Time For A New Start

The new year is almost upon us and while it is really only just another day in the span of our lives. I actually really like the start of a new year. It doesn't make any logical sense - but when does anything I do make logical sense - but I just feel like a new year also feels a little like a fresh start. A chance to celebrate the past, welcome the future and also to just move on if you need to.

In all honesty, 2016 has been a tough year for me. There has been a lot of horrible things going on in the wider world that has made this year pretty awful but I've also just had a really difficult year personally as well. I'm not going to go into too many details but lets just say I'm ending this year feeling incredibly glad that it's all over and I have a chance, metaphorically, to start again.

Often I make new years resolutions and never stick to them because I am who I am and I usually just go with the flow but because last year has been so horrible, I wanted to come up with a way of dealing with 2017 a little better. So I'm not saying these are resolutions as such, but more just things that I hope to achieve next year to help me be a more rounded and balanced person. So that maybe, just maybe, when it comes to be the end of 2017, I can feel just a little bit better about the year that has passed.

First up, I want to get organised.
I've always been an organisation freak. I like things to have order and I like to know what I'm doing and for everything to just flow well. But this year, I've been all over the place. With my mental health issues and physical health issues, keeping on top of things hasn't been a priority but I have come to the conclusion that doing so will help improve my well-being in the long run so I'm planning to be more organised next year.

Secondly, I am going to relish in the good moments.
While 2016 has been pretty dire, there were some good moments but now looking back, I keep focusing on the things that went wrong which isn't great. So for 2017 I am going to re-think my life and remember that there will always be good and bad things, and the bad should never cancel out the good. One way in which I'll be doing this is using a memory box (thank you Jess!) to write down things that have made me happy and popping them into the box to open at the end of the year.

Lastly, I want to stress less.
Okay, easier said then done right? But I'm sure I've spent far too much time this year stressing about things and I really want to not do that next year. I would very much like to not stress so much next year. Things may well be awful and annoying but if it's out of my control then I need to work out how to let it out of my mind or if is in my control then I need to come up with a plan to deal with the situation. I want to, essentially, be more zen about things next year. I can at least try, right?

What are you hoping for next year?

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Being Chronically Ill at Christmas

Each year I am so thankful I make it to the festive period and survive it. 

Why? 

Christmas for me is a time to reflect and see what I've been through. It gives me strength for the year ahead. We can draw a line under what has happened and focus on continuing my good streak. That's what it always feels for me; I am in a game with my health, praying nothing goes wrong, praying I don't catch something, praying I make it through another season without an admission. 

This year I look back and despite having had two surgeries and many months of agony, I am not hateful or woeful. 

I am extremely thankful. 

Isn't it ironic that to see what you're most thankful for you have to go through something awful? I know that my surgeries might not be the 'most awful thing ever' but to me, in those bleak moment, it was awful. Those days unable to eat, unable to drink, feeling weak and feeble, dependent on everyone else helping me, not knowing if I needed medical attention or just waiting it out. You already know how my summer ended, with my ostomy being created. 

But those months in between surgeries and even leading up to the first one, I was in agony and I did wonder what on earth I had been doing before hand to let it get so bad. But I needed to hear it wasn't my fault and that it was just my disease, it couldn't be helped but it could be fixed. It would be fixed. It would need fixing twice, but it would be fixed. 

I would be fixed.

So who do I thank and how do I thank them?

That's something for another day, another post. Another train of thought. 

Being chronically ill at Christmas is different than any other time of the year because it is hard to shy away from being sociable. It hard to be away from family and loved ones. I am not necessarily forced into be out and about but I do feel that obligation pulling at me to with people who love me, so I can show and tell them that I love them too. 

Being ill yesterday - or any day surrounding Christmas - is hard. You have to muster strength and mental ability to get your body through the day. I struggled abit but I slept well for it. Sleep is so important this time of year for me. What else is key is maintaining a regular routine; eating breakfast at the same time, trying to stick to the 'correct' foods and not indulging too much. This has been key most years but even so much more now with the new ostomy. I have to keep hydrated. I haven't restricted myself in food or drink but I've been sensible and thoughtful about what I've had. The only thing that is some times unavoidable is the time we have been eating, but I respect that aspect and allow it to be more flexible at this time.  I am just happy to be here, in the presence of my family and not in hospital. I am healthy and grateful.  

Being ill now has a slightly different meaning, but by no means will it go away. I will always have issues but I am learning to be better informed, take more of an interest in my body and respect that my IBD will always be around, it would be cured. Accepting 'my fate' hasn't been easy but I am not fighting against my body. I am fighting to save it from being or getting worse. 

Each day is one more chalked up for a win over my illness. Every. Single. Day.  For both my ostomy and my IBD, each day is a learning experience. There isn't always something to battle or to win over but it is one more days with my illness than without it. 

I am here despite having a chronic illness. I am here because I have an ostomy. I am so relieved that I am. 

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Tis the Season to be "Merry"!

Christmas is a time of cheer, yes? It's a time to be full of happiness, magic and hope. It's a fun time of year and a time to celebrate and love. It is one of my favourite times of year, without a doubt.

But there is one thing that I really dislike about the season. 

And that is the assumption that to enjoy Christmas fully, you have to drink. Even if it is just one glass, drinking just seems to be an obligatory event of Christmas and people really struggle to take no for an answer. 

This is something that people struggle to accept at any normal time but at Christmas it seems to be even more suspicious when you decline an alcoholic beverage.

Jenny mentioned this on her twitter the other day, which is what inspired me to write this blog post today. I was going to write this earlier in the year but never got around to it so thought it was the perfect time to bring this up now. Just to see if anyone else really struggles with this or if it is just me.

Being a non-drinker seems to be the one thing that a lot of people find really hard to accept. The minute the words "no, thank you" exit my mouth after I've been offered an alcoholic beverage of any kind, I always get a response which tries to change my mind. Often along the lines of:

• "You only have to have one."
• "But it is soo good, you have to try it!"
• "Are you sure? You're going to be missing out."
• "But it's free!"
• "I promise you won't regret it."

This can definitely get frustrating. At one point in time I actually used to respond with "I'm driving so I can't" or before I'm even offered would admit that I was the designated driver and that I don't drink and drive. But even sometimes with that in people's minds, I often still get a similar response. Sometimes it'll be that it's just one, sometimes that I'll be having food too or it's a long time before you leave so it's fine.

But it's not, is it?

Because I said no. And I mean no. 

If someone offered you a cigarette and you said no, the person would just leave it be. But when it comes to alcohol, it just seems that people cannot take no for an answer and I really struggle to understand this mindset. Alcohol is a drug. It's a socially accepted drug but it is still a drug and if I tell you I don't want it, please do not shove it down my throat or keep mentioning it. I have made a decision and I demand that you accept that.

Sadly, I have gotten to the stage where I now admit I cannot drink because I'm on medication and that usually gets people to back off - but surprisingly not always - and it is just so frustrating that people don't just take no as an answer from the offset.

How is it possible that alcohol has become this thing that everyone must drink? 

So if you hear someone say that they would not like to have any alcohol this Christmas - or at any other time in the year - can we all just please nod and accept that they have made a choice and will not change their mind, no matter how much you try to get them to? 

Because, at the end of the day, we all have our own reasons for drinking or not drinking and we are entitled to our own opinions. So it's time to just respect that, right?

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It's okay to cry.

I’ve been thinking a lot about grief lately, in particular dealing with grief at a young age like I’ve had to do. It’s messy and tricky and there’s no manual to it. Adults a lot older than you will tell you that they know what you’re going through because they’ve also lost someone recently – but they’re a lot older, wiser and more experienced than you and it’s not the same.

There was a particular phrase people used to say to me a lot shortly after my mother’s death, one that I loved hearing at the time but now I hate. People frequently would say to me ‘You’re so strong!’ Because I didn’t cry, because I went to school and did my work, because I got on with my life immediately after with a smile on my face. And because people kept praising me for this, I felt like I was coping well. That this ‘strength’ of not crying and feeling my emotions that were lying underneath was a good thing, and that if I ever did cry or feel upset I was weak.

I know now this is so wrong.

For so long I withheld my emotions because I thought that way I was ‘strong’ and that was good. People seemed so impressed by my positivity and lack of emotions that I suppressed anything I felt. And because of this, I didn’t grieve. Instead of feeling my emotions and dealing with the death of my mother, I pretended it didn’t happen. Part of this was because I wasn’t emotionally mature enough to even comprehend my mother’s death, but the way in which people reacted to my behaviour also inadvertently encouraged this behaviour. Nobody sat me down and told me it was okay to cry, that I needed to deal with my grief and try and process it. At one point I do remember trying therapy, aged 17, because everything was beginning to feel overwhelming and there were some days I couldn’t even leave my house and go to school.

But I couldn’t talk. Every time I tried to talk about how I felt, the words wouldn’t come out and I would just cry. After one session I decided therapy wasn’t right for me at that point and I went back to burying all of my grief.

Looking back, I can acknowledge that there were a number of reasons why I didn’t deal with my grief at the time. At 15, I just wasn’t emotionally mature or ready to deal with something as monumental as the loss of my mother. I also wasn’t a very emotional person anyway, as I barely cried at anything. I also understand that everyone grieves and reacts differently. But there were little things that people said to me that contributed to my denial as well.

I’m not blaming anyone in particular, and I know it’s hard to figure out what to say to someone who’s experiencing a great loss. But sometimes being ‘strong’ isn’t the right answer. Crying and feeling your emotions is healthy. It doesn’t make you weak, and don’t let anyone ever make you think it does. Grieving is a long process, and a hard one at that. Whether it’s the death of a family member or the loss of a close relationship in your life, please remember it’s okay to cry. Let yourself feel things. It will get easier, eventually.

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So... I'm confused. Please Help.

A fair few months ago now, we had a guest post on here from Caitlin about going braless (you can read it here) and ever since then it is something that I have been thinking about... a lot. Now, I am a female with moderately large boobs. They're not massive by any means but they're not small and perky either. And, (*cough*notsurewhyi'madmittingthisonline*cough*) they also already sag. Which is so completely and utterly saddening but that is a story for a different day, no?

So... with my boobs, the thought of going bra-less was a big no-no. It would not work. I had big, heavy boobs that literally wanted to be on the ground. I needed a bra to keep them upright and in place. To stop them from just going wherever the hell they want to go while I got on with life.

But then I did more thinking and more time without a bra inside the house. And I realised that it is so nice to feel free. Yes, I have even gone out of the house without a bra on. (Of course, I also have one multiple t-shirts and a big hoody but STILL). However, each time I did leave the house, while feeling free, I also felt naked. Of course, I wasn't but it felt like everyone knew I was braless and that they were staring. Ewww.

Add to that the stupid time I went out when it was cold outside and didn't realise until I got home how perky my nipples had become. (*hides in embarrassment forever*)

But what did happen is that I understood the bras that I have been wearing were a) really, really old and b) did not fit.

There had to be a reason that I needed the bras to come off so desperately at the end of the day right? I mean, sometimes my boobs even tried their hardest to come free of the bras before the day ended too and nobody needed to see that, and it certainly wasn't comfortable!

So... I plucked up the courage and I went to a bra fitting. And I tried on a non-wired bra. And it was FABULOUS.

No really. I loved it.

So comfortable. So wonderful. Just perfect.

I wish I could go back to that moment. To understand why the heck I ever thought that feeling could be re-created all day long.

I am now just baffled.

I have since bought a few more bras in the new size that is supposed to be my size. All under-wired. And all of them fit perfectly when I first put them on. I feel snug, secure and comfortable. Just as we all want to be.

But then, halfway through the day I become so uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than I was in my old bras and it makes me want to whip the damn thing off and throw it in the bin. I've tried bra extenders to make it even longer. I've tried changing the straps to see if that made a difference but no.

No matter what I do, I seem to always be uncomfortable in a bra.

And this makes me sad.

And confused.

So I just wanted to write this post to see if maybe you know that I'm doing something wrong? Do you have a solution? Do you have a bra that is so comfortable you'd never go back?

Also... please confirm that I am NOT alone in feeling this way!

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Please, Just Repect my Decision, OUR Decision

When I turned sixteen, I announced to my best friend that I wasn’t going to have kids. It was just something I wasn’t interested in; becoming a mom, raising children wasn’t any part of the life I had planned for myself.

She laughed, quite amused by my statement. How can you know that at sixteen?! She asked me, confused. I bet you change your mind. In fact, I bet you’re the first of us to have children, Lou! I told her I wouldn’t, I would make sure of it. I was a foolish sixteen-year-old.

So, off I went to university two years later, fell in love and started feeling that maternal instinct pulling at me inside. Did I want to have children with this person? Was he the right person to start a family with? Could this – our relationship – work in that way? It turned out it couldn’t, but that is another story for another day. The thing is, those warm, fuzzy baby feelings bubbled under the surface for a long time after we broke up, long into the years that followed until my world was rocked by my Crohn’s diagnosis.

Let me preface this next ‘chapter’ by saying that having IBD does not hold anyone back from having children. It does not mean you pass it on to your offspring, nor does it mean that they are affected by your medications or surgeries. They just have to be planned, that is all. And I commend anyone who has children and has IBD. That must be one heck of a struggle some days.

Having my Crohn’s diagnosis wasn’t the first one I had encountered. I was almost seventeen when it was confirmed I had PCOS – Polycystic Ovaries Syndrome – meaning I have very erratic or none-existent periods and it could be very difficult to conceive a child. Of course, being seventeen I wasn’t interested in fertility rates and future treatments for conception; that for me was either a very long way off or wasn’t going to happen. Excellent, one less thing to worry about I thought. 

So, considering all this, I decided quite early – probably on one of those long afternoons whilst in hospital isolation, a few months into my Crohn’s adventure – that I was back on the no-baby bandwagon. For the most part, I’ve sat there alone; not a lot of people willing to share my views.  But it’s an opinion and a decision I am open about and my main reason behind it is because I don’t want to be a sick mom. There is no guarantee that any medication I tried would get me into ‘remission’ nor would it hold long enough to conceive, give birth, and raise a child. And despite doctors’ best efforts, I continued to get sicker and sicker as the years went on, I tried more and more medications to help me just live my own life. I couldn’t have imagined what that would have been like with a husband and a child. I am lucky to have found my current partner, given the circumstances. And the guilt I’ve felt already about being chronically ill and needing help; the pressure of me being unwell has put on my family, my partner and trying to continue to work, has only solidify my choice to not want to have children.

Selfish, I know, right?

Well, no I don’t think so.

It’s my body and I can choose not to have children. My partner feels the same way; it is one of things we  agree on 100%. Our life together with my incurable illness is more than enough, thank you!

So, imagine my shock when, in the months that have followed my ostomy surgery, I find people asking me when we will start a family.

Why is there an assumption that because I am well again now, that we must procreate? It hasn’t even been four months into this recovery and yet people want to discuss my womb like it needs to be filled pronto by life!

Why is there no respect for the decision we have made together as a couple to not have children?

I am surrounded by baby stuff these last couple months; as my brother is becoming a dad in the Spring, making me an aunt. That is all great news and I’m completely excited for them, but I am filled with anxiety. What if I change my mind and do want children? Is this why my Crohn’s got bad enough to need my ostomy to make me realise this? Or am I just clutching at straws? Would I want it? I feel pressure to be ‘normal’ and want to want to have children because it feels unorthodox to be against procreating. There is an expectation from both my own and my partner’s family to have a child together; give them grandchildren. If anything, that makes me feel more guilty for being sick and that being my life, my world, my future.

My life. My world. My future.

Is that for me to decide...?

Yes, my ostomy surgery has saved me from a life of pain. But it has not changed my view on having or wanting children. The freedom that I now feel because of my ileostomy isn’t making me pine for a baby of my own, it makes me want to go out and do new and exciting things. It makes me feel grateful for my body, the way it now is. It makes me realise that I have been through plenty already, I just want some normality for a while. And normality should be buying a house, living with my partner, having a couple of dogs, and enjoying being together. That’s what I want for my life.

Despite everything being different, I feel the same as I did twelve years ago. I now feel like I can achieve that.

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Fast and Furiously through Life

Not many of our readers will have met me in person (you're the fortunate ones), but anyone who has probably can think of a few words to describe me, hopefully some of them nice. But the word which I think would be screamingly obvious within a few minutes is... fast.

I don't mean that in the Austenian/bodice ripper novel sense of a "fast woman" but in the literal "opposite of slow" sense of the word. I walk, talk, eat, drink even read at a speed that most people find disturbingly quick. I have to be yanked back when I'm walking with friends, I try to say half a dozen things at once and fudge them all, I'll have finished a meal in the time it takes anyone else to eat half of theirs and I will read an entire book before your eyes if you give me a few hours.

Despite people's admonishments and my own meagre attempts to rein myself in I can't seem to slow the pace at which I barrel through the world. I've been somewhat served right for this propensity recently when I got caught speeding and had to attend a speed awareness course yesterday. Maybe this is a necessary reminder that I should slow down in more ways than one.

It Me

I often wonder if my breakneck consumption of food, tea, books & the world is actually slowing me down in the long run? I'm so impatient to get to the next thing that I'm not savouring the experiences I'm having at any one time. It's the kind of illusory shortcut that makes people overtake you at stupid speeds only to have to slam to a stop 500 yards in front of you. You haven't gotten anywhere any quicker and all you are is frustrated.

My life is mostly blurs of mindless absorption punctuated by grinding halts of anguish when I suddenly *can't* do something quickly - like writing. Oh boy does it bother me that I can't seem to get any kind of momentum with writing at the moment, I'll make several sputtering attempts to jump-start the rust-bucket of my writer's brain, give it up as hopeless then swerve back into the fast lane for another burst of high-speed monotony.

If I slowed down, took my time and really lived each day, maybe everything would flow. A steady stream of attention for all the things I want to do, if I approach problems at a more manageable speed perhaps I can work out how to solve them before I've crashed straight into them. If I wasn't in such a desperate hurry to finish my book maybe I'd be able to get somewhere without constantly stalling.

Slow down, enjoy the view and get to your destination in one piece. Something to apply to life and the road.

P.S. Don't be a fucking idiot while driving, something that always bears repeating, even to me.

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Fantastic Besties (and Where to Find Them)

I am a massive Potterhead. I am part of the generation who grew up with Harry Potter, who eagerly awaited each new books release. I cried when I watched the last film, was one of the first people in the world to see The Cursed Child and I have Harry Potter merchandise scattered around my bedroom. To say that I am a fan is an understatement, Harry Potter is part of who I am, and it makes up my very essence as a person.

Naturally, like many Potter fans, I was very excited when Fantastic Beasts was announced so much so that months in advance I made plans with my three best friends Chelle, Ray and Faye to go and see the film, however this wouldn’t be a normal outing.

Those who have followed my journey here on Safe Space will know that I’ve been making massive progress with my agoraphobia, PTSD and anxiety this past year and I decided that I wanted to tackle my biggest challenge yet: going to the area where my abusive ex lives to go to the cinema and watch Fantastic Beasts. I haven't set foot in this part of town for years and I finally felt like I was ready to tackle my biggest demon.

And then, the Johnny Depp casting news was announced.

For some Potter fans, this was nothing more than a distasteful choice (if problematic to them at all) but when I read the news I actually broke down in tears. You see, Harry Potter has always been a safe space for me. It was also a massive source of comfort to me when I came out of the abusive relationship. When I was bruised and broken it gave me the strength to get up and fight and restored my faith in humanity. So Johnny Depp, a known abuser, being cast felt like a massive betrayal to me, I felt so let down and for a time I felt lost. I made the personal choice to not support this part of the Wizarding World and cancelled my plans to see this film telling my friends to go and see it without me. That was when something unexpected happened.

I woke up to a message saying that they’d been talking and they would rather not see the film and see me instead, a decision that I found incredibly moving. So on the 20th November, the day that we were supposed to go and see Fantastic Beasts, we got together and went for a meal at a pub right next to the cinema so that I could still face my biggest trigger with them by my side.

Looking back I still can’t quite believe that I did it, especially because I was so incredibly anxious that morning but my girls got me through. Over the past year I have faced so many of my demons and they have been by my side every step of the way. They are my Harry, Ron and Hermione not letting me face the darkness alone. They are the tribe that I dreamed of someday finding ever since I was a little girl who learnt what true friendship is from these books.

Magic aside, at the core of Harry Potter is the message of standing up for what you believe to be right, which is something that I feel like I did that day for the women and men in the world who live in fear of their abusers, but also for myself. I took a stand that said this is not okay, I am not supporting that and did something for myself instead and my friends cared about me enough to support me in my decision. Forget Fantastic Beasts, I have fantastic friends and they can be found by my side, always.

If you enjoyed this post, you can find more on: 

 Bloglovin' | Twitter | Jess Hearts Books

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Getting My Fitness Back Again... Maybe

If you've been following my posts here on Safe Space for a while, then you probably read this post where I discussed that my physical health isn't great, and this post where I talk about my current progress. This is something that I've been struggling with for a long time. It's hard to not be able to do all the things you used to do, not because you don't want to but because you're physically incapable of doing it. 

I had a bit of a set back since that latter post. I stopped exercising almost completely again because it became too much and too painful. So for the last few months I've been trying to get my fitness back. It's been a long and difficult progress and I am nowhere near where I wish I was and that keeps making me want to just give up and just be the lazy person my body is screaming at me to be. But I just don't think I can be that person. 

First of all I started walking more. I drove to the park and ride near work and then walked 25mins from there to work and 25mins back too. I did well with this until my muscles and joints started screaming for pain and I realised I couldn't do it every single day. So I changed it up. Walked some days and took the bus on others. I soon started to feel stronger but also still a little deflated that I couldn't do it every day.

Then I went back to the gym and tried pilates. The first session was tough. I almost cried in pain in the class so I just stopped that exercise and was just unable to finish any of the exercises they did. But I felt better at the end of it. But also exhausted and destroyed.

And I continued to feel that way for the next three days. I had the normal muscle pains but on top of it I had an aching feel that wouldn't go away.

But I went again. And it was tough, again, but I still managed to do just that little bit more. And this time the pain lasted a little less.

I'm now without a car so I've been walking to and from the stations everyday, I have plans to go swimming and go back to pilates but I'm also getting aches and pains on random days again. My arm has been a pain recently where it's been so painful that I couldn't sleep. It's a daily struggle but I know that I need to lose weight and if I want to do that, I need to exercise. One way or another. Just push through the pain.

So I'll keep going. But I will remember my limitations. I do not want to be bed bound again. I will not push it. But I will push myself just a little bit.

Do you have any exercising tips for someone who is often in pain?

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