The Bearded Belly Chronicles-Chapter 8: Holding the Space

 

The Bearded Belly Chronicles-Chapter 8:  Holding the Space

In the Numbers 📊

Starting weight: 159.7kg ⚖️
Weight last Friday: 145.7kg ⏳
Weight today: 144.2kg 🎉 (-15.5kg)

This week, I fasted for 133 hours and 13 minutes ⏱️, which is showing some consistency. The week before, I fasted for 133 hours and 2 minutes. I feel it is settling down into a nice pattern. Also, it has left me enough time to watch all 34 series of The Simpsons 📺 back to back.

Meanwhile, I drank 33.7 litres of water 💧, which, scarily, is only around a quarter of the water an average person in the UK uses per day 🚰. However, for some freshwater-scarce countries 🌍, it would have lasted them the whole week!

Running on Empty

I went into Friday last week with my emotional and social battery flashing red. If you have been reading along, you will know my weekends have been relentless lately. Normally, I like to sit in the house, see as few people as humanly possible, and recharge before another week begins. But that has not happened. And it will not happen until at least next weekend. So, my low battery alert? It is staying on.

This time, the reason was big. My sister hit the half century mark. Fifty! Damn, she is getting old. To celebrate, we were booked into a family getaway for the weekend. And I will be honest, this filled me with absolute dread. See, I come from an Irish Catholic background, and if there is one thing we never run short of at family gatherings, it is food. That, and someone playing the ever gracious host, offering another drink or another plate of food every five minutes like they are on commission.

Sure enough, my middle sister took charge of the food order, and if the British Army had shown up unannounced, we would have been fine for a week. For our family of fourteen, for two days, she had stocked up like we were riding out an apocalypse.

Knowing how fragile I was feeling with the whole binge cycle, I made one big decision before we even set off. No beer. Not because I do not love a drink, but because alcohol is my gateway to bad choices. I wanted to stay as close to routine as possible because I knew my exhaustion and the heavy social schedule had been playing into my struggles over the past few weeks.

So, off we went. Work done, bags packed, ready for a weekend of celebration. Friday night was takeaway night, which in my family is not a simple affair. We do not just pick one place. Everyone has different tastes, so we ended up with Curry, Chinese, and Fish and Chips all on the go. And if there is one thing I struggle with, it is leftovers sitting in front of me, daring me to clear them up.

But fate threw me a lifeline. The order I went to collect ran late, and by the time I got back, most of the food had already been demolished. Crisis averted. The vultures had done their job, and I was spared the temptation of mindlessly hoovering up someone else's leftovers.

I did go over my eating window that night, thanks to a few Pringles while chatting. But honestly? No big deal. We were sat together as a family, talking, laughing, enjoying the moment. I was not battling my food urges all night, and I just set my fasting timer back a bit and moved on. That is a win.

Because sometimes, success is not about perfection. It is about choosing not to spiral when things do not go exactly to plan.

A Walk, A Wake-Up Call, and an Unexpected Win

The plan for Saturday was simple. A nice walk with the family around a nearby reservoir. The weather was perfect, so off we set, all fourteen of us looking like a group of ramblers about to embark on some great expedition. The route was a 6-kilometre loop, nothing extreme, but about halfway round, I realised just how much my weight gain had started to affect my fitness. The terrain was mildly challenging, but I felt like I was puffing and panting as if I had just kept pace with Eliud Kipchoge. Sweating buckets, breathing heavy, legs feeling the effort......I was struggling more than I wanted to admit.

One of my past struggles has been using exercise as a way to justify poor eating habits. It was the classic “It’s fine to eat three Big Mac meals because I am running ten miles later” logic. But this journey is about being honest with myself and actually getting healthier, not just playing damage control. That is why I have stayed away from the gym for now. I know I am not in the right headspace to battle both the donut devil and the temptation to obsess over exercise as a quick fix.

Back to me sweating on this walk, though. It was tough, but strangely, I enjoyed it. For too long, I have not been fully present with Jess, the boys, and my wider family. But without my head being stuck in food thoughts, I was able to just walk, talk, and actually enjoy the moment. Between gasps for air, I chatted with everyone, moving between conversations in a way I have not done in years.

As we got back to the car park, I treated everyone to an ice cream, and for the first time in a while, I felt this warm feeling of contentment. It had been tough, but I had enjoyed it so much more than I ever thought I would.

Finding Our Rhythm in a World That Moves Too Fast

Social gatherings have always felt like a dance where I do not know the steps. Tommy, Ewan, and I each move to a different rhythm, hoping we do not step on too many toes. For me, there is always that underlying pressure to be “on,” to navigate conversations without overthinking every interaction. But for Tommy and Ewan, it is an entirely different battlefield.

The noise crashes into them. The unpredictability throws them off balance. The sheer number of people feels like standing in a whirlwind with no escape. And as a parent, there is this constant push and pull of wanting them to experience the world but also knowing that the world does not always make space for them in a way that feels comfortable.

But this weekend was different. This weekend was amazing, one of those rare moments where we were in a safe space, surrounded by people who truly understood the challenges we face. There was no need to explain, no awkward justifications, just a shared understanding that made everything feel lighter. And the boys? They thrived. They had their downtime and escapism, moments to recharge in their own way, but they were also active, engaged, and fully present in everything that went on.

For once, they did not have to fight to fit in. They were just themselves, and that was enough. I felt it deep in my chest, the kind of pride that makes your heartache in the best way.

Ewan, ever the thinker, approaches social situations like a puzzle with missing pieces. He wants to engage, to be part of the moment, but the unspoken rules of interaction do not always click into place. Tommy, on the other hand, has an internal gauge that flips between hyper excitement and absolute shutdown, one minute he is the life of the party, the next he is retreating into his own world, overwhelmed by it all. And me? I am somewhere in between, trying to decode their needs in real time while also managing my own discomfort. There are good days when everything aligns, and then there are days when it feels like we are trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

By Sunday afternoon, reality caught up with Ewan. He had booked tickets for a wrestling event, something he had been looking forward to, but the weight of the weekend, the energy, the social demands, the sheer effort of existing in that space, had drained him. I saw it in his face, that flicker of overwhelm, and my instinct kicked in. Fix it. Make it better. Do something.

So I did what I always do when I panic. I spent five minutes trying to cheer him up, throwing out jokes, asking questions, trying to pull him back when, really, he just needed me to sit still. A message to Jess, my anchor, snapped me out of it. “Just be there for him.”

I had been desperate to fix it, to pull him out of it with words, jokes, distractions. But I was not helping him. I was helping me. My panic. My discomfort. Jess's words cut through the noise. Just be there for him.

So I did.

                          

I stopped talking. Stopped fixing. Just sat and held his hand. And within five minutes, Ewan was back, smiling, lost in the match, like nothing had ever been wrong. Because nothing had been......except my need to make it right.

This world does not always make space for people like Tommy and Ewan. But I am realising that our job is not to force them to fit into it. It is to hold the space for them to exist exactly as they are

Running on Empty: When Routine Meets a Wall

The world was all that it should be for the first part of the week. No issues with food , no unexpected stress, and I was sticking to my routines. My mood was even better when Tommy's parents  evening came back with glowing reports .His teachers finally understanding his needs, and he has improved massively. That alone has been a huge weight off mine and Jess's shoulders. For over a year, we have fought to get him the right support, and now, for the first time, we are seeing the impact. It felt like we could breathe again. Everything was good.

Then Wednesday hit.

Out of nowhere, I felt like I had been run over by a train. Some might call it man flu, but even I knew this was different. I actually called 111 for advice, and if you know me, you know that is not normal behaviour. I am the definition of the stereotypical bloke who avoids the medical profession unless I have a literal limb hanging off. But this time, I felt done in. My energy was drained, my body ached, and my head felt like it was full of cotton wool and regret.

And just like that, everything felt fragile.

We all have a finite amount of mental resources—a set amount of energy we can use each day, each week, each lifetime. Lately, mine has been spent trying to be healthier, eating better, being more present, working, and keeping the house running. Every day, I have been making active choices to stay on track, pushing myself forward even when it has been hard. But then sickness strikes, and suddenly, even the things that felt easy last week have become impossible.

Even my routines have collapsed.

Remember when I confidently said I was going to drink four litres of water every day? Well... let's just say my hydration game took a nosedive this week. Turns out, when you're feeling rough, even something as simple as hydration, which is normally second nature, has been tough. I usually chug four litres a day without a thought, but the last few days? Every sip has felt like drinking cement. The simplest habits, the ones I have built my progress on, suddenly feel like a mountain to climb. My motivation has packed its suitcase and done one. It has been a battle just to do the basics.

Then came the food battles.

I had that time a few weeks ago where I had  spent three days driving past every McDonald's and KFC, practically sweating as I talked myself out of stopping? Yeah, well, I thought I had conquered that battle... until this week. Turns out, the fast-food devil isn't done with me just yet as when I feel awful, those cravings go from the back of my mind to the front like my brain is a cinema screen playing McDonald's and KFC's greatest hits on repeat for 24 hours a day. Every moment, every thought, every decision is drowned out by this one overwhelming feeling: Eat something. Anything. Something big, greasy, and comforting.

It is like everything else fades away, and suddenly, food is all I can focus on. What can I eat? When can I eat it? How much can I get away with? And, worst of all, how can I hide it? That is the hardest part.....because when addiction kicks in, it is never just about eating. It is about secrecy, justification, and regret all rolled into one.

I have spent three to four hours over the past three days scrolling through Deliveroo, Uber Eats, Just Eat...just staring, imagining the taste, the relief, the hit of dopamine that I know would be so temporary. I have driven slowly past every single fast-food place, literally having to talk myself out of pulling into the drive-thru. My brain, exhausted and craving comfort, has been begging for the easy way out.

The emotional pull is the worst part. Somewhere deep inside, this little voice keeps whispering, “Just one Big Mac. Just one. It will make you feel better. It will wash away this awful feeling.” And for a second, I almost believe it.

But I know the truth.

It won't fix anything. It will give me a moment of relief, then send me straight back into feeling awful, maybe even worse. The cycle never ends unless I make the choice to end it myself.

The Week That Was

Some weeks are about big wins. Others are about just getting through. This week was somewhere in between. I did not hit perfection, but I did not spiral either. I held the line. And sometimes, that is enough. Maybe that is the real win.

Thank you 

"This week, The Bearded Belly Chronicles hit 600 unique views....a number I never expected when this started as something just for Jess and me. What began as a personal outlet has turned into something I genuinely look forward to each week. I am loving the conversations this blog has sparked, the shared stories, and the support from everyone following along. So, to everyone who has read, laughed, nodded in agreement, or sent me a message honestly thank you.  I hope you stick around and here's to more wins, more struggles, and more stories along the way! "

Thanks 
Ian