“I never worry about diets. The only carrots that interest me, are the number you get in a diamond” – Mae West

It’s that time of year, as spring starts to ever so gracefully steal winter’s dominance over our days, that I come face to face with the copious amounts of food and wine that I consumed in the colder months. OMG – I’m fat! As dysmorphic as it may sound, my thighs feel like they are expanding in my sleep and my stomach is seriously hanging over my jeans.

I can no longer hide under layers of clothing for protection from the extra few kilos terrorising my psyche (am heavy subscriber to the ignorance is bliss ethos). The long cardi over the skinny jeans sucks it all in and I look fine in the mirror, but as soon as I walk everything starts to wobble, quickly reminding me of all that Sara Lee sticky date pudding I ate (I could get a knife and fork and eat that whole thing straight from the foil container as a meal).

Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m not a candidate for the Biggest Loser, nor do I perpetuate “stickdom” as beauty. Au contraire, I am anti diet and don’t believe in the scales measuring my self esteem with a number or dictating to me how I feel about myself. What I do advocate is listening to your body, eating well and finding your body’s natural balance. However, no matter how strong and empowered we women may be, do any of us ever really escape the occasional fat crisis?

I am naturally thin, but like every woman I can fluctuate either way over time. I’ve travelled overseas and stacked on 10 kilos as I passed through Heathrow airport (the “Heathrow injection” as it’s affectionately called), and I’ve also been celebrity A list thin (that gaunt calories are looking for you bony look, that prompts a gasp every time you see someone you haven’t seen in a while – I knew it was serious when Mum sent Dad up to my place with a car full of groceries). Now, I normally reside in that happy place in between – the one where I don’t need to try too much or think about what I’m eating and maintain a good weight. However, if I am to have a whinge about my body (it is my blog after all), it’s that I am blessed, or should I say cursed, with a pear shape – no matter how much weight I put on or lose, my arms will always resemble those of a starving Ethiopian child. It is however, a different story for my thighs. Help me Trinny!

I know that I’m not alone right now as I come to terms with a few extra kilos. Womankind, I beg of you – don’t let it spiral into self hatred and body loathing. Don’t let it hold you hostage, terrorise your thoughts and consume you with calorie counting and the insanity of fearing all carbohydrates as evil. Instead, make a commitment to honour your body one healthy meal at at time and start walking in this glorious spring air, and those muffin tops will soon disappear of their own accord. Most of all, always remember that your beauty always, I repeat always comes from within. Cliche, but true, oh so true.