A Brief Tale of Self-Loathing

Look at you, with your fat belly overhanging, with your muffin top testament to your pathetic ill-discipline. Your face, without angle or line, a wasteful ball of dough with thumb-hole eyes, forlorn at what they see in the mirror, and resignedly accepting you’re the architect of this. This. This! I point now at your stomach, face, dismissively, eyes flashing about with disgust. And in yourself, maybe you don’t care so much. You’ve sauntered in and out of this state with equal vigour from late teens. But your partner does care. Not in a nice way. Not in a supportive, hey let’s get you moving, make you a bit healthier, sorta way. No. Feelings of disgust are transmitted and received. A palpable lack of desire, of affection, non-malicious comments about belly size and its effect on intimacy, one piece of the jigsaw. Where do the feelings emanate from? Me to me, her to me, or her to her to some degree?

I think the lack of malice is the worst bit. If there’s nothing gained by saying it, no spite, it must be true, right? I’ve lost it all before; I can not eat refined sugar for months on end; I can cut a stone in two weeks easily and keep it off with discipline. That will make a difference, though I’m maybe 4 stone away from a weight at which I’d respect myself more. It is less the physicality and more what I know I’ve done to get it; I’m ashamed of myself.

Imagine I cut, again. What will be the gain, where can I find permanence in it so as to not be here again in six months’ time, this pit of self-loathing and confusion? Wanting but never feeling I have what I want, and, as is the case in all places with an abundance of food, attempting to satiate wants by ploughing egregious amounts into my literal cakehole.

Over recent months, I’ve become peculiarly envious of countries such as Mexico and Colombia, which (so I read) have just enough food for everyone. Here in the UK, terrible foods are the cheapest. Introduce a sugar tax! That’s for another day, today is about taking responsibility for my part in this malaise. For without my being a player, there can’t be a game.

So runs the conversation in my head, as the battle between logical and emotional parts of my brain rages on. The bloodshed is severe but you have to look deep into a person’s eyes to see it. It is an ongoing dialogue that’s beginning to cut to the core of who I am and what I’m about. I mean, we are what we do, right? How could we ever be otherwise?


Selecting Those 1% Reads

I haven’t written in months. I would classify myself as someone who writes, as opposed to a writer. The former brings possibility, the latter pressure and expectation. I need to feel to write. Today, I feel.

I’ve read many books down the years. I intensely disliked reading as a child, yet was handed the opportunity to address that at university, when, for the first time in my life, I could not get around reading the assigned book, Jacqueline Wilson’s The Suitcase Kid. Whilst aimed at people younger than I was, it was most enjoyable, and over the years, cemented its place as the spark that ignited a bonfire. The fire continues to burn, and, having read a mind-changing piece minutes ago, it motivates me to share a few titles with you, titles which represent that one-percent, crème de la crème to me.

Each has changed the way I see the world. I’d love to know how you felt about these if you have read them, now, or later, or which books impacted you so. Book talk multiplies the enjoyment of reading exponentially.

Stuffocation – James Wallman

Perhaps the best title ever given and a word that should surely adorn the pages of our dictionaries for time to come. Wallman argues that too much stuff is the greatest problem the Western world faces, that it’s killing us. Dramatic? Possibly. But it led me to minimalism as I found myself identifying with the problems of having too many things, a problem I naively felt was unique to myself, yet formed part of the reason I entered therapy some time ago, and spent my early adult years unhappily married yet hopelessly trapped. Wallman has a couple of talks on YouTube, and a slightly awkward manner of delivery. I urge you to check them out, especially if you’re at the beginning of the minimalism journey, or, even better, yet to discover it.

Sapiens – Yuval Noah Harari

Harari’s brief history of humankind presents thoughtful considerations on why Homo sapiens have developed as we have, with particular reference to behaviour. Today’s reading discusses the development of religion, and how Communism and capitalism fall squarely within its confines. Time and again, he has illuminated my thinking, and I love nothing more than a person that challenges the way I think about things.

The Things We Are Prepared To Walk Away From – Joshua Fields Millburn


In this short essay, Fields Millburn cuts to the heart of how I interpret minimalism, providing a parallel context away from the abstention of unnecessary material pursuit. Here, he discusses the need for ongoing love for the people we spend time with, and that only with that love can both parties attain fulfilment. Thought-provoking, borderline radical in parts, I challenge you to read this with passivity. I couldn’t, and, many reads later, cannot today.

The Damned United – David Peace

The controversial fictionalisation of football (soccer) manager, Brian Clough, covering his early career and dovetailing this narrative with that of his ill-fated forty-four days as manager of then-giant Leeds United. In Peace’s version, he brings to life the legend of Clough, with his greatness and especially his weaknesses. I have many, many weaknesses, and tend to respect, if not quite revere, those who know what it is like to struggle with things too. The character is portrayed so strongly that you can begin to predict what he’ll say or do next. A fabulous text for anyone who understands why we don’t always do what appears so obvious to everyone else, for anyone who understands what it is to be driven by fear. For anyone who understands what it is to spend so much time watching the bottom line that ascension to the levels above appears as mythological as Heaven to an atheist.

When Does a No Mean Yes?

I have discovered a destructive habit cultivated in marriage that has affected my relationships since.
My ex wife and I disenjoyed a fractious and tense relationship. Never more so than when she wanted money. We split everything, income and bills; we had the same. Our values were different. She would burn through hers within a few days, I didn’t. 
Tired of her wanting more, I began to respond, “No,” almost instinctively. This felt like the only course of action because a softer approach was met with the sort of railroading you would rather be prepared for. This marked the beginning of the game; my ex wife would kick her persuasive efforts into overdrive and it became a case of counting the cost: losing money versus losing the modicum of peace we had.
I laid on the couch one evening. Her aunt had been discarding a couch and a couple of chairs that my ex wife wanted. It meant hiring a van, which would have been around £300 with deposit. I loved our current couch, and knew (as did she) I had about £350 in the bank until payday two weeks later, to cover food and living. 
She raised the idea days before and I had said that I didn’t want to do it, mostly due to the cost of getting it home, but also our couch was comfy. This night, she was more determined. My resistance was met with rage, after shouting, then abuse, she began to hover over me. I’d never felt threatened by her, much less frightened. Yet here I found myself pulling my legs towards my chest with my right arm and covering my head with my left. She dropped and sunk her teeth into my leg. Days later, I was in the bath, and she asked me about the large bruise on my leg. We even laughed about it. It wasn’t particularly painful, at the time or later, and still I felt no fear of her moving forward. 
But that wasn’t the point. The point was that we booked the van the next day, completed the swap and were left with a little over £10 to last a few days as it takes a while for deposits to be refunded. The boundaries were virtually non-existent by now.
And though the methods employed to turn a no into a yes were more severe here, it was a well-worn pattern of behaviour between us. She believes every no is a starting point for a yes. It’s not a bad thing, or a good. It is what it is, and it wasn’t right for me.
I have since realised I was never the right man for her, and that brings me peace of mind. We weren’t right for each other.
This quick-thinking, reactionary manner has devastating consequences with those not used to fighting over everything. With people that take a no at face value and an acceptable expression of self without feeling obligated to challenge it, it represents finality where it isn’t meant. 
This hit home last week when, with my partner, I was in Tesco, and I picked up some chocolate. She wanted some saved for a few days later, and asked. 
My immediate reaction was no:

There wasn’t much… I would have burned through it by then… I could easily buy more later… and all of these immediate, if unhelpful, emotional responses we voice internally, whilst we compose more appropriate replies.
I uttered “no;” she accepted it. I wished I could take back that word but I couldn’t. 
You see, I was expecting the battle, and this was my part: a player in the back and forth until middle ground was found. It’s like the quick no served as a scanning system, to detect threats and buy time. A gap of silence in marriage would have been taken as a fatal hesitation and make no, if tendered, a less credible position. 
Even with trivial matters, the meaning of the quick no transcends context; it stabs at the heart of generosity and consideration, especially when your partner isn’t a player in the game. 
When I think slowly, and do less, I find myself more calm than excited, and better able to express myself according to my values. A gap of silence is a good thing; it extends the courtesy of time and attention to the other. We respect people who have boundaries, and take their time. And we respect ourselves when we behave that way.

Taking a Step Back

This week has been all about taking a step back in my relationship, cutting out the noise that creates unhappy thoughts and feelings, and looking for something that aligns more with my values. 
It’s easy to forget who we are in this world of constant stimulation. A moment’s peace is harder to come by. Even on a walk by yourself, you can find yourself bombarded with unwanted advertisements – billboards, taxis, even minimalist podcasts – all vying for your attention. 
But attention is a scarce resource. By paying attention to one thing, you cannot, by definition, be paying attention elsewhere. Choosing how to spend it governs much of our wellbeing, which is why it is imperative to monitor how you feel when you are around different people, things and situations. Ask yourself: Why am I here? If you can’t describe a net positive contribution for your soul, maybe you should be some place else. 
A difficult week with my partner follows a couple of difficult ones and we decided to be honest with each other a couple of days ago. It was a painful experience and I’m digesting what was said, and I realised I needed to take a step back. Some of the things that were said made me realise my partner doesn’t really know me at all. Maybe I’ve lost so much of myself in the relationship that I don’t either. I don’t like who I am when I’m around her sometimes, and that matters. Having a poorly face adds frustration into the mix, feeling unable to comfortably express myself so much of the time. Taking the last couple of days to reconnect with myself has left me peaceful, enjoying a slower pace of life. 
This morning I packed and brought home several everyday items that I had left with her, clothing mostly. I found it quite upsetting and put it away immediately, the sight of it heaped in the corner a reminder of what ultimately looks like failure. A healthier way to express it would be the continuation of my journey, and all steps are valuable, even the unhappy ones. When unencumbered with false urgencies and stress, I often reflect on the past this way; it enables me to enjoy happy reminiscences and neutralise events that once caused me pain.  
I don’t know what the way forward will be here. There appears one or two insurmountable obstacles, though time softens the sharpest of words, because when it’s all said and done, no one remembers what you said or did, just how you made them feel. And I don’t feel that bad. 
By taking that step back and spending more of my attentional energy in my world, my space, it’ll give me that peace of mind and freedom necessary to be able to give more to others, which is what I’m doing when I feel most purposeful, and ultimately happiest. 


Why do we have 1 in 20 unemployed in the UK, vast swathes reliant on meagre benefits to survive and unprecedented inequality, with all the problems that entails?
When you posit the question that way, a considered answer requires an examination of our education system, of why minimum wage is below subsistence level for many, and of why we have a system of governance designed to protect the rich rather than enhance living standards for all.

A Memory of My Father

I haven’t seen my parents in eighteen months, though we exchange weekly messages. Both are well and happy. 

In March 2000, Dad and I attended a radio rally at Drayton Manor Park, and I had a horrible cold. I was out of tissue, and my dad went to the toilets to get some for me. 
I watched as he pulled off sheet after sheet after sheet – it must have been nearly half a roll – to get to the middle where it would definitely be clean and free of germs. 
That episode left a footprint on me as an unconscious signal of love and care, one that’s brought me much comfort down the years.

What I’ve Learned the Past Month

When pain becomes more constant, fear of anticipation goes, and everything starts to get better. For the first time in months, I’ve spoke with clarity and eaten sitting up/standing, at times. 

Helping others makes me feel better about myself, and the motivation can last longer than a few moments. It doesn’t have to be tied to a reward. I’ve contributed beyond myself in a way I never have before and my relationships have improved as a result. 
By the same token, if you completely ignore what you want, and spend no time focusing on it, you’ll feel deprived and can’t be the best version of yourself, in the best place to think about others. As is often said, there’s a reason why airlines tell passengers to fit their oxygen mask first before helping others. 
I’ve seen how much my oldest daughter is like me in her developing personality. I see my strengths in her, I see my weaknesses; I’m in the best position to help her to shape those, hopefully to avoid some of the mistakes I was unable to. 


I really wanted you to sit on me or me on you or you next to me and me next to you like we used to and look into your eyes and ask when could I see you again because it’s important to me. But it wasn’t to you. Lost in the urgent glow of your smartphone screen, we each defined our priorities; where once they met, today they don’t. With each passing day they become strangers, perhaps the perfect metaphor for our hearts and minds. 

When do you minimise people?

Is it when we have nothing left to give? I don’t think I’d ever honestly be able to say that. 
Is it when we have nothing left to take? That’s ugly on one hand, open to using people, yet an honest pursuit of happiness on the other, dependent upon intention perhaps.
Or is it when those to whom we wish to give no longer value our gifts of love, time, attention, caring – leaving us no option really?