diet – Nastasya Parker

This Week’s Bit of String: Shifts and sheaths, babydoll and serving wench dresses

Our kiddo’s wedding approaches, and my husband had a lot of ideas and excitement about trying on suits. He’s more clothes-conscious than I am. It’s probably not inaccurate to say he has a little more spare time than I have. But his excitement makes me happy.

I just wasn’t thinking about what to wear for the August wedding. It would be nice to slim down, which hasn’t happened because secondary schoolers and housework and writing rejections cannot be borne without peanut butter, cheese, or chocolate.

*Just remembering this dress I saw in an art gallery window in New Orleans a few years ago…*

Anyway, I’m a short, curvy sort of creature and it can be challenging to find suitable clothing. I had not yet expended time, effort, or money toward the Dress Quest.

Which came as a huge shock to the nice gentleman working at Moss Bros in Cheltenham. I sat to admire my husband’s suit possibilities, and when he ducked back into the changing room, the shop assistant leaned down to ask me what I’ll be wearing.

“Oh, I have no clue,” I chirped.

I don’t think he’d have been more surprised if I planned to wear sackcloth or a heavy duffel coat.

And he wasn’t wrong to react that way; it was time I focused.

All that week, my son wasn’t feeling great, flagging as the school year ended at their work. (If only it were ending here!) Although they live across the ocean, I fielded various complaints and offered encouragement. So at last, I recognised what a special occasion this is. I’m still involved in parenting, my kiddo is my very best buddy, and they’ve found a brilliant, delightful, gorgeous partner. It’s time for me to be proud and confident

Easier Said Than Done

Thus the Dress Quest began. I do like to cross jobs off my list, so I threw myself into it, darting into shops and grabbing dresses. This is no easy feat since apparently designers ONLY make long dresses these days. I have to bunch them up in my arms while still combing through the clothes racks.

Then donning and doffing them in a cloud of coconutty gorse-scented Furze perfume, which I always sample whenever I’m in a city that has a Lush branch.

*Lucky Baby Oberon literally can wear sackcloth and still look stunning.*

Puffed sleeves seem to be back, which would thrill Anne Shirley if she existed. There were also quite a lot of voluminous skirts, and nightgowny pastels. I didn’t find much that flattered me. Marks and Spencer had a lot of browns and creams. Have they even met summer? The people who make clothes must have lovely air-conditioned offices and don’t conceive what it’s like to work in a 3-storey secondary school with a greenhouse roof, often at least 5 degrees C hotter than it is outside.

The result of my first fitting frenzy afternoon was a single dress, not that I bought it because it was a size too small, but I at least knew what to order. Throughout the week, on top of work and everything else, I engaged in the arduous back and forth of online ordering and returns. I don’t
normally do this. It’s such a lot of time and money. Ordering several garments from three different shops, and a second round with one of them, I ended up with one top and one dress.

At least it settled my wedding dress Quest. I have a willow-green dress which clings in a rather fetching manner.

Surprising Success

I was somewhat buoyed in this Quest by a story acceptance. That may sound irrelevant, but a bit of good news goes a long way. Even further than a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

I’ve been very busy on the writing front lately, but haven’t had anything published or performed in 1.5 years. That’s partly because I’ve been working on a new novel, but I do have some quite excellent short stories I’d entered into a couple competitions, to no avail.

*A little sunset walk on the Solstice. Thank goodness the days have been super long, or how would I get everything done?*

Amidst the various stresses this year brought, the emotions of my parents leaving our longstanding family home, and our little Bear getting married, I would run through issues and solutions in my mind while walking to and from work. I hit on my publication drought as a big but potentially-fixable issue. I thought, if I were a stereotypical male artist, the lack of success alone would be enough to throw me into full self-destructive mode, buying a sportscar and sleeping with anything that moves. Good thing I’m a woman, with plenty enough else on my to-do list to keep me grounded.

After returning from seeing my family and helping them out at Easter, I enrolled in the Jericho Writers course aimed at finding a literary agent. I re-worked my query letter and synopsis for my Eve novel, and began another full-book edit.

As I launched Dress Quest, I also had just completed 3 critiques of others’ work, and was working on 3 different events for the Women Writers Network on BlueSky. I had 2 short story competition deadlines I was editing for. I only found out about one of them because I was trawling the Internet for content to post for WWN followers–and that was Trash Cat Lit, which accepted my story, Flora of the Dead, just 3 days after I sent it.

Check out Trash Cat Lit, where my story will appear in their Summer issue on 1 July! https://trashcatlit.com/

Maybe I just needed to spend more time and effort looking for the right fit, as I’m currently working on with my novel. Same with dresses, I guess; this past weekend we went to the local shopping mall for the first time in years and this time I found not one, but TWO dresses that look gorgeous on me, if I do say so myself.

How do you find the most suitable outfit, or market for your work? Is there an easy way that I don’t know about?

This Week’s Bit of String: Full bellies, empty legs

The first time I remember eating way too much was the summer when I was 9, at a barbecue with rarely-seen, well-off relatives in Long Island. So much food we wouldn’t normally have at home, and on such a scale. My sister and I were about to start puberty, approaching the “empty leg stage” as one family friend described the ever-hungry growth spurt. But our appetites were no match for what we consumed at that barbecue. We were so full, we swore we would never eat again.

Reader, we did eat again. And speaking for myself, I have overeaten again. Sometimes, the only way to stave off despair seems to be Bournville chocolate, even though I know my heart will race and my brain will fog up.

A lot of things we think of as treats aren’t really what we need. That’s one reason I dislike the term self-care; some people apply it however and whenever they like. It’s such a vague principle. If we have an opportunity to treat ourselves, does this mean catching up with a friend or curling up for a nap? Does it mean a pint of Ben & Jerry’s or some lentil soup?

Varying Metabolism

“Self-care” wasn’t invented when I became a parent. Or maybe it was; certainly the remedies associated with it existed, but none of them were available to low-income single mothers just out of their teens. Even having self-care in our vocabulary is a privilege. Strategies ranging from socialising to yoga to massages to a decent night’s sleep are completely inaccessible for many people.

*Nice smells and warm glows working from home. Gotta love multitaskable luxuries…*

I often wonder how people keep going who can’t afford or schedule the things I now think of as treats. For example, what about mums from disadvantaged communities who look after kids poisoned by their drinking water while constantly campaigning to fix the problem? Aren’t they proof that I should be doing even more, not less?

I know, comparing ourselves with other people isn’t seen as healthy. It’s important to note all perspectives, though, and be aware of our privilege.

A Balanced Mental Diet

I’ve started thinking about self-care as more mental than physical, considering the mind in similar terms to the body. Perhaps mental calories are a thing. We must feed our brains in order to get motivation and inspiration. We need thoughts and stimuli from diverse sources, or we’ll suffer a deficiency. But we also need to burn off some of what we take in. If our minds get overcrowded, we struggle to function.

Different people will have different mental metabolisms. Some might shake things off easier than others. And at times we ourselves will need a higher mental intake or a more thorough clear-out than we’ve needed previously.

If we had mental nutritional pyramids, like the physical ones that used to appear on American cereal boxes, what would yours look like? Mine has rows for keeping up with my job and housework, family time and exercise (though physical it’s absolutely essential to my mental health). Some people are fine doing less each day. When I skip one thing, even if it’s to do something other people find necessary (like meet up with friends or stay in bed past 7), I will be too stressed, struggling to catch up on subsequent days.

*Appreciating others’ artwork helps suspend the mental burden of trying to create my own.*

And because there’s so much to manage on a daily basis, I have to burn off some of these brain calories, too. Daily scribbles, fresh air, reflecting on art or music or literature, make me feel mentally fitter, a bit more agile and able to cope. Life has been tough lately, so I need to experiment with what else might help.

By considering whether I need more or fewer mental calories, maybe I can tell what sort of “treatment” I need and when it’s genuinely required. It’s tricky though, isn’t it? The lack of real, in-person stimulation during the very long lockdown has skewed my mental metabolism. Tedious things like work and worry make my mind feel full, but not sated. I suspect a cognitive vitamin deficiency of some sort.

What do you think of self-care, and the idea of mental calories? Any suggestions for balancing it all out?

Tag: diet

The Right Fit