Where the bright women are

And so after the humiliation of the football on Sunday, we’d just about got our mojo back. In fact, we’d decided that it might be quite the thing to watch a spot of tennis – you know, a tournament where we could concentrate on the beauty of the game, sit back and listen to some intelligent match analysis, and so on.

Unfortunately, we seemed to have tuned in to an archived 70s edition of Miss World, where some duffer seemed to be focussed less on the game and more concerned with some young competitor’s figure.

We shall not lower ourselves to the level of said duffer by commenting on the female tennis star’s female form. However, we couldn’t help but take a look at the physique of the man who felt so confident to pass judgement on others. And, we have to say (as if this is any surprise) that Mr Mercer’s own midriff would hardly hold up to a whole load of scrutiny. Doesn’t feel so good, does it David, strangers commenting on your weight…?

We firmly believe that the way you look is up to you. We would never normally lower ourselves to judge anyone’s appearance. But when women are literally starving themselves to death and old duffers like this still feel that they have the right to comment on the way that women look – women who have not put themselves forward to be judged on their appearance, but who have trained for years to reach the pinnacle of their game – well then we’re prepared to put the boot in.

Mr Mercer, we are glad you apologised for your comment. We are glad that said star is apparently not bothered by your comment. Unfortunately, a lot of other women, ourselves included, are extremely bothered.

If this had been a mildly racist remark, hoards would have called for your resignation. But complaints about mild sexism? Why, it’s just not tennis, old chap.

When we’re being kind to ourselves, we know that the best way to get through the work-and-kids-and-nights out-and-family thing is not to try and be superwomen (see previous posts to this effect). But there’s a huge proviso on this. And that’s that it would be nigh on impossible to manage anything without our support network of wise and empathetic women that prop up the worst bits of our lives, and cheer us on for the highlights.

- The sort of girlfriend that calls you to ask about a work contract you’re stressing about, even though they’re in the middle of a painful break up and struggling with a young toddler.

- The sort that buys you your favourite limited edition Jo Malone perfume, because she knows you’re on a shopping ban and won’t have bought it for yourself.

- The sort that completely understands when you have to move lunch again, and never guilt trips you for things that have to be rearranged when life gets in the way.

- And the one that drops you home after a night at the theatre even though it’s five miles out of her way.

All of these have happened to us in the last week. We feel truly blessed. And work hard to return the favour whenever possible when our friends need it most.

There’s another huge proviso on this. And it’s that, sometimes, we’re not that kind to ourselves. We treat ourselves worse than we would anyone else in our lives. We miss things that are important to us, because, somehow, their importance becomes not important.

And yet a sudden death of someone close to another friend, aged 38, has made us become even more resolved to treat each day like a fresh adventure, not a series of chores or punishments. Which is why we swerved the cut-price supermarket this evening, and took the family shopping at the posh health store, instead. Not to feel worthy, but to feel cherished. And not compromised over small, day-to-day choices, for once.

It made us think that any time we’re feeling less than easy in ourselves – and suffering the inevitable guilt at not being all things to all people at all times, we should simply think how a good and trusted friend would react.

It was the voice of a great friend in our head that made us take the food store path less travelled this evening. Thank you, friend. A week without the usual big store brands feels wonderful.

How will you help yourselves – and your friends – to nurture themselves a little better this week?
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It seems our ‘ditching the to do lists’ post on Monday really struck a chord – especially the part about not trying to be some crazed, over-achieving superwomen.

Whilst we have to admit to a tad of ‘good girl’ style achievement, we’ve also, by default had to let some of the small stuff go a little these past few months. And I’m afraid to say that in our domestic set ups, it’s the domestic stuff that we’ve, well, slightly relaxed, shall we say?

I’m sure in every woman’s head, there are far too many parts of life demanding attention. At any one time, in addition to our day jobs and blogging/tweeting habit, we’ll have everything from ‘remember friend’s birthday’ to ‘book summer holiday’ to ‘get quotes for leaking roof’ jostling for the top spot.

Me and a group of women friends underwent a couple of sessions of hypnotherapy recently (bear with us here). It was, broadly, a success, particularly for one friend who was taught a technique where she ran the different parts of her head as she would staff in a company. The therapist told her that some parts were getting too much attention and had become too powerful, while others’ needs were being overlooked.

We thought this sounded like a great way to manage our own headspace. Call this Friday frivolity if you will, but we did a quick appraisal of the ‘staff in our head’, and, in the spirit of not trying to be superwomen, we’ve told the good girl, dutiful parts of our brain to pipe down a bit, so that we can give the fun people in there a bit more time in the sunshine.

Basically, these bright women are going to focus on writing, planting flowers and throwing a couple of parties this weekend. And we’re ignoring the parts of our brain that want us to scrub the worksurfaces, stick to one glass of wine and go to bed early.

Enjoy.