Feel Good 101_The Outsiders' Guide to a Happier Life Read online

  FEEL

  GOOD

  101

  EMMA BLACKERY

  SPHERE

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Sphere

  Copyright © Emma Blackery 2017

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ISBN 978-0-7515-6922-3

  Sphere

  An imprint of

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK Company

  www.hachette.co.uk

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  DISCLAIMER

  If you have any medical conditions or are not used to taking exercise, before undertaking any of the exercises in this book or changing your exercise regime, please discuss this with your GP or other medical practitioner. The information and opinions on healthy living and well-being in the book are not intended to replace or conflict with the advice given to you by your GP or other health professionals. The author and publisher disclaim any liability directly or indirectly from the use of the material in this book by any person.

  CONTENTS

  Preface: Dead Trees

  Ten Rules for a Happier Life

  1: Chasing Your Dreams (and not running out of breath)

  2: The Brain Stuff

  3: Life Is Unfair (and so are people)

  4: Parental Controls

  5: Falling In Love (and falling back out)

  6: Sex (or lack thereof)

  7: Bad Friends

  8: Education (and making the most of it)

  9: You Better Werk It

  10: Self-Worth

  11: Nourish Yourself!

  12: A Life Worth Living

  13: The Tough Son of a Gun

  Epilogue: Your Eighty Years

  Resources

  To The Ones I Love . . .

  PREFACE

  Dead Trees

  This book won’t change your life. Let’s just get that out of the way, shall we? Personally, I cannot stand walking into a bookshop and being bombarded by books with obnoxious bright red stickers on their covers that read, Change your life today! Or, Join the millions of people who have revolutionised their lives with this book! If you’ve ever picked up a book with those words on the front and actually bought the damn thing – you’ve been duped by a very clever marketing team. I’m sorry. (My publishers are probably already mad at me for writing that. Please publish my book.)

  Right, good, so . . . are you sold yet? No? Here’s the thing with books – they’re just words on trees. Dead trees, to be exact. A tree died for this thing that you’re holding (unless you’re using an eReader, in which case, thank you for saving the trees. It’s just a shame you look like an idiot holding one at the beach, isn’t it?). Wait, is this also available on an eReader? Oh jeez. Sorry, publishers. (Please still publish my book.)

  Back to my main point – a book alone cannot change your life. A therapist alone cannot change your life. A so-called ‘lifechanging moment’ cannot change your life. The only entity that can actively shape your attitude and habits going forward is you. Yes, I’m aware of how clichéd that sounds, but reality hits hard – when it comes to turning your life around, you are the only person who can hit that Big Red Button. It is my hope that this book of which you’re in possession can help you commit to the decisions you need to make in order to change your life for the better, but quite honestly, the ball is – and has always been – in your court. Most of your growth into a confident, happy human will come from inside of you, and will be born from the mistakes you make and lessons you learn along the way. Over many years, you will inevitably fuck up a numerous amount of times. You will make friends, lose friends, break hearts, have your own heart broken, feel shame, feel pride and, most of all, you will grow to love and accept yourself. Believe me, if I could tell my teenage self that I would be sitting here writing a sentence about selfacceptance at the age of twenty-five, I wouldn’t have believed it. Take it from me – you don’t need to buy this book to eventually find and love yourself (at this point, I’m pretty sure my publishers are crying). However: if you’re able to take away just one thing from this book that gives you the confidence to make a decision that benefits your life, then I’m glad to have written it.

  Just so you know (in case it isn’t already extremely apparent), I’m not a therapist. I’ve had absolutely zero professional training in psychology or lessons in motivational speaking whatsoever. In fact, I genuinely had to Google the word ‘preface’ to make sure that it was the right one for this waffling introduction. I am merely an extremely outspoken born-on-the-Internet brat with a platform on which to speak my mind. I’ve been doing just that for over five years on YouTube – uploading usually short, mostly dumb videos to brighten someone else’s day. Sometimes, just to shake things up a bit, I’ll make a video with a little more ‘purpose’; a message letting anybody and everybody know that the sadness they might feel at times is a sadness I have felt myself, and that it’s normal, it’s human – and most of all, temporary.

  I’m not gonna try to tell you that you have to read this book in order to have an incredible life. You most certainly will, with or without my help – but if that’s the case, why read it at all? Well, all I can say is that when I was younger, and felt as though I needed a voice of understanding and reason, I didn’t have a Feel Good 101. I’ve lost friends, I’ve lost lovers, and at times I’ve lost hope altogether – but I am still here, in spite of it all. I’ve battled with depression and anxiety. I’ve experienced bullying and peer pressure. I’ve been the only child in a failed marriage. Needless to say, in my twenty-five years on this planet, I’ve been through the wars a little, and I have a lot to say about my experiences. It is my hope that the following pages can be a testament to human strength and perseverance – where there is despair, there is burning passion for a better life. Where there is a rock bottom, there is solid ground to build upon. Where there are dead trees, there is woody debris to support new growth. I am sitting here as an entirely different woman to the depressed, insecure girl I once was – hardened and battle-scarred, to be sure, but most importantly, I am happy, and I am hopeful. As you may well find out as you continue reading, I don’t have much patience for false hope, empty promises or words of little substance, and so this is what I have to give: Feel Good 101. These are the lessons I have learned from my countless mistakes, and the most honest advice I could pluck from my brain and put down into words on thin slivers of dead trees. I truly believe with all of my heart and soul that this is the book I wish I had had growing up as the insecure, bullied, self-loathing doormat of a kid that I once was, filled with confusion, anger, fear and misery. Whilst it is my hope that you cannot relate to my story – if you can, then I wish for you that this book can sit as proof that unhappiness and hardship, whilst testing, is temporary, and that there is a wonderful world filled with love and opportunity waiting for you – you just have to press that Big Red Button.

  I meant it when I said it, by the way: this book won’t change your life – but you can. You are your own biggest limit in the world, but are also your own biggest hope. Only you can take the steps you need to help yourself become
the strong, independent, fearless person you dream of being. However – it took me over twenty years of real lows, excruciating heartaches and countless mistakes to realise that I could take control of my own life. My hope in writing Feel Good 101 is that it won’t take you as long to realise this as it took me.

  Now that it’s written, I’m supposed to be professional and dedicate this book to someone, so here goes: To the person that held me back the most; to the person who told me every single day that I would never amount to anything – I’m glad you grew into the person I am today. Took you bloody long enough, didn’t it?

  TEN RULES FOR A HAPPIER LIFE

  Be a better person than you were yesterday.

  Always be the most honest person in the room.

  Apologise when something is your fault.

  Pride is a stronger feeling than hopelessness.

  Love without reservation.

  Be the person that is kindest to you.

  Nobody truly regrets following their heart.

  Say yes in spite of yourself.

  Smile in spite of yourself.

  Don’t be a dick.

  1

  Chasing Your Dreams

  (and not running out of breath)

  ‘My Story’

  Okay . . . book. Booky, booky, book book. I have to actually write a book. How do you write a book?! Perhaps I can Google it. Crap. When you’re writing a preface, it sort of feels like you’re just dicking around, you know? Oh shit, I’ve sworn already. Fuck, now I’ve really sworn. I said I wouldn’t swear in Chapter One so that parents skimming through it wouldn’t get mad and refuse to buy my book for their kids. Shit.

  You know, there are probably some people reading this page and thinking, Who is this girl, anyway? How did this even make it into a bookshop? Oh jeez, is she one of those ‘YouTubers’ that got lucky and now gets paid stupid money to talk to a camera?

  Okay, first of all, if that’s what you believe, then congratulations, the tabloids have played you, just as they intended – sure, I’m one of those ‘YouTubers’ now, and I will admit that it’s easy to perceive me as ‘lucky’. I’m not the funniest, prettiest or smartest kid on the Internet, so how did I land the chance to write a book when there are so many people out there who dream of their work being on the shelves? Listen, don’t mistake me for someone who doesn’t understand that point – I too have called myself ‘lucky’ many times throughout my life. In 2012, at the start of my tale, I was just a twenty-year-old punk equipped with only a few things: average school qualifications, a shitty 7 a.m.– 4 p.m. job in a café in a department store and a mental health issue that prevented me from flying the nest and becoming a person in my own right. I was miserable, being taken advantage of by my superiors at work, perceived as (and treated like) a doormat by the few friends I had in my life, and petrified at the thought of this being ‘it’ for ever – and it very nearly almost was.

  So, skipping ahead a few years to the present day – how am I now here? How am I writing a book? How am I performing my music to crowds of thousands? How do I get to wake up when I want, say what I want, and make a living from it? I got lucky, right? Well . . . yes and no. One could certainly argue that I was in the right place at the right time – but I wouldn’t be where I am without both hard work and persistence. When most people I meet ask me to ‘tell my story’, my instinct is to roll my eyes so hard that my retinas detach. I get that my YouTube ‘story’ is relatively new and interesting to those not in the know, but how can anyone be expected to summarise a twenty-five-year journey from hardship to happiness in a few short sentences?

  With all that said, here it is: the full story of how my YouTube career began, all the way back in 2012, and, if nothing else, at least now when someone asks how I ‘became a YouTuber’, I can just say, ‘Well, buy my book. It’s in Chapter One.’

  3.58 p.m. I lift the metal container of baked beans from the bain-marie and away from the serving area entirely, out of any customer’s sight. No one is going to order a jacket potato at this time in the afternoon, I say to myself. They’re probably getting too cold to serve anyway.

  3.59 p.m. I reach around to grip the strings of my uniform apron and pull them loose. I breathe a sigh of relief as another shift at the department store café draws to a close, scrunching up my apron and clutching it tightly, as though it were a stress ball. It got covered in flour again today. If I turn up with it in this state tomorrow, I’ll be pulled into the office – again. Better wash it when I get home.

  4 p.m. I quickly look around the café, scanning the scene for my supervisor, Jessica. The coast is clear. I pick up my pace, making my way out of the café and on to the shop floor of the department store. I dash past rails of clothing and towards the giant escalator in the middle of the shop floor. As I place one foot on to the metal steps and proceed upwards to the staff room on the upper floor, I see Jessica, making her way down on the opposite escalator towards the café.

  ‘Oh, is it four o’clock already?’ she says as we pass each other. ‘Come back down to the café, I’ll need to check to see how clean the kitchen is. You know you can’t leave until it’s spotless.’ I close my eyes, trying to stifle a sigh – there are two other members of staff still on duty for the next two hours in the café that could have tidied any mess I had left in the kitchen. I place my apron over my head and tighten the strings.

  4.01 p.m. We step back into the kitchen. Jessica shakes her head. ‘Really? You call this work surface “clean”?’ She sighs. Give it another wipe-down and then you can go, I suppose.’ With a frustrated, audible grunt, I swipe a cloth from the store cupboard, coat it in cleaning detergent and wipe down the surface, all under Jessica’s watchful eye.

  4.04 p.m. As per Jessica’s instruction, four minutes after my shift was supposed to be over, I proceed to walk over to the café tables and wipe them clean, too. I start to wonder if my dad is calling me on my phone, which is up in my locker in the staff room. He always tells me I need to stand up for myself; that at 4 p.m., I’m no longer obligated to stay, and that I can’t get in trouble for just saying ‘no’ and signing out on time. Watching my other on-duty colleagues chatting at the tills, I imagine myself finally snapping at Jessica, telling her to ‘shove it’ and simply walking out. I then imagine walking into the store the next morning, being led upstairs to face an ‘internal investigation’ by the store manager and being fired. My heart begins to race as I imagine the prospect of applying for a new job and being asked, ‘So, why did you leave your last job?’ and having to tell them I was fired for storming out. I continue wiping tables.

  4.20 p.m. I am filling the refrigerator with sandwiches for the next morning. Jessica walks over in a strop. ‘Okay, go on, you can leave,’ she huffs. I walk past the counter, once again scrunching up my apron in my hand. ‘Oh, excuse me!’ calls out an elderly customer who had crept up behind me. ‘May I please have a jacket potato with baked beans?’

  4.35 p.m. I finally drag my bag out of my locker in the staff room, slamming the locker shut in frustration. I read the text from my dad that accompanies my missed calls: Where are you?

  I put on my coat, walk down the corridor and out on to the shop floor. I catch Jessica walking towards the staff room I have just come out of, paperwork in her hand. ‘Oh, by the way,’ she says with an air of superiority, ‘Janet phoned earlier, she’s not going to be coming in tomorrow. Are you all right to start at 7 a.m. tomorrow?’

  I sigh. ‘Yes, of course. See you tomorrow.’

  *

  Now, I have no doubt that this story is nothing new to those who have worked a nine to five, nor will it probably seem bad in comparison to stories that many of you out there may have – however, as those who have done it will also tell you, it is difficult to be content with your life when this is basically all it contains: waking up to go to work, being bossed around, eating dinner, going to sleep, repeat. At the age of twenty, I had been in my waitressing/ kitchen job for two years, with no perceivable future prospe
cts, no chance of promotion, and no time or qualifications to help me get a better job. I was well and truly stuck in the rat race, squeaking and dragging my tail six, sometimes seven, days a week. This job was supposed to fill up an uneventful gap year – one I had taken because I was completely petrified of leaving my home town and leaving my dad all alone in order to attend university, and I think I knew deep down that I was never going to actually go. So that was it: I was a waitress.

  Oh, well, there was something else – I was a singer in a band, too, on the rare occasion that I was given a day off from serving jacket potatoes to old ladies. It was the one escape I had from being smushed under Jessica’s big, bossy, supervisor feet day in, day out. It was the second time I’d been a member of a band, and it would turn out to be the last. I’d applied to fill the position of vocalist when the band’s previous singer quit in order to go on a TV talent show. It was the band’s drummer who had got me in to replace her. We only did small, local gigs, but boy, was I committed – when our guitarist allowed anyone else to have even a smidgen of input with the songwriting, I was bringing sheets of my own lyrics to rehearsals, dreaming of the day we’d break out of the county of Essex and play a show in an unfamiliar city. On one occasion, we actually did land a gig out of town; however, on the way to the show in Brighton, we got caught in a ten-car pile-up on the motorway, totalling our rental van (along with a classic car that was worth more than any of us had ever earned in our lives). Nevertheless, with determination, willpower and an engine leaking anti-freeze, we somehow made it to our show. I got a tattoo of a van with smoke pouring from the bonnet as a memento. This band was my future, I was sure of it: yes, I had some demos of some solo work, but I knew that one day my band would make it big, and I could leave my waitressing job, rude elderly customers and jacket potatoes behind for ever.