Thirty days until she was thirty...THIRTY... 30!

What every twenty nine year old with thirty days left until she is no longer in her twenties does... re assess her life.

Re assessing comes in many forms. Sometimes that could be tears, sometimes panic, sometimes excitement and joy... On the other days leading up to this milestone I have been bursting with anticipation. The idea of being a real life grown up has me chomping at the bit. I always felt like the best years of my life were going to be in my thirties... and I think I could be right.

I am in no way shunning my twenties. My twenties involved some life challenges that made me stronger, some awful junk food that made me dribble, some late nights that hold memories for days. My twenties involved me heading to Thailand four times, Mylasia, a few girlie holidays that I hadn't done in my teens, Normandy, Toronto, Niagra Falls, Cinque Tere, Rome, Ischia, Los Angeles, Croatia, drove across Europe and stopped in Holland, Venice, Germay.

I moved from Berks to London, lived with girls, lived with a boy, went through one of those long term break ups, met the love of my life, became an aunty more than once, wrote two pilot shows, acted on stage several times, on screen a few. I ate , I drank, I started drinking stronger coffees than latès, began craving olives, started listening to classical and chill FM and radio 4, started filling in an actual appointment diary and began growing up... slightly.

But as I approach the big THREE O, I become aware of all the non grown up things I am yet to do. Like buy a house, get engaged, have a child (everyone on Facebook is doing it so surely so should I be) I am yet to have a 'propper' job that earns me a regular income that allows me to eat out at fancy restaurants every week and go on random long weekend city breaks. I still waste money buying coffees out instead of saving it for a grown up winter coat, I still forget to take off my make up at night, and sometimes find it really hard to just get up and have a shower some mornings. I still leave things I need to do until the last minute and avoid doing my tax return for a full year until they send me a letter. I still forget to pay bills, have my card declined when buying toothpaste,  I still wear odd socks and miss matching underwear. I still wear knickers with pictures of sheep on and have bras that have gone grey and are no longer white. I still buy crappy costume jewellery and clothing I only wear once, even though I swear to myself I will only by classic pieces from now on.

I'm torn between a night in, with a bottle of red...or a shot and 'two stepping' to some nostalgic music like 'garage' Sometimes I still ball my eyes out to my mum and other times I am so wise and grown up that I surprise myself (this may be rare but it's happened)

So I am nearly 30. I have 30 days... I have reflected. I have obsessed. I have concluded... decluttering is the answer.

So yesterday involved sorting out my wardrobe.  The joy of this wore off within the first twenty minutes when all was spewed across my bed and I wanted to rewind time and leave my wardrobe looking the unorganised mess it was.

But I persevered...

I put everything I owned in piles. Skirts, trousers, t shirts etc... I then picked, what for me were my essential items. Dark blue skinny jeans, boyfriend jeans, grey T's,  blazer, black cami, white shirt, and hung those up. I kept adding with items that I wear alot, or that come in useful for certain events like, weddings, people's 30ths,  baby showers.

What I had left on the bed I divided into ebay/charity shops/bin piles. Then with what I had left after that I had to decide if I had worn it in the last year. If not... eBay/charity pile it went. If I had, but not alot, I added it to a section of wardrobe where I would decide in 2 months if I went to wear it at all. If not... it was gonna be a gonner.

10 hrs later, all e bay pics taken, piled and wrapped in tissue, stored away, eBay items ready to go when sold. Charity bag stuff neatly folded and other rubbish thrown in a bag.

The result... I feel decluttered, relaxed, sophisticayed and grown up.

Below are pictures of what I envisaged before I started this decluttering journey.

My room does not look like this below...

but come on...

I'm not 30 yet.

To get healthy (inside and out)

Its the month before Christmas... its that time between summer cocktails and work party canapes. Generally November is the month that we all quit drinking and we eat chicken and broccoli ready for the Christmas over indulgence that we know comes our way as soon as the second week of December hits.

The start of this year, as the pounds piled on after last years yorkshire puddings and cheese boards galore, I decided that 2014 was going to be the year that I got my body (inside and out) into the best shape it can be, for me. I have talked about 'feeling fat' in a post before, and the food issues that relate to our body image. I hold my hands up and admit that 'yup... I am in a large handful of people that find being kind to my body difficult.

When I was younger I was quite chunky. I looked a little like the honey monster. (I was cute) I was larger than my class mates. Funnily enough, I didn't really notice. I was young, no one really cared. Least of all me. Thats what I remembered anyway. But as this journey this year continues I have been thinking about the psychology behind my eating habits and my thought process's behind my body image perceptions.

I suddenly remembered going into Tammy Girl, aged ten, and being upset because I wanted to buy denim shorts and crop tops like my class mates. I put them on and felt horrible for a split second. Jump forward four years and I was around the pool in Greece and there was a group of sixteen year old girls. There was this one particular girl who wore a teeny black thong bikini and I remember that same feeling as being in Tammy Girl, and all I could think was 'I want to be teeny like her' These thoughts when I was younger, came every so often. I can recall those times and count them on one hand...

Until I was a little bit older and it became a habit for me to 'not feel comfortable in my own skin.' Thats the only way i can describe it. Since puberty I have never been overweight. I headed to secondary school, without a concern in the world about my weight or how I looked. But the years went by, my friends all wore hipster jeans from Miss Sixty, jeans that wouldn't fit me the same and through out those years my weight became a number I would focus on. In the three months leading to my 16th birthday I decided to loose the chub I felt I had put on since drinking Bacardi Breezers on the common with all our friends (friends that didn't put on any chub). I stopped drinking at weekends and instead of pizza with baked beans on and crisps and chocolate for lunch, I would have a sandwich and be done with it. My dinners would consist of a healthy pasta dish, and I lost weight. (It was as easy as that when we were young) On my 16th birthday I had lost a stone and I felt amazing. I looked like my natural weight.(whatever that meant) Basically, I felt comfortable in my own skin.

From this exact moment on, my life was going to be a constant yo yo. I would alternate a stone at a time. I would spend 6 months loosing a stone, be at my comfortable weight for two months and then the weight would creep back on. I would stay there for a while. Eating crisps for breakfast and Macdonalds twice a week until I felt too sluggish and too horrible to continue and then the cycle would begin again. This went on for the next thirteen years. And it pains me to admit that this would consume so much of my energy. That I would be forever in a battle with myself over such a (ridiculous) notion.

Food for me is joyful. It means happiness and indulgence. It means family time or meet ups with friends. Food signifies togetherness and contentment. So, to get comfortable in my own skin, I felt I had to restrict food, which meant I was missing out on the joy and the togetherness. 'Dieting' as I used to call it, always ended up being such a depressing time for me. So I associated eating healthy with being miserable.

After thirteen years of this mental battle with myself, I came to the conclusion that life was too short. It was too short to battle all of the time. To constantly be feeling guilt for a burger I ate or the exercise I didn't do. It was too short to only eat kale and wallow in my low calorie filled day. Life was too short for all the crappy perceptions that came with eating too much, not eating enough, not fitting into my fav dress or trying to always fit into that one particular dress, or fitting into it for one week only and then spending months feeling horrific because I no longer fitted into it.

I started to really ask myself what it is that I wanted. Was it the tight petite little body that fitted into denim shorts and a crop top? Was it that I wanted to eat as much as Sally, who could eat a bacon sarnie, a Big Mac and a full on roast with all the trimming, have cheesecake twice a day and not put on weight? Did I just want to go a day, one single day without thinking about my body or food intake. I wanted it all.The stark realisation was that, one, I would have to not only exercise my body, but exercise my mind as well, if I wanted to feel comfy in shorts and a crop top and two, that a diet of roasts and bacon sarnies everyday may kill me. But, were all possible. YES. My dad always says:

'There is always a solution to everything, you just might not like that solution'

But the solution IS NOT crash dieting. It is not starving yourself one minute and binging the next. It is not eating no more than 1200 calories, it is not deciding to only wear baggy clothes to hide your body. The solution was consistency. Its the one thing that has changed the thirteen years of bad habits. I consistently started being kind to my body. That meant, telling myself nice things when I looked in the mirror. That meant not stuffing junk down my throat because I would panic the food would run out. That meant getting my metabolic rate faster, my energy up, my routine in tact. It also meant eating Haagen Daz if I desired it. Having a starter if I felt like it. Being consistently kind to my body meant a mixture of things. Exercise being at the forefront. Exercising my thought patterns and my perceptions were the hardest challenge of them all. Squats, Pah... I got those down, but working out my food issues and working on changing those thoughts, that was the hardest and still is the hardest things I have had to do on this journey.

I got out of bed in January 2014 and thought, I am not going to do this yoyoing milarky anymore, I am going to make exercise a part of my life, the same way brushing my teeth is, and I am going to consistently eat well. Because as I approach the dirty thirties, I realise, life is too too short. To be unhealthy. In mind body and soul. So after a lot of trial and error of what works for me, I found a 30 minute exercise regime that fitted into my day, anywhere, any-time, and I started to eat more fresh whole foods, in a bid to cut the processed junk out. I made a promise to not cut out any food groups along the way. To know that anything was and is available for me to eat. And I promised to not starve or binge again.

I am not perfect, far from it. I still have days where I don't want to work out. Or days where I think I just want to eat pizza and Haribo all day. There are days I slip and days I think horrible thoughts about my body. I am human. I am a woman, which means once a month the whole world seems odd. But, each day I continue to try at least to not be so hard on myself about these days above. 

Ten months later... here I am. Still on my journey and still practising the balance. That's what it is. It doesn't just become easy to have a balanced lifestyle if that isn't what you are used to. Its not something that just happened to me one day. It was one day at a time, it still is. I focus on the now. I don't beat myself up for the burger I had yesterday and I don't worry about the cake I might have later. In every moment I make a choice as it comes. But I have created a habit.

So as November rolls on... why not create habits for yourself. Go check out amandamandy.com where myself and two lovely ladies have put together a November challenge to try and help you get into a routine. Go have a read. I'm finding it really helpful too.

As Kayla Itsines says... (a Personal trainer I admire) "It doesn't get easier, you just get stronger"

Back from LA...

Packed, pressies bought, last audition done, flat tire fixed, glass of wine had, goodbyes said and it's off to LAX, (one of the worst airports ever) checked in, bags surprisingly within weight and eleven hours later we are back on British soil.

Ahhhh the joys. 

After spending a month living in a constant state of positivity, productivity and joy, it's easy to assume that that carries on. That TFL wouldn't make me want to throw a tantrum and the overcast sky would not make me feel like crying. Because you totally believe that you are now this zenned out, positive ray of sunshine that does not freak out at the mere thought of all the things on her to do list.

I pretty much know exactly what I want to do with my life, know how I could make good money doing what I love and that living in the present is the only way to 'be' and funnily enough... thinking all of these above is completely and utterly fees able when the sun is out, your not having to do a 9-5 job and you're stress for the day is 'to valet or not to valet' outside the cafe that your about to eat in. Yes being 'that person' is easy in LA.

Bringing it back to the real world is a different story. The real world means wearing tights,  topping up your oyster, registering at temp agencies, paying rent, and resisting the urge to watch shite TV like x factor. The real world consists of finding time, running out of time and needing more time.

Life as I knew it in LA seems to have diffused into the ether and as I clutch at any positive thought I can, which seems impossible when the mere fact that the rent is due in three days and I need to do four loads of washing, the dentist has told me I need so many fillings I could go to Mexico with the money (twice), the bathroom needs cleaning and I guess the dilemma is, how to keep hold of those positive thoughts whilst real life continues to happen. Because real life has a way of just doing that... It happens. And whilst I'm trying to get back to the easy, breezy light hearted, go with the flow self that I was a few weeks ago across the pond, I'm missing life and all the little awesome things that happen along the way. Of course LA life is a love affair. It's hot, fast paced and just completely new and exciting, but it's an experience that has been and gone, for now. And instead of wishing I were back there, I should really start appreciating real life whilst it persists. And it does persist.

My aim this week-To experience all the glorious things in real life the way I did in LA. 

So... I had noted, that whilst I would walk around LA I would see cute little cafe/bars where people would eat cheese and brownies and chutneys, there were plant shops and gift stores full of odd looking, quirky cactus's that I had no use for, but knew I wanted at least five, and I would get over excited at the wondrous things I could go in and smell or take pictures of. I would literally sit in these coffee shops and breath in deeply and taste every atom of coffee that I drank (despite not loving coffee as much as I am sure I pretend to) Every moment I would savour... enjoy and... take in. Then today I was wondering around London Bridge and I walked into Borough Market and I spotted a cute coffee shop where people sat outside eating Camembert with a French loaf, and a plant stall with gorgeous plants that would make my small flat look like a greenhouse and gift shops that were selling boutiquey expensive items that I would love to buy (that I cannot afford) and I suddenly realised... If I look at real life with different eyes, from a whole new perspective, there are so many awesome, cute, pretty places and things right in front of me. All the things I appreciated in LA, I have right here under my nose in my normal, mundane everyday world. And I guess that's the point. Normal mundane everyday life is just as exciting and interesting and amazing an experience as LA was. 

Just with less sun!

if she 'felt' FAT...

I look in the mirror during my trip in LA... I'm two Dodger game hot dogs down, one Cheesecake Factory cheesecake in, many cocktails, a greasy Fatburger, a tub of Salted Caramel Ben and Jerrys  and a few frappacinos devoured and I stand in front of the mirror and...

Oh no she diaaaant just think the F word!!!

FAT!!!

Shit!!! I have fat thighs, my muffin top looks more muffiiny and my belly looks like it could be carrying a 4 month old child... I rationalise... that I am the same size as yesterday and yesterday I felt slim! But I FEEL fat. Does anyone know what I mean? I am utterly HUGE and noone in their right mind would want to even look at me. Don't look at me people...

THIS THOUGHT PROCESS IS UTTER BOLLOCKS. And in reality, this is not about the size you are. FAT, for me, is not a size, it is a feeling. People smaller than myself 'feel' fat and despite my look of horror when my size 8 friend says she hates how large her thighs are, I get it. She knows she isn't fat, as do I, we also both know, being larger is not a sin. I look at people larger than myself and adore their bods, want their bods, admire their bods and sometimes, don't even notice their bods. Who cares. Truly, when someone is beaming and happy and has an amazing energy, who really notices what bloody size they are. Which is why for me, I understand all these crazy thoughts to be about my 'feelings' and not my actual size. I know some people will read this and yawn. Want me to 'shut the front door' about my 'feeling tubby' and that's OK. That is the whole point of my blog post. I am not against being larger. Being physically larger will not change my worth and it will not destroy my world. I have been larger and could easily get larger. There is nothing wrong with being larger. The word fat should not exist. Noone IS fat. We may 'have' fat and 'feel' fat but size does not make us who we are. In reality. In our heads, well that is a whole other ball game. It has taken me a long time to get with the programme regarding the reality of all of this. I was a chubby, podgey child. My relationship with food and the image in the mirror were warped, and it has taken a very long time to understand and also get over my crap. And yes, after a few indulgences and a few hormones later, the irrational, insane thoughts creep back in occasionally. I am writing this because you do not have to be over weight or under weight to have a bad relationship with your body or the food you eat. That is what this is about.

As I head into the world of personal training and I am about to take other peoples goals and wishes and thoughts into my own hands regarding their own body. The only body that they have. The one that they have been looking in the mirror at, for the whole of their lives. The one body that they have scrutinised and mentally bashed, and possibly been ashamed of, embarrassed of. That one body that wore their wedding dress, bathed in that bikini when they met the love of their life, gave birth to their first child, trained for 6 months before doing the marathon, fed crap food to, fed good food to, fatty food, no food, the same body that they have decided that they want to change, adapt, make better, improve, tone, firm, lean up... the same body that they want to see looking back at them and for them to be proud of... 

I have had to ask myself the question, what is it that we want? What body is it that we are aiming for, what are we chasing? Why are we limiting our calories, cutting the carbs, upping the protein, drinking hideous flavoured drinks, working out six times a week? Why are we trying that funky keep fit class or faddy weight lifting regime? Why are we sending ourselves insane? And the answer that I come up with when I ask why I have gone through all that craziness above, is because I want to FEEL good. Yes that can coincide with looking great too, but my perception of 'looking great' changes from day to day, month to month, and essentially if I FEEL slim, I usually think I LOOK slim. 

Someone ages ago asked me the question, if I could be larger than I am now, but FEEL great about my body and had the perception that my body was in the place I wanted it to be; or I could have the body I thought I wanted, (you know the one, the Victoria Secret model bod) but I would still FEEL fat, and crappy and down about my body... which one would I choose? 

And honestly, the answer I gave back then, was the ugly truth, the latter.

I went to see a lecturer last night in LA, Jason Glass. He spoke about us as humans, always wanting something in 'form' Wanting a certain amount of money, a certain acting job, a particular number on the scale. He talked of how sometimes, we get the thing we want, in 'form' and it actually doesn't feel as good as we had imagined or hoped or dreamed. He says this is because what we really want is the 'essence' of what that form brings. We want the time and freedom that the form of money can buy, we want the validation perhaps, as well as the excitement of a new job, a new character, a new experience to have, we want the feeling we feel when we step on the scale and see the number we have always been searching for... We want the 'feeling' the 'essence' of these things that often do not actually come from receiving the 'form' of it, or it certainly does not last forever, the feeling nor  literally having those things in form.  He mentions, instead of working towards the actuality of 'getting' these things, that we have all the incite and possibility to have the essence of all the above, already in us. Imagine if one meant we got the other. Imagine if we started feeling great, loving our bods (muffin top and all) What if we looked in the mirror and liked what we saw already and as a result, we nourished it, looked after it, because, well, that just makes sense. I love a pinterest quote, and one sticks in mind that says 'Love yourself enough to live a healthy life' In feeling good about our large, oversized ear lobes and our cellulitey elbows, perhaps we will finally get the bod we have always wanted.

Now I know a lot of this sounds like mumbo jumbo to some. That's OK. All I know is that as I embark on helping people change their bodies, I'd like to firstly start with the thoughts about their bodies, their attitude to food and exercise, because as Brene Brown would say 'There is no quick fix 'how to', you cannot make the 'how tos' work without talking about the things that 'get in the way.' For me, the 'things that get in the way of me eating healthy consistently or of me getting the results I want, is that I eat five cakes to rebel against the people that say things like 'Oooo aren't you on a diet?' Or I stuff my face with an extra large popcorn (to myself) because I don't want people to think I care too much about my body. God forbid, anyone could know that I actually want a fit healthy body, that would be shameful. I eat double cream out of the tub with a spoon to make people laugh so that people don't think I take eating or not eating too seriously, because we all know what we think of people that take this stuff seriously... 'Bore off, there is more to life than worrying about what you eat or don't eat' And yup, there really is, but for some, these thoughts are just ingrained in us, and we don't want them to be, so we think going to the gym everyday and eating nothing, will take those thoughts away, when in fact, they just magnify them tenfold. So lets talk about the 'things that get in the way' and perhaps then, and only then, can we attempt to get that Victoria Secrets bod...

Oh wait... that is not the point? shit!!!

Reflecting in LA...

So I've been in LA for over two weeks now and I have felt days where I have been completely overwhelmed.

I can't tell whether this is positive or negative. I guess they are both. 

People are doers here. They do. They do not procrastinate, they do not talk about doing it, they do not dream about it... they do, they just get on with it. Today that intimidates me. Yesterday it inspired me. I guess that's because I'm human.

The biggest comparison to home is the fact that people praise hard work here. People like to have lists of things to do and try and people here give a massive high five to that. It's not embarrassing or too try hard or too needy to want something so bad that you give your all to it. It's not shameful to try and fail and try again to fail ten more times, to try again. Californians seem to love that. People here do not seem intimidated by your dreams or threatened by your desire for more. For more money, for more ambition, for more drive, for more shit to do...whatever more it is you want, people will encourage it and praise it and push you to do it.

Back home I've found that people, on a general basis, do not have this same mentality. Working hard does not seem as encouraged or championed as say the accidental success story. At home we love an underdog. The guy that won the lottery the first time he played it, or the middle aged woman that wrote a blog and it just so happened that the CEO of penguin publications read it loved it and commissioned her for a three book deal. We all love the story that JK Rowlings Harry P sat on her book shelf for years and then just one day out of the blue her friend says to her after taking a glimpse that she should get it published. And oh low and behold just like that an assistant read it and forced her boss to take notice. And the rest is history.... No one cares or wants to think about how much actual work and pushing she really went through to get Harry P noticed. It's cringey to think how hard some people try. I know it is because I cringe. I cringe at myself. It always brings me to that same old question...'What am I trying for, sacrificing for, working hard for?' And the scariest question, 'Does it pay off?' Back home I think a lot of people might say no, in LA without a doubt the answer is 'yes, yes of course it does.' 

I guess I used to believe that the magic was toworkhard, but not need an end result so bad that you might die if you don't achieve it. Work hard but pretend you don't want to reep the rewards. Work hard but don't be disappointed when nothing comes of it? Or is the magic in wanting it, seeing it, believing it and then working for it and not stopping till you get it because why the hell would I stop? 

I get same old question time and time again... 'When will you give up?' Which makes you want scream in saids persons face for a multiple of reasons... a) You are never going to give up... When are you going to give up your boring 9-5 job that you hate so much because the boss is a douch and he overworks you? B) its frustrating that people think it is just a hobbie C) because it niggles away at a spot of fear where sometimes, just sometimes you think, maybe you should become a yoga teacher, knit owls or move to Thailand (refer to 2 blogs back) Because along the way you might realise what you thought you wanted isn't what you really want and what you thought you were working for ends up leading you to something else entirely. But at least if you try and you work hard, your chances of achieving great things are far hire than if you just bought a lottery ticket and sat watching reruns of Friends every night. 

The one thing I know for sure, when people add that other really insightful joyful question, whats your dream? Your goal? Eastenders? I know for sure the one thing I am looking for is time. Christian Bale was once asked what he was grateful for now he had all of the monies, and he replied time. Money can buy you time. Time to take a year out, time to learn another language, time to reflect, time to just 'be' and I know for a fact that's the aim, that's the end goal. Yes I like to act, and yes I like to play different people and tell stories and get on stage and get the buzz, and watch the end production and say 'Yehhhh we did that' but I am not shy to admit that I want to reep the benefits of that. The ability to not have to work 8 hours a day to just pay the rent, leaving me no time to do said story telling, production watching, or buzzing on stage. Having to earn money slogging away to just 'survive' does not tickle my fancies, and yes, some people may say 'Who do you think you are? We have to go to work and do a job we don't like that much, to retire at 65 if we are lucky and then go forth and experience LIFE'  once we have retired, but the point I think is, you don't have to. We do not have to stay molly coddled by the 'THIS IS WHAT WE ARE MEANT TO DO' The thought process that that, is the only option we have. And of course some people are more than content with that choice, and life and are fully content with that, but if your not, if there is something you want to pursue so you can have more time, early retirement, better quality of life (because noone 'wants' to shop in Iceland) Then it's OK to work hard to get it. Here in LA, that is welcomed, and at home, I feel that is shunned. 

It's not as easy as saying 'Wahoo I want to be a Spice girl' you can't just give up your job and start your pop career the next day. Rent has to be paid somehow, but this is stuff we can be doing, progressing, working on, in between the hours of hell on earth temping. That 30 minutes I am on the bus scrolling through Instagram I could be writing to casting directors; organising my show reel edit; choosing head shots;  writing a scene. There is ways to utilise dead time, and it isn't with pinning loads of brides dresses onto a board, for a wedding that I am not planning yet. (Obviously I so don't do that) -_-

Here is a clip that literally changed my life that I watched a few months a go. A good friend sent it to me and the very next day I booked my flight to LA. Shonda Rhimes is my WCW... she Is smart and funny and wise and a little intimidating, and I love her. This whole speech rings true to what I have just been saying and what I feel differs in LA to home...

Stop dreaming, start doing!

with Vulnerability...

In class the other day, we were asked to work on 'vulnerability' ahhhhh vulnerability, fabulous. *insert straight face emoticon here.

I began to fret, my palms went clammy, my armpits started sweating profusely and as I watched other people in class go up, and 'be vulnerable' I panicked. I had no heart. I was emotionless. No tears came, I just sat and watched, numb and empty. My brain fogged over. Who could I sit and talk to and be honest with and what could I get vulnerable about? Because that was all he was asking us to do. Substitute a person from class, for someone you want to talk to and be honest with, and let yourself get vulnerable.

OK so here is the deal... In 'real life' 'real time' I get vulnerable over a jelly bean, I can cry because the guy serving me coffee was mean, or because my pink socks turned my grey undies even greyer. I cry when my boyfriend eats the last of my crisps or when there is a dog that looks sad sitting outside of the super market... and I was under the impression I couldn't substitute one of the class members for a dog. I'm emotional, I am vulnerable. I wear my heart on my sleeve and feel fragile at the best of times. What was even more frustrating was I am hormonal (its that time of the month) yet I couldn't shed a sad tear or connect with what people were saying. Because my brain was to busy going 1000 miles per hour dealing with all my thoughts.

I sat for at least two hours wondering who I could talk to... My Dad? Daddy issues? Nope that didn't feel right, I couldn't connect with that. My ex who cheated on me? Nope, Over it. My mum, talk to my mum about my worry and concern for her happiness? That felt better, that felt right, but going over the things I would say just didn't make me feel sad. There was concern, and of course some vulnerability, but it was like I was made of led.

I know what makes me sad deep deep down. I know what frustrates me, upsets me and what makes me feel screaming and throwing a tantrum.

Myself. 

I couldn't possibly talk to myself could I? Wouldnt everyone think I was narcissistic? What was crazy was, I was sitting there feeling everything the teacher was asking us to feel. I had felt vulnerable from the second I had walked into class. Vulnerability runs through my veins. What stops it from pouring all over the floor, what holds the vulnerability in? For me, I guess it is trust, or lack of. With my mum or my closest friends I feel no ways about saying 'I feel lost' or 'I feel dislikeable' I delve into those feelings head first and verbally projectile vomit them all over the place. But to admit to a room full or pears, people who you think, want you to be confident and self assured. People who you are sure will judge you for your needyness to be liked, or to impress. Because we all know its not cool to care if people like you right? We are meant to be these humans with assurance up to our eyeballs. (not too much or that is threatening) but just enough for people to 'not' think that you NEED friends or NEED to be accepted. Needyness is repelling. I know this. I feel it, breathe it and lecture that shiz all day everyday... but deep down, all I kept thinking through the whole of class is... 'I hope these people don't think I am pretentious' 'I hope they don't think I am boring' 'I hope they don't judge me and want me to fail' 'I hope they don't sit there praying they don't get put in my group' 'I hope they think I deserve to be there as much as them' and whilst I am sitting there feeling vulnerable, trying to somehow find vulnerability and not knowing where to look, I am torn between who I am and who I want to be, against who I am not, and who I want people to think I am... and in all of that I know this is all insanity.

I have read many a self help book. I get what they say about, being in the moment, being present, not needing peoples validation. I hear Echart Tolle and Marianne Williamson loud and clear. I preach this stuff all day long. Because I know its true. I know the essence of who I am, and being 'me' is all I can be. The answer is truly in being comfortable with who you are, and deep down, I believe that accepting who I am, and being OK with that, is what people will ultimately like. I like people who are open and real. Its people that do the most covering up that I cant hack, despite having compassion and knowing where the ego crap comes from, because I have those insecurities too.

I came out to LA feeling rather confident in who I am. I have done a lot of soul searching over the last few years. I know peoples validation means nothing, I know that I don't need anyone's approval, I know that not everyone will like me, and often I know that will be because of an insecurity in them and not a default in me. I know that when I don't like someone it is usually best to look at myself and see what it is in me that I see in them. I know that only the universe (substitute with God or Love or another universal word for something so great you cannot define) knows the truth. And at the end of the day that is all that matters. I know that not everyone will think I am a good actress, or that I am funny, or interesting and that it is all subjective and as I approach thirty I felt like I was finally coming to terms with that...

Then you get on a plane and fly for 11 hours, move into a place with strangers, spend time with a best friend completely out of context to your relationship and are thrown by how different you actually are, and with those differences come uncertainty, you get given a manual car (when you wanted an automatic) drive for hours on the other side of the road, have you Sat Nav break and your phone die, you get lost and you join a class of strangers who all seem so intimidatingly good, and close and like family and you join the group and you go on stage and you cant seem to show case your personality because you have your guard up, a sensor on. Dont show them who you really are in case they dont like that version. instead you show them a mediocre, safe version of yourself and you step off stage and kick yourself as you go through all the things you could have said, should have said and you pray that next time you go up you will be 'you' and all of that soul searching and all of those books full of wisdom disappear and you become that effing 14 year old again.

You sit between this conundrum of knowing what makes sense, knowing who you are, being proud of who you have grown up to be. Your happy as larry at the self discovery and the courage you have had to come out and try new things. You are ecstatic to be included in such a group of talent and proud to be involved...

Against the extremity of feeling increasingly not good enough to be in class, to be in LA, to be chasing such a career. And then the knowing that all of that fear is just my Ego playing games with me. My Ego trying to make me believe those thoughts. Because I know I am enough. Wholeheartedly. Brene Brown would say. The aim is to lie in bed and say yes I am imperfect and afraid, but that doesn't change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging. 

So how do you fight these demons? The ones that eat you up and make you think your crazy. The ones that make you talk way too much, divulge too much or say nothing at all, sit there quietly just smiling at everyone. The ones that make you ingratiate and eager to please or the ones that make you act all care free and nonchalant. The ones that make you stay seated and not to go up and perform 'vulnerability'

The only answer I think I have discovered is to be aware of those dark places and you call them out, you diminish the very thing your scared of. How can your Ego win if you accept it. What power does it have if you see it and you do your thing anyway?

All that kept me from going up was the voices that said, 'your not emotional enough, your not connected enough, your not free enough, your not nice enough, your not trained enough or smart enough or honest enough. Your not enough. And all I was asked to do was go up and share that. Share what I felt I was lacking. Love for myself. As our teacher said, all vulnerability is, is Love. It stems from love. And ultimately my biggest fear was that I didn't love myself enough to bare my soul to an audience of strangers who had bared their soul to me.

So next weeks class is going to be the time I don't let my Ego get the better of me. The time I stop worrying about what other people think and trusting that just being open and honest is good enough.

Brene Brown says to Dare greatly... and that is what I shall do. Eeeeeek!

As an actor... (the emotional roller coaster)

It is apparent I am no longer a spring chicken anymore, which, as an actor, brings up this slight panic, slight carefree 'over it' kind of mentality. It's hard for anyone chasing such a extremely difficult dream... You go through such emotions. When you start out you have all the enthusiasm in the world. The industry is yours if you want it, anything seems possible. Your enthusiasm books you jobs and you think life could really be sweet. Things slow down a bit as the ten jobs out of eleven that you didn't get, start playing on your mind and you lose some confidence. You try your hardest to have a thick skin and not take anything personally... 'Was that take so horrendous that the casting director laughed as I walked out? Was I too fat to play the leads sister? Did I speak too mumbly, or not common enough? Was I tall enough, brown enough, skinny enough, interesting enough, plain enough... Was I enough? And you kick yourself for letting it get to you because you know for a fact, most of the time it's just because you just 'weren't right.' But you wait for the phone to ring even though you know a watched kettle will never boil, you play mind games with yourself and tell yourself 'I didn't even want the part anyways. You wanted to be free to audition for the dream job not slug away night after night for equity minimum in a part that quite frankly your not right for anyways... When really, of course you want that job. You always, always WANT the job. You want the credit, the experience, the contacts and as much as you tell yourself not to, you want the validation. 

Yeh yeh wouldn't it be great if we were all those actors that went into the room so nonchalant you would think they were just there to order pizza. The ones that don't learn their lines and sit back in the chair, relaxed, with no need to ingratiate themselves or appease anybody. They grunt answers back at the casting director and tells them he's not worked in a year because, well, he just wasn't 'feeling it' and we all think perhaps we could be that guy... So we pretend, in the lead up to the casting, we try not to learn the lines, we say things in the mirror like 'They want me to get the job, they need me, I am what they need for the job' and you try so hard to believe your little beaming face that you very nearly have a bolt of excitement. 'I am, in control of my destiny, life is good, this is just great to be auditioning'... 

Wait, is that excitement or do I need a poo from all the nerves.

You go in, you read, you did good. No wait, don't think you did good because whenever you think you did, you don't hear from them. So, without being negative, you try as positively as possible, to tell the universe that you really do not mind if you book this job or not. You SAY that, if not this one, the next will be something better. But our intention isn't there. Inside you're intention says, I need this job to take me out of this shitty existence of working for someone else and just about paying my rent. 

The phone doesn't ring for days and when it does and it's private number... Private number? Shit it's my agent, I booked the job, no no, tell yourself you have not booked the job, no no that's negative, think nothing, think NO thoughts, meditate, ummmmmmmmm... 

'Hello.' Easy breezy cool cat... 
'Hi I'm just calling from voderfone...' 

Aggggjhhhhhhhh fuck you Vodafone. I don't even have a contract with you... Hang up. You try not to cry from your own desperateness. You turn your phone on silent because you don't want to be listening for the call, but then you just keep looking at it angry when there's no action. You sometimes finally forget the call your waiting for. And on those gleeful moments life is bliss again. Normal. You go to class, see friends, talk for hours about how you love acting and want to immerse yourself in the world and when your not looking or waiting or thinking, the phone rings and you got a recall and life is so fabulously joyful... for thirty minutes and then the process starts all over again.

This insanity may not happen to every actor, it may not be everyones journey, but it was mine. I wholeheartidly admit, this was my mindset for a very long time... 

You have some fab spells of work and then some not so fab spells. Along the way you book a life changing lead only to be recast at the last minute because you, funnily enough (refer back to  second paragraph) weren't brown enough, young enough, funny enough... All of the above. Your devastated. Your life is over, you lose all confidence, any that you had left and you decide your going to become a life coach, or make knitted owls for a living, maybe you'll pack it all up and head to Thailand for a year or two. Maybe you will write a novel or become a yoga teacher. You will take yourself out of this rejection ridden world and just take care of you. You'll meditate, read self help books, focus on something worthwhile, the UN maybe.... Drop the dream of being Jolie or Watson and just settle with being a UN Joe Blogs with no starry eyed credentials. Perhaps you decide your old now, maybe you will get married and have kids and settle and perhaps... Wait, private number...

You have an audition for a lead for a series for a popular show... Life changing, and you no longer want kids, marriage (you will do that once you have this life changing job), Screw yoga, Thailand, owls, Joe blogs job at the UN... You want this job and you decide that that is OK. You drop the desperation because you have been at rock bottom. You've had no work for years. You survived. Life moved on and you did not keel over. You still had focus and purpose and you sort of strangely enough found yourself through all the neediness and despair. You feel free from it all. You still want it but you don't need it anymore and you think for a split second that perhaps you are now that cool nonchalant kid that doesn't mind if they book the job or not, what's meant to be is meant to be... Right? You have beaten the system, your obstacle, yourself. Ulrica moment in full force.

And then you're in the room and the casting directors are laughing and talking and you're in there for at least fifteen minutes, and you feel... This is possibly one of those moments. You're gleeful. The room likes what you did with the scene. The director gives you notes and you take them well. They nod and smile and you own it, your confident, your in it... Your present. You shake there hands and for another minute, perhaps minute and a half, you're on cloud nine... You say your goodbyes. You get up walk towards the door, close the door... You can't exactly remember what you said in there, or if it was authentic and truthful? You begin replaying the last fifteen minutes over and over and...

You walk into the waiting room and...'oh shit, there's Sally Meekings. The one that books everything...

Well great, thanks universe thank you very much. 

In Lala Land...

The time finally came, LA bound, all packed up, byes said, hugs and kisses galore. Two films, two gluten free plane meals, one four hour nap, five wees and one chapter of a new book down and we were there, in 30 degree heat, birks and fedora hats at the ready.

We had been waiting for this day for such a while, yet had had no time to think about it or even conceive what was happening as we had been so busy in the lead up... and here it was. Los Angeles in all it's glory.

First stop The Mondrian.

Now Bobbie would obviously not have a hair out of place, on her head let alone anywhere else, She would have waxed, shaved, bleached and all would be in order. Her skin would glow with the oily sun cream, her tan lines would be even, if there at all. Knowing Bobbie she would be all over one colour, somehow, without sunbathing naked. Her hair in a top not looking chic not pineapple and her costume would be simply plain, yet exactly the right shape for her perfect bod.

Then there was myself... stubbly pitts, frizzy pineaple hair, 3 different tan marks from the three ill fitted costumes, skin like clay from the 30 factor suncream that won't rub in and basically, I looked a dam right mess. But it's OK... it's just a pool for christ sake. Noone cares. Noone but myself.  And that is the biggest challenge of all.

I'm going to give a break down of my time in LA. The good the bad and the Ugly. Blogs are always filled with how great people's lives are. And through the eyes of Facebook and instagram they are. Of course, pretty and beautiful and full of hope. That's how life should be. The positive in all of it. But... and this is not a negative... but then there is real life. 

Yes I am in LA, yes it's sunny, opportunity is rife, there is cocktails and palm trees, beaches, shops galore, quaint coffee shops and as many veg juice shops as there are Starbucks (I've been in starbucks way more) life out here is insanely lovely, and I am grateful. But there wouldn't be anything worth reading if I really only gave you the good bits... 

I won't post crappy pics of palm trees galore, well, not all of the time, but I will post my daily pics exciting or not and I will write how I am feeling day to day. Mainly to document my time because there are only so many memories and feelings of memories or memories of feelings you can store.. so this is my time in LA... my journey in blog format. 

On a night out with the gals...

Gals being our mum, aunty and Dads girlfriend. Gone are the Fridays drinking vodka until 12 am and heading out in short shorts and gold hoops to the club with the dirty floor. I mean... as we approach 30 that sort of behaviour only seems acceptable once every few months. The days are here when dinner in a cute little French bistro replaces 4am trips to the 24hr MacDonalds. Effing ek... when did we get old.

Chez Elles on Brick lane is the perfect place to dine. The owners/waitresses are friendly, helpful, approachable. They remember my dad's girlfriend and make familiar conversation. They served us bread whilst we waited for our aunty and recommended olives until she arrived... and of course, we obliged.

The menu was hard to chose from as there were too many yummy dishes. We went with a goats cheese salad to start and I have never had goats cheese like it. Soft, and creamy and smooth. For mains we indulged in a beautiful rump steak and fries with bone marrow. Something we had not tried before. Everything melted in our mouths. We are drooling as we type. For dessert we all shared, but I had most of the the winner pudding. Pistachio crème brulee... The memory still resides on our taste buds. Mmmmm.

If you ever decide to head to Brick lane for a quiet civilised evening, head here. The atmosphere, the cocktails,  the decor makes for a beautiful, classy, if not very mature evening. We giggled and laughed long into the night.

Kimono from H&M

Hat from Primark

With a weekend back home...

We all know it will involve food. Food, family and friends.

We spent the weekend back where we grew up and had quality time with some of the people that mean most to us. The sun was out which made for a day in the park, even if we were silly enough to go 'black on black... on black' Ahhh well, you can't go wrong with black. There was cheesecake, mocktails and sun...

After a day writing in the park with the gorgeous mum it was time to get dolled up and head for a girlie night out at Rock Salt in Ascot. They treated us lovely and made us custom mocktails. We live a balanced lifestyle, which meant french fries and a sundae were on the menu to indulge in. They were truly worth it. We then went back to our friends and talked about things that would make boys cry... i shall not share, but girls... I'm sure you can imagine.

 Dress from H&M

 Greek yoghurt, frozen banana, agave mousse

 #ottd Sponsored by Primark

 Raspberry Mocktails at Rock Salt Ascot

 Zara heels on the left

Lemon cheesecake from Bray marina