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The Number Two Taboo

When you gotta go you gotta go. The taboo surrounding the number two. We don’t talk about it. We don’t want anyone to know we can create smells so bad it makes a pile of dog shit smell like a bottle of Marc Jacobs signature scent. Women are pretty, elegant and we smell nice. To even think about admitting we are harboring last nights food in our lower intestines and refusing to let it go because the only option is to poop in your boyfriends mothers shiny toilet is unbearable. The heat lifts to our cheeks at the very thought of leaving a skid mark in a toilet to be viewed by another who knows that was you releasing last nights wine and Shepherds pie. As a female this is an embarrassing act of nature. The sound, the smell, the mess everything about the number two taboo is mortifying. Unfortunately there is nothing we can do to stop the crappy critters, is there? No.

For me personally I just cannot bring myself to excrete my wastage in any ‘public’ area. ‘Public’ in this sense meaning anywhere but my own toilet. For years I have flushed bright red if anyone even joked that I was going for a doo doo, let alone actually committing the crime. If I ever went away with work and had to share a hotel room, stayed at a friends house or took twenty laxatives in a nightclub I still refrained. I would hold it in until my stomach bloated so much I looked 6 months pregnant and I would be crippled with the pain of toxins and trapped wind playing Twister in my rectal passage. My bum would grace only the toilet seat of my beloved apartment. That was all there was to it. No poopies in public. Then I got a boyfriend who has his own apartment. Shit.

Ok, so this isn’t a public place as such, my boyfriends. When he would visit me I would schedule my toilet time around his arrival making sure I went before he arrived and all evidence had been bleached away and the room Febreezed. If I ever needed to go with him in the apartment, I would send him to the shop telling him I have to go but he can’t stay because he might hear my plops. This went down like a sack of shit (excuse the pun) as he had no idea what my hangup was. Now I was staying with him I could hardly send him out of his own place, could I? So I decided to play a few cards on this one. Firstly I started off by “having a shower” – by this I meant running the shower, putting some toilet paper down the loo to provide a sploosh-proof and silent landing meaning no giveaway noises. I would then tensely do my business whilst trying not to let a stray fart give me away, flush the toilet, get in the shower and by then the hot steam had killed the smell and all evidence is long gone (He always heard me flush and knew what I was doing anyway he confessed eventually.) I gradually became braver and if I now need to go I will ask him to put on music. Loudly. That’s the best I can do. He still rolls his eyes but I can’t empty my bowels whilst he listens and then fall into bed naked it just isn’t a turn on is it.

After some time I braved the public poo, twice. Each time the toilets were empty and it was a race against the time I may not have had until a stranger walked in mid push. Luckily no one did walk in, which was lucky because it was a stinker. That was literally a crap-my-pants in public or use the toilets as that is what they were made for after all. I didn’t fancy being pointed and laughed at for shitting myself in the middle of London in all honestly.

How many times have you tactfully positioned yourself in bed with a man desperately squeezing your bum cheeks and wincing at the pain of holding in a toxic waste package? The many times of getting to the office and almost instantly realising you should have off-loaded that tractor full of manure before you left the house? Hosting a house warming and didn’t drop the kids off at the pool before you let the first guest in? My guess would be more than once. To be quite honest it has to be one of the most uncomfortable experiences tensing in your turds knowing the relief it would bring just letting them go. Thing is we can’t because we’re too hung up on the shame and embarrassment of the number two taboo. I’m not sure there’s a more uncomfortable and awkward situation than squatting over a toilet slowly trying to push, knowing there are people very nearby, people who might start to smell the potent gases, becoming more aware of the loud noise it will make in the deathly silent lavatory, deciding it was a bad idea and trying to stop it but becoming conscious of the fact there’s no going back now. Hoping no body has the faintest idea what’s going on in your cubicle. Although once it’s out you do feel ten stone lighter.

We all need a good clear out. Whether we talk about it or not. If anyone tells you any differently they are lying or seriously need to see a doctor. Let it out, if you need to bum blast then have a bum blast. Who gives a shit anyway?

 

Copyright © 2014 The Bella Effect

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The ‘No Makeup Selfie’ Trend

Since it’s been the talk of Social media for the past week or so I would like to bring up the subject of the “No makeup Selfies” and leave my opinion somewhere on the internet to make a point to the negative and pessimistic downers of this cause. (Strongly opinionated here dear readers.) I myself admittedly am against the classic “Selfie” trend. Mainly because I am fed up of seeing the face of the same girl on my news feed 50 times a day sporting a new lipstick and push-up bra each and every time. The shout out for approval and constant reassurance of being physically attractive is my main bug bear. I say that because you need to dig deeper than the comments of horny men and fake friends on Facebook telling you how sexual you look. Anyway, last week showed the start of all these made-up “Selfie” lovers uncovering and baring the blemishes, removing the mascara and standing up for a cause. A cause that will help save millions of lives. That’s the life of someone you love who may not be so lucky one day. Even you.

As a population of females subjected to airbrushing, ideals of perfection and competition against other women to be as beautiful as we can be, the “No makeup Selfie” has proved that if we raise awareness through a cause in which we all stand by, great things can happen. It also proves we aren’t all as shallow as so many of us judge each other to be. That girl you bitch about that wears too much makeup actually revealed her naked face for a greater cause and to prove she is supporting every other female and upping the confidence for the rest of us to take part. The more cosmetic free faces we see popping up the more we feel we won’t be judged because as they say, we are all in this together. £3,000,000 has been raised for the research into cancer so what can possibly be so bad about that?

The campaign is about exposing yourself and your vulnerability. Makeup for 90% of us is a confidence layer. Take that away and we shrink back into our shells drastically. Granted many photos are taken in flattering light, they are still bare faced and showing support to raise money for cancer charities. The added information of a ‘Text to’ number adds the importance of donating and not just taking pictures to raise awareness, but really be a part of that change. I have read countless articles about how it is pointless and what has not wearing make up got to do with anything. Retweets on Twitter for example. Taking part is a far better way because we recognise what that face represents. To me personally I would rather be inundated with naked selfies than a mountain of tweets asking what the hell no make up has to do with helping cure cancer. The power of social media. I would just like to add that anyone who spent the time to post about the pointlessness of the campaign needs to look in with a little more perspective. You see these faces and relate it to the cause. That’s powerful. A message shared by thousands who have never met grouping together to give other women the confidence to bare all and stand up for something much more important than that new Dior lipstick that cost more than your weeks wages.

When it came to doing my own I admit, yes I did angle the camera, yes I did feel sick because not even some of my closest friends have seen my freckles and non existent eyelashes. As my best friend wrote on her own donation being brave isn’t taking off your face, being brave is fighting cancer. She’s right. That stuff we paint our faces with has come off and I know for many that is not easy. Men especially don’t understand but it is so difficult to show who we really are when we try so hard everyday to cover that up and hope we look better than just who we are bare faced. We may angle the camera, we may not all stand in front of a window in natural light but we have all made the step to stand up, be our natural, beautiful selves and make a difference to the many sufferers of a heart breaking illness.

Whether or not you are for or against the ‘No makeup Selfie’ there is no denying the impact it has had for these cancer charities and to bring attention to the fact we are still looking for a cure. If you would rather post a picture of anything besides a selfie, or even just a statement to say you donated then that’s ok too. Just quit throwing your negative, discouraging and unhelpful opinions around to those who are just trying to make a difference. I appreciate we all have an opinion, I myself am full to the brim with mine but just because you think it’s another way for attention, to aim for the ‘You’re so naturally stunning’ comments doesn’t stand up this time around. As for the pressures of feeling you need to donate that is entirely up to the individual. You may have other charities you support. It doesn’t make you a terrible person.

So I would like to say I feel strangely and really rather proud of all the no makeup selfies that grace my Facebook and Twitter feeds. The genuine glowing faces of every single one of you reading this who have taken part and wiped off that layer of confidence to show what a fantastic person you are. For all of you who have or are going through the stage of a loved one fighting and staying strong. There is no questioning how valuable your face has become. Keep this going, keep donating and keep helping us to prevent losing the ones we love.

YOU CAN DONATE BY TEXTING “BEAT” TO 70099

 

Copyright © 2014 The Bella Effect

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Just One More, Go On.

I had a blind date last night. Unknowingly. Maybe that’s not the best way to start off as most blind dates are unknowing. Although I guess you know you’re going on them you just don’t know the guy. My little drama last night was more the other way round. I knew the guy but had no idea I was going on a date with him. In short I was duped into driving 20 miles for a night out that involved playing air hockey in an arcade and being asked to get my tits out in the local Lloyds bar which resembled more of a cheap back street strippers club than a high street local. 

Working away from home for two weeks on my own leaves me with a few moments of wishing I had someone other than myself for company. That glass of wine and a gossip for an hour before you head off to your room, you know, just company. The event I am covering is a one person job, but one of the guys comes down each morning and evening to set up the promotional kit and take it back down. Other than that I have miserable locals for company until I retire to my room to take a shower, have a poo and hand wash my knickers. So naturally when the kit was taken down and I was told I was welcome on a night out with the staff (plural) I jumped at the chance to head into town with a bunch of people my age to have a drink and a social. My answer was yes. I took down his number and he said I could park on his street as he was five minutes walk from town. This arrangement suited me fairly well. So I thought.

When I got back to my room I had a shower, put some fresh make up on and ran a brush through my hair before finally gargling a mouthful of Listerine to eliminate the rancid taste in my mouth from my 10 for £1 chicken nugget lunch time special. No major effort went in but it’s just nice to look a bit pretty when you are heading into town on a Saturday night. My intentions were not to stop long. A slow drink, a good laugh and meeting new people was the scenario I was prepared to walk into. Having checked my phone I saw a missed call and it again started ringing. I answer and it’s the guy from work informing me they are all planning to meet at 9.30 is that OK with me? Grabbing my car keys. I hopped in my car and headed up into town. 

I parked up and we walked the short journey into town and straight into an arcade with teenagers hanging around smoking cigarettes like they’re Danny from Grease. It was somewhere you could go to hang out if you were too young for a club but too old for being cool and hanging with your friends at home with mummy and daddy bringing a never ending supply of non-alcoholic beer to the bedroom. First stop is the bar and I had a small white wine. I did have my car so this would be my only drink for the night. He kindly insisted on buying and we sat down on some sticky leather sofas. Noticing no one had approached us I asked when the others will arrive and he answered explaining they were in the pub down the road. Right. OK. I made idle chit chat about work whilst he looked at my empty wine glass and told me to drink another. I laughed and reminded him of the fact I had a car and would not be continuing down the wine route. Again, he insisted I have another one. Then again. My answer was no each and every time to which he replied that the guys would think I am lame and boring if I wasn’t up for having a few. I kept quiet. He then asked would I like to play bowling? Erm, hello, did you forget we have people to meet? Politely I declined the bowling request and he shoved some money in an air hockey machine and basketball game before reluctantly leaving. Oh, and finally into that punch machine that tells you how much of a moron you are out of 100. 

Thinking we were finally heading over to meet the rest of the gang I was really looking forward to what the next hour or so would bring. My plans were to have an orange juice, socialise and then head off back to my room. After all I had been working flat out all week and was exhausted. Not really in the party animal kinda mood. As we approached the Lloyds bar I saw him give a head nod which was responded to by a man in the smoking area who nodded back. Cool. Maybe it was sweet the fact he wanted to try to see me on my own first? Slightly misleading but I let it go. Heading into the bar I was greeted with a limitless view of party goers in the shortest dresses I have ever seen that displayed some borderline revealings of cleavage. His friend headed over to us and I found out this was not a friend of the group we planned to meet. Where were they? “Not going to be here for another half an hour” was the response I got which followed with laughter. Not too sure I got that joke. So I am standing by the dance floor thinking about calling it a night because it was getting later and later, 9.30 was the time we were all supposed to meet and it was now a long way past that. Just as I turn to make my excuses a glass of wine is passed to me. To me no means no. Clearly the word has no significance. It was a small glass, I had eaten dinner and so I decided not to make a fuss and I held onto it taking small sips looking around for these groupies to show up. Considering it was 11 I asked again where they were and was told another half hour. Click. They’re not coming are they. It’s all under false pretense that I am stood in the middle of a hooker-like bar with this guy on my own. A blind date that he knew all about and I was oblivious to. 

A few lads from the “office” came over (again not the planned arrangements) did some bloke handshake thing and disappeared to go and grab some of the drunk females who were downing vodka shots at the bar. Looking at my wine glass he started to laugh and told me to drink more, get drunk, I can stay at his house in his room and he can stay in his friends bed – don’t worry about my car I can leave in the morning I should stop being boring and have fun. Apparently (this is honest) I am like his grandmother just wanting to go home to bed, I am a little Christian girl who prays and would never step a foot out of line. Oh and I am also one of those girls that do what mummy says. By this point I am feeling incredibly uneasy and if I am honest slightly scared. The pressure to keep drinking was mounting and it even got to the stage he suggested me getting my tits out. Trust me, I am not one for being pressured or bullied by men but he was doing a damn good job of testing me. I firmly told him I was going to head back to my car and he went on to say the guys would think low of me should I just go back early on a Saturday night. (n.b I don’t know these people and I wont in a weeks time either.) I laughed it off and started walking back to find my car. He walked me back and suggested he stay at my B&B and he can show me the local area. What the actual fuck. Seriously. I waved him off to have a good night and thankfully I was able to get into my car, phone my boyfriend and drive back. 

The next day I thought he might have just been steaming drunk and that I wouldn’t hear anymore from him. Wrong! My phone went off a good few times which kept my voicemail busy, but I did have to send a text asking him to not contact me outside of work. His reply was a simple “OK.”

Being falsely lured into a date, pressured to drink copious amounts alcohol so I would have to stay the night and ultimately lied too was not what I imagined or in the least bit expected from someone I was working with and will continue to work with for the next week. Awkward. Luckily I have a very strong character and I walked away without getting myself into a situation that could have potentially turned out to be quite frightening. 

Although my blind date wasn’t blind for the fact I didn’t know who I was meeting, it was blind because I had no idea of the situation I was walking into. 

 

Copyright © 2014 The Bella Effect

2

Thoughts of a Mid20s Girl

I love to write in my local Starbucks, hidden away from the pokey eyes of the city. Almost a little bubble of inspiration that just sucks me in and bounces me around, ideas ping-ponging through my mind as I gage the feeling of a creative atmosphere from the quirky characters that occupy the tables nearby. A vibe attracts me to this cute little coffee shop and I cannot exactly explain why. Today, I have again ventured to my usual spot at the back of the coffee shop. I like it here. It’s quiet enough, yet I can see most of what goes on over the hours I drink my hot chocolate and silently cast my opinion on each person that enters and departs. It’s just what I do. I usually do this for an hour or so before I fully settle into writing my new piece for the week. When I write, I like it to be relatable. Not always serious, but yet for many people who read my words, tinted with what I like to see as light hearted humour it will project some sort of nod of the head as they smile to themselves. Whatever reason that may be of course. I don’t know what any single individual is thinking or feeling. That’s the beauty of just being somebody. Just like everyone in this world.

Individuality to me is both a burden and a treasure. May I add, this is just me telling you how I feel about being myself; The good, the bad and the rest. More than likely just like every other person out there who exists. Except mine will be from my thoughts, theirs from their own. Leaving my mind swimming in wonder. By wonder I do not mean ‘In awe’ I mean wondering. Wondering am I the only person who thinks these thoughts? Maybe another mind is sat similarly wondering the same thing? I must say that when it comes to expressing opinions and the likes I am one of the more forward speaking minds. Yet, there were times I restrained from saying what I felt really needed to be said. Nothing was ever meant to be offensive towards any other person, I would just simply say what was on my mind. Considered inconsiderate by some and brave by others. Staying safe and opting with never speaking out was of course an option but not one that I wanted to sign up to. 

A solid fact is that each and every single one of us will harbour different thoughts. I started writing, ‘The Bella Effect’ so I could share these. Not for any other reason. Well, I lie, there is another reason. I transfer my unsure to embarrassing thoughts onto a page. That’s where they stay and I am then free from wondering because I have put it out there for every other like-minded female to judge me by. It doesn’t matter than because some will like what I say and some will not. Thoughts trigger emotions and some emotions I experienced needed throwing away. So that is what I did. I threw them into ‘The Bella Effect’ and hoped if even one woman benefited from me speaking a bluntly honest truth that they would feel better about themselves. I’m not trying to be Mother Teresa or a feminist or anything along the lines, but quite frankly I am sick to death of seeing others beating themselves up because they only speak the text book language of society out loud. 

An example would be when I was sat in a mini bus at an event I was working on two days ago. Me and a colleague were tuned into a debate about swingers and if it was right or wrong to participate. (This is just one angle I am tuning into because it makes my point. I think.) The response was 50:50. Some gladly admitted they regularly attend these adult parties, making use of the sex swings, orgy rooms and vast majorities of condoms strewn throughout the readily made funhouse. Others, however were utterly disgusted that people  even considered taking part in such acts. It’s compulsory now that I confirm all the men and women taking part were not emotionally treading on a bed of nails. They admitted that both they and their partners consented, whether that be going alone or as a couple. That point is key. However, the party of prudes that protest against such shameful activity openly vented their disgust. I am willing to hedge a bet that at least 10% of these prudes would fantasise about joining the party but would never dare say it, lest they become a part of society frowned upon for enjoying one of life’s simple pleasures. Sex. A percentage will not join in with the debate, keeping their thoughts locked away in that safe cupboard in the deepest part of their minds, so as know one will ever know. Within this hushed up bundle of thoughts are a mixture of opinions. Some will not like the idea of sharing their body or partner so openly. For the rest, it’s a thought that sits there wanting to be explored, to be let out and experienced. Except they can’t. Why? Know one else they know has ever said it’s OK, that’s why. No seal of approval would be given and the sheer shame of even doing a quick google search or confiding in a friend or partner makes them feel ashamed. So I leave this subject on the point I wished to make. I write about things that I think, feel and lock away because I am not the only one. Personally swinging is not for me as I would more than likely spend the entire time laughing and comparing myself to the other women, but you understand the concept. 

Many moments make me cringe to the point of pain, my stupidity drowning me as the waves keep coming. Even if readers do not acknowledge because of the obvious embarrassment they feel by relating to any of my posts, be it sex, diets, relationships or one night stands I am fine with that. I haven’t used my real name because I don’t want recognition for anything. I just want to say what I say so when ‘The Bella Effect’ is read, as long as my words and sometimes utterly disapproving posts make some women laugh and smile with relief that actually, it is not just their crazy, shameful or self-destructing thoughts.; It’s shared by many. Often when I read articles by columnists opening up to reveal their innermost thoughts I get a huge sense of relief when I read the very words that made me doubt my sanity. It’s OK, she’s just as messed up as I am and I am so glad I’m not the only woman to experience THAT moment in the bedroom where everything went wrong. 

I have nearly farted in my boyfriends face as he has his head between my legs. I woke up at 6am one morning for work and was so tired I forgot to put new knickers on and spent the day in the ones I wore to bed that night. I’ve hit other cars reversing out of a space and just put my foot down to get away. I have not talked to people because I have been jealous of their success (I got over it eventually.) I have secretly felt happy inside when summer is here and that model perfect girl is strutting in her hot pants looking incredible par the cellulite under her bum cheeks. I have letters from debt collectors because I was younger once and didn’t realise I had to pay back what I spent on those amazing cards that left me 4 digits away to having whatever I wanted. I have slept with a boy one of my friends had a crush on. I’ve also slept with a guy knowing he has a girlfriend. I’ve been arrested once. I have insecurities. I’m 26 years old. 

Everything I write is based on the thoughts I have as I challenge going through my twenties. It’s a shit time. It’s also a time to make mistakes and find out what and who you are. Being open isn’t for everyone, that’s the fun of being an individual. You are who you are and no pressure should be weighed down to modify this. 

That’s a bit about who I am, the girl behind ‘The Bella Effect.’ Who you are is your secret to tell or keep safe. 

 

Copyright © 2014 The Bella Effect

0

Love Drunk

Meeting that man you had your sights set on. It’s all a bit scary. I mean, the whole stigma attached with men and relationships. They can’t have one. Not for a long period of time anyway. We’re always reading about how men are genetically wired to spread their seed and insert Mr Stiffy wherever and whenever possible. The majority of the men I have dated in the past have been uncontrollable over the actions of their penis’s, poking it into their best female friends, you know, the one that told you there was nothing between them? Bitch. So, when you do meet someone who is seemingly a little bit different, it’s hard to believe they aren’t like the rest of the pillocks who have the gift of the gab…

I may regret writing this sometime down the line because I am about to deliver the most cliche saying you could ever hear. The one that makes you roll your eyes and think, ‘there goes another love drunk, that’s going to hurt when she falls over. Openly and honestly I haven’t said this about a man before. I hated men. Yuk. Except it turns out, this one. I’ve had boyfriends I liked but could never imagine having sex with them long term. Boring. Ok, here goes, I’m going to say it, “I really think he’s different from the rest.”

He’s not different from the rest because he looks into my eyes and tells me endless nonsense. He’s different because I can see myself being with him for the unforeseeable future. I’m not jumping on the bandwagon to get hitched or saying that we’re going to have twins but I mean the enjoyable future. The fun time you have as a couple. I have never been a trusting person, but I am starting to allow myself to become slightly vulnerable and take the risk. The fact is his actions speak louder than words. Rather than telling me all the usual stories and believing, the way he treats me, kisses me and respects me lets me know how he feels. This is far more powerful than empty promises. 

Lets talk about the sex. It’s explosive. Why? He knows me and understands my body. In this relationship I find our sex life runs a parallel story to our day to day life. We laugh, focus each others bodies, have passionate outbursts and make prolonged eye contact. It may sound like the usual sex job but personally for me this beats being thrusted about and having my breasts groped whilst thinking, ‘hurry up’ and faking an orgasm to get him to dismount me. A good relationship needs good sex and we have that in great abundance.

The classic worrying factor doesn’t really come into play. I have no reason not to trust him. Genuinely. At first I had a few doubts that I set straight but now I wouldn’t lay awake thinking he’s getting a lap dance from the bar maid when he goes on a night out. I don’t assume because he hasn’t messaged back he’s in a hotel room with his head between another girls legs. For once I feel secure enough with a man because he makes me feel that way.  

We started off as friends for the past 5 years. The past 5 months we spent in the bedroom ripping each others clothes off and you know what? I couldn’t be happier.

 

Copyright © 2014 The Bella Effect

 

 

 

 

 

0

The Perfect Girlfriend

Modern day relationships for women are tragically difficult to keep up with. Mens standards are rising by the second and we need to know what men really need to be happy, for us to make them happy. How?

You are reading this because you want to be a perfect girlfriend and my newly researched advice will make you just that. Rule one is you need to stop being so selfish. Here’s how to become the perfect girlfriend:

 

  • Dinner? Simply bend over so you’re on all fours, take your panties off and place a family size pizza on your back along with the remote control so he can watch the football, stuff his face and use your back as a table while he doggies you. 

 

  • If you’re on a new diet, offer to give him blow-jobs for breakfast, dinner and lunch as this is a fantastic source of protein.

 

  • When he’s gotta go he’s gotta go. Don’t shout at his badly timed bowel movements. Simply get out of your luxurious bubble bath, leave your glass of wine on the side and the scented candles burning and leave the room for him to do his business. 

 

  • When reverse parking into that space that could easily fit a car twice your size, he knows what he is talking about. The best advice is to listen as he tells you how terribly wrong you’re parking this car and to smile and nod empathetically. He knows best.

 

  • You are both out socially and you spot him, eyes glued to a female not too far away. She is mildly responding the flirtatious eye-catching game. Rather than confronting him about why he is looking at another woman in your presence, accept that this is OK and never respond by flirting with another man. You may never flirt with another man in his presence you don’t want to upset him and dent his pride.

 

  • Becoming ill takes it out of the best of us, even more so it seems within testosterone fueled bodies. He will never moan for the sake of attention or blow his cold/flu out of proportion so it is out of the question to tell the poor man to get over it. The best thing you can do is tuck him in bed, prop up his pillows and give him two teaspoons of Calpol telling him it will all be OK in the morning before kissing his forehead and saying goodnight. 

 

  • First impressions are of paramount importance. Each morning set your alarm an hour early to quietly slip out of bed, shower, brush your teeth and apply natural looking make-up so he thinks you’re always beautifully perfect. 

 

  • He stares at page 3 models every time you buy him The Sun newspaper because he asked you too and of course you’ll do anything for him. Book an appointment with a plastic surgeon for a breast implant. He will love you for it and never look at page 3 again.

 

  • A real women understands that men and women’s brains are wired very differently. Hand in hand with this superior knowledge it is best to be a domestic goddess and cater to all household needs with a smile on your face. If you’re happy he’s happy.

 

  • Lastly, and most importantly never cause or start an argument. Even more importantly if he is the cause just admit you were wrong. No man likes a moaning Minnie. 

Respect your relationship, give everything you have to give and you will be fulfilled in so many ways you can’t possibly imagine. Make a man happy. More than that, make your man happy. All he really needs is to know you care, and by taking my advice I promise you he will never look at another woman again. 

 

Copyright © 2014 The Bella Effect

1

Just a Bit of Advice

Here I am. Back again in Starbucks writing my first piece for 2014, this time having swapped the hot chocolate for a plain old cup of tea. Funnily enough this isn’t a resolution of giving up chocolate. My resolutions year in year out have been to either 1) Stop biting my nails (yuk) and 2) lose weight etc, etc. Simple, thoughtless and just boring. I would hazard a guess that you have at least one you try every year, fail and think sod it I’ll do it next year. Fail is maybe too much of a negative to employ in the above statement, a bit of a smack in the face really but to fail generally means you believe you can’t do it so are less likely to stick to your plan or give it another go. Just tell yourself you didn’t manage this time but if you really tell yourself you will, rather than just to try – you will. Fact. Try is a half-hearted word filled with intention but no firm instruction to yourself to firmly cement the action. If you ‘try’ to lose weight you never will. If you ‘try’ to give up smoking’ you never will. Try almost screams ‘I can’t do it’ louder than Miley Cyrus singing Wrecking Ball. 

I heard this advice at a conference event I was working at last month. It’s not something I conjured up as exceptional advice from the filing cabinet at the back of my mind. The man himself who gave the talk was one of the most incredibly positive people I have ever met without being a completely patronising ball ache of a lecturer. In short he uses his own advice and his success mirrors this. This got me thinking about all the things I tried to do and very shortly after gave up on; New years resolutions for one. Success for a month maximum and then back to the dreary routine of nail biting and Chinese take aways. Well, I did try but I just can’t do it. It’s not for me I’m not cut out for eating vegetables and smelling a gym out with my BO. No. No. No. More than anything this says to me I’m not entirely serious about my resolutions. If I wanted them so badly I would be doing everything in my power to ensure it happens, as I’m sure you would, do you not agree? 

Simply change it. It works. Only catch is you have to really want what you ask from yourself. Lying to others may mask and fool them into thinking you’re doing splendidly well at everything you plastered on Facebook but the only person you’re denying is yourself. Going back to what I was saying earlier on, saying you will try means you might get around to it at some point. Maybe. Tomorrow, you’ll do it tomorrow. Then tomorrow you’ll do it tomorrow and so on. Why not just tell yourself you will. You will do it. Taking the majority of peoples resolutions to losing weight as an example. The liposuction fairy is as real as Father Christmas. She’s not going to flutter in overnight, sprinkle fairy dust and perform a miracle because you ate carrots for dinner and jogged a mile. Just as no matter how naughty a child is they still get that visit from Santa. (Kids definitely have the better deal here.) You really want to lose weight then do it. You put the food in your mouth. You control your legs. Tell yourself firmly you will do it. Tell yourself you can. Never say you can’t. Trust me, I tried it, it’s good advice if you use it appropriately. By appropriately I mean keep it within context of a realistic goal. Jumping off a roof thinking you can be batman won’t have the same effect. 

If I’m honest I scrapped the resolutions this year because it’s a forced pressure to achieve something I can do any day of the year. I don’t wait until January the first to start my action plans, that’s a waste of the many other perfectly adequate days I have to make changes. I have eaten like a pig since January the first to purposely steer clear of the Cliche trap of starting because the whole world says you have to. I’ll lose weight when I tell myself too. Forget starting tomorrow, I start the moment I tell myself. The answer is to do not think. 

So, dear smokers, weight-loss addicts, wannabe celebrities or whoever you aspire to be to make a change, the good news is you can. You just have to do it. Put down that cigarette. Get your bum off the sofa, cook a good meal and sweat until you feel good. Go to those auditions you keep telling yourself you will go to but never get around to. Nike have a clever slogan with “Just do it.” Simple but it’s the butter on the bread.

Tentative language will set you up to be knocked down by, of all people, you. You can win or lose. Do it or don’t do it, just never say you’ll try. 

 

N.B This is advice I took on board and tried at home. I promise you, it’s safe. Do try this at home (How Ironic – try.)

 

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