/friends to lose weight for your health?

Anyway, the conversation lead on to one of my 2011 resolutions – learn to sew and make a dress – Mam suggested I would have no need to learn if I lost weight. Absolutely not. I’m still Amazonian in height, proved perfectly well by my black, croc dress from Forever 21 Plus Sizes. (Will post as an outfit soon) It’s so short, the slit on the back lines up with another slit, that’s as subtle as I get. Literally could not wear it without thick leggings or I’d be scaring children everywhere I went. The whole exchange got me thinking about blogging and my desire to sew/be crafty. What would happen if I did lose weight? Say I was a size 14, in fashion terms I’m still plus size, but in the real world I’m not. Could I still write about plus size issues and fashion without feeling like a total hypocrite? I’d be healthier and live longer, but some might view it as turning my back on curves. I know I’d still be curvier than your average bear, but it still worries me. And then there’s my sewing dreams – why aren’t more plus size girls making clothes for themselves instead of depending on stores to produce them for us? I mean, I’m not always happy with high street stock, so my plan is to try make something myself.

I think I mentioned before, I have this innate desire to have my life set in stone and every so often niggling questions like this come along and trip me up. Thinking about making a dress (I have no idea what it really entails so I’m sure my daydreams are hilarious to a seasoned sewer) really gets me excited. In fact, I’m excited about finishing college so I can get started. That can’t be a bad thing, can it?

Shoes you can wear forever.

In 2004, my Mam bought me a pair of UGGs as a ‘well done, you managed to make it through secondary school without totally losing the plot’ present. I wore them in to the ground, which is understandable as they were my first pair of knee boots, period. My calves were chunky even then and I was yet to discover the wide-width-heaven that is Evans. When my UGG’s died, Mam brought me back some EMU boots from America. Practically the same thing, really. Pretty sure I’ve been living in the same EMU style for the last three-four years. I’ve definitely gone through a few pairs thanks to my conveniently placed family in Philadelphia – jokes on you, customs! Actually, hang on – 2004 was not three-four years ago. Wow. Okay. I’m old. *Having a moment….*

Ahem. My current EMU’s get worn everywhere. They’re warm, they’re black and they’re wrecked. If there wasn’t a nice splatter of white paint on them I reckon I wouldn’t be breaking up with them. As much as I love feeling like I strolling on clouds and wearing slippers everywhere, I think it might be time to move on and embrace a new pair of boots. My EMUs have done me proud, lasted for years at a time and I want something that’ll compete in the durability department. I’d also like something a little more tailored and feminine; as comfortable as my EMUs are, they kind of look like a pile of mush around my feet.

Say hello to my alternative: Dr. Martens ‘Darcie’ – Something tells me they may not be as comfortable first try, but I’m prepared to do some serious house walking to wear them in.

What do you guys think?

Happy New Year!

Hello, 2011. These are the things I’m going to do during you:

  • Buy a new bed.
  • Redecorate my bedroom.
  • Decorate and organise my study area. (nerd alert)
  • Apply for 100 million jobs.
  • Redesign my blog and post more often.
  • Be more social.
  • Drive less.
  • Walk more.
  • Drink more green tea.
  • Find a substitute for chicken.
  • Wear more dresses.
  • Go to England to see my family.
  • Live my strobist dreams with some new flashguns.
  • Go for lunch more.
  • Go on a picnic.
  • Do a make up course.
  • Learn to sew and make a dress.
  • Do some web design work for my Dad.
  • Shoot lots of film and put my new scanner to good use.
  • Wear heels…outside.
  • Stop over thinking everything.

A simple list, I think. Happy 2011 everyone. Hope you make it through your lists and have an amazing year x