Cherry Healey is a television presenter, famous for her BBC3 documentaries covering topics including drinking, money, relationships, pregnancy and body image, and also for her science and food documentaries on BBC1 and BBC2.
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
This collection published 2016
Copyright © Cherry Healey, 2016
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover design by Mauricio Munoz
ISBN: 978-1-405-91980-7
Introduction
1. Letter to My Fanny: Orgasms, Sex, Periods
2. Letter to My Hands: Fingering, Masturbation, Writing
3. Letter to My Brain: Education, Money, Work, Brain Food
4. Letter to My Heart: Love, Heartbreak, the Lady Family, Relationships
5. Letter to My Boobs: Breastfeeding
6. Letter to My Belly: Diets, Pregnancy
7. Letter to My Face: Teeth, Brows, Skin, Make-Up, Ageing, Self-Improvement, A Day a Week
8. Letter to My Ears: Music, Listening, Silence, Unhelpful Things to Hear, Talking Dirty
9. Letter to My Bum: Size, Bum Admin, The Face of Bum
The Conclusion *Big Loud Kettle Drums Booming*
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
This is for all the amazing women and men I’ve been inspired by and who have shared their passionate views with me over many bowls of nachos and vodka Diet Cokes. This is also for my wonderful mum who taught me how to listen and love and make a cracking lasagne, and for my daughter who I love so much that I wish I had a wider vocabulary to give it justice.
For my final dissertation at university I decided to write, voluntarily, about existentialism. My tutors advised against it but, because I had seen a really interesting talk on the subject, I felt it would be a good idea. Of course, ten thousand words later I was in a right pickle and had premature grey hairs. I vowed never, ever to write more than a hundred and forty characters in a row ever again.
And then for some reason that only the heavens understand and probably not even them, I decided to write a book. Perhaps it was a compulsive desire to impart my learnings to my daughter or perhaps it was because with two children and a busy job I just felt like I had too much free time. But I comforted myself that it would be a pretty short book: perhaps a stocking filler or something light to read whilst you’re on the loo.
Then somehow I managed to write nearly a hundred thousand words. It was actually a bit like having a baby. At times I was swollen with ideas and thoughts. At other times I felt sick with nerves at the knowledge that my musings would be published on paper. And, like having a baby, it took a really flipping long time – especially as I spend most of my time chasing my actual babies around after their bath. But, finally, I have managed to push it out and it is now its own entity.
What follows is my own story. Not a lecture, not a manual, but my own personal experiences of being a woman.
There is still so much pressure on women in the twenty-first century to look and act a certain way. Like most women, I’ve felt these pressures every day from such a young age that I rarely stop to reflect on them.
The turning point for me was having the babies I mentioned above (the real ones, not the book baby). All of a sudden, I realized that my body was capable of something incredible – giving life to another human. But it also made me realize that my body was my own, to do what I wanted with. Want to create a baby? Yup, no biggie. Want to write a book? Well, it’s just done that too. Want to run a marathon? Well . . . now that I know it can make your nipples bleed maybe I’ll give that one a miss.
I’m not a feminist academic, but I do believe that if women want to speak out, they should feel free to, regardless of their qualifications. Progress takes all sorts of voices and perspectives and doesn’t need correct iambic pentameter to be relevant. We shouldn’t sit in silence on how we really feel about ourselves, our fears, passions, work, money, love, our body.
So this book is a love letter, to my body. In fact, it’s several letters – to every part from my brain to my belly. After years of hating it, I’ve realized that it deserves some well overdue TLC. I hope you enjoy reading this. Except you, Mum and Dad. You can stop reading. Now. It’s for the best.