Being Large and Loving Fitness

One foot. Another. Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this. You've got this. You're nearly there.

These are the kind of thoughts that rattle through my brain when I go running. Sometimes other thoughts get in too, sometimes I just count, one, two, three, breathe, one, two, three, breathe, and sometimes I sing along to the music blaring into my head. When I swim, I count my lengths as I go and sometimes count my breaths but often I then just think about what I'm doing or just about life in general. But mostly, I focus on what I'm doing. I can easily let worries escape me when I'm exercising and it's one of the biggest reasons that I love it.

Another reason is that I just love being active. It's hard to describe but there is something so freeing about exercising. A release of endorphins. A build up of muscle. A wave of emotion. I can't really describe how it feels when I finish a run with a personal best, or if it's a run I'm struggling with, how good it feels to push through until I feel satisfied. I love so much about exercising. I have always been a very active person. Even as a child. I was always the first one to run off, to climb the monkey bars or do the hop scotch. I loved PE, especially Netball and Rounders. Ironically I used to hate cross-country running when I was a teenager, but that's mostly because I was always the last person across the finish line.

And I still feel that way. Because no matter how much exercise I do, no matter how hard I push myself and beat my own personal bests, I have never been the fastest. I've never won a race or a swim, I've never been able to go to gym classes and do everything for the whole hour. It does not matter how much I do, I have never been better than other people. But I'm okay with that because despite that, I still love it. And it's probably why I'm one of those odd sport lovers who is the least competitive person ever.

But the problem I really find with exercise is that no matter how much of it I do, I find it incredibly difficult to lose weight. This essentially means that I'm a fit individual* who can run without stopping for over an hour but I still fit in the "obese/overweight" BMI category. It means that I feel, ultimately, self-concious every single time I walk into the gym or an exercise class because it feels like everyone is judging me. It means that I, essentially, hate the way I look. I hate that I can't seem to do anything about it either.

The biggest way I feel insecure while exercising, aside from feeling like everyone looking at me and thinking it must be my first time in a gym, is the fact that it is very difficult to get exercise clothes in the right size for cheap. Apparently when it comes to fitness clothes, they only make clothes for people who are already skinny, not for those who are just trying to shed a few pounds. I have never been able to find clothes larger than a size 16 and this is completely demoralising. And it sends out a horrible message as well. I really hope that one day soon this changes because everyone deserves the chance to workout in clothes that actually help you exercise because they're designed that way.

And then there's that look I get when I tell people how much I exercise. That dubious look. Because surely there is no way I look the way I do and still go to the gym three times a week. I can't possibly be honest when I explain that I have an active job that has me going up and down four flights of stairs for the majority of the day. Because if that were the case, I'd look slimmer. I should be slimmer. But I'm not. And I've come to the stark realisation that I also probably never will be. I do fluctuate in weight and I know that at the moment I'm more on the heavier side than I have been, but it means I will probably never have a flat stomach and look model-thin. And I'm okay with that. I just wish other people could be as well.

*This may not be entirely true any more due to currently not being as active as usual for personal reasons but I'll be talking more about this in a few months. Let's just pretend it's correct for now. ;)

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Being an Introvert

Society is designed for extroverts. Whether it’s in the questions about what you’re doing with your Friday night, and the subsequent pitying looks when you say, “Reading… at home… alone” or the “You’re quiet” comments that emerge five minutes after meeting somebody, it soon becomes apparent that you need to be someone other than yourself. This is the message drummed into us from school. You should be forthcoming with answers, you should ask questions and you should make small talk. But what if that isn’t who you are? What if that isn’t even who you want to be?

I am content spending many hours of the day in my own company, whether that is at home or in any number of places outside. I would rather have a couple of friends I could always rely on than be surrounded by crowds of acquaintances. I enjoy spending a day sat in the quiet of a library or sitting by myself in a coffee shop that is heaving with people, as long as I'm not forced to interact. If I meet you for the first time, I will be the person who wants to know what makes you unique, what makes you tick, instead of talking about what was on television last night or what the weather forecast is.

It is only now, at the age of 28, that I am able to accept myself as an introvert. Instead of feeling deeply uncomfortable if I’m in a social situation and someone shouts, “Say something!” at me (it has been known!), I will acknowledge where my strength lies. I no longer believe that my introversion is “bad” and that it is a trait I should be ashamed of. I’m slowly building up the confidence to see myself positively and not as less of a person just because of my preferences. 

I may be the quietest person in the room and I may not want to introduce myself to lots of different people who are only going to have a passing role in my life. But when I do speak, it is because I believe what I’m saying may bring something to the conversation. When I ask to spend time with you, it is because I want to get to know you more and I am hopeful of a sustained relationship. When I’m with you, I listen to every word you say because I’m interested and willing to be informed.

I don’t like being the centre of attention and I would rather not have a day surrounded by lots of people whom I need to interact with. But I’m not anti-social and I don’t dislike people. I’m not stuck up; I don’t think I’m too important for the conversation you’re holding. I’m not simple or uninformed just because the thoughts in my head, silent to you, don’t escape through my mouth. 

Being alone teaches me so much. If I am able to keep myself motivated of my own accord, if I’m able to generate my own happiness, it means that I need never be afraid of having time by myself. I don’t want to become someone who needs others in order to live fully. Being alone doesn’t mean that I’m lonely. It means that I am at my most creative and most energised when in my own company, leaving me better placed to manage social situations as they arise. That said, introversion doesn’t automatically mean shyness. Those who are shy would like to be around people and engage in conversation, whilst introverts are content on their own. The presence of anxiety around socialising is what distinguishes the two.

We may always be surrounded by messages proclaiming extroversion as the personality trait we should attain, but we don’t have to listen. In our introversion - cloistered in libraries, quietly stood at the edge of a party, exploring the countryside by ourselves - we can be confident in who we are. We may not have thousands of Twitter followers or diaries full to bursting with social engagements, but we have much to offer and we have much to gain from the lives we lead. Surely that is what matters most?

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My Mental Health Treatment Journey Part 1: Medication

The other day I was talking to a friend about my experiences with medication for treating my mental illnesses. She was starting the same medicine that I’m on and wanted some guidelines on what to expect. After talking to her I realised that talking about what medication you’ve tried and what sort of therapy has helped you isn’t a common topic of conversation. 

When starting a new course of treatment it’s normal to have questions but other than talking to your doctor there’s nowhere to really turn to for these discussions. So I’ve decided to share with you my experiences with medication and therapy in the hopes of encouraging people to start having these conversations and also to hopefully shed some light on the different kinds of treatment out there. 

It wasn’t until I started writing this post that I realised that my story is a long one and so I’ve decided to split this into two parts, this first one is about medication and the second part which will be up later this month is on therapy. 

As a disclaimer it’s important to know that different medicines and therapy are used to treat different mental health problems and one set way doesn’t work for everyone. This is just my personal journey.

My first step in treating my mental health problems was with medication. My family noticed something wasn’t right with my mental health before I did, so when I was fourteen after a lot of coaxing (and the promise of a McDonalds after) my mum took me to see our family GP. I remember him speaking to her rather than me and them talking about my moods and how important it was for me to get through my GCSE’s. He prescribed me a low dose of Prozac and wrote off my moods as stress from school. The Prozac seemed to do the trick; it got me through the next few years although I did notice that I often felt happy or sad with nothing in between. When going for my medication reviews this was wrote off as typical teenage mood swings.

When I was sixteen my mental health got vastly worse and so I went back to my GP who put me on a higher dosage of Prozac. That’s when things went very bad. My moods were either very high or very low. I’d either spend my days constantly on the go or struggling to get out of bed and go to school. One morning I got out of bed and honestly felt the worst that I’ve ever felt in all of my years living with mental illness. In tears, I made it downstairs and collapsed on the living room floor hysterically crying. I was inconsolable and had no idea what I was crying about but I couldn’t stop. I felt deeply depressed and just wanted the dark cloud that seemed to be following me around, weighing heavy on my shoulders, to go away. I felt like I'd literally hit rock bottom lying on that floor. My mum couldn’t get me off the floor, never mind to the doctors, so she made an emergency phone call to him. He said I’d had a bad reaction to the Prozac and that I was to come off it immediately. Slowly, as the Prozac came out of my system, I started to feel better. My mental illness was still there but I didn’t feel as bad as I did on Prozac.

My doctor wanted to try me on a different medication but after my bad experience I was very reluctant to give anything else a go. Slowly my mental illness (which I didn’t have a name for back then) was steadily getting worse. My typical day consisted of waking up and feeling too anxious to leave my house so I’d stay in. Trying to make myself useful, I’d fight off the depression that was demanding that I stay in bed and force myself to shower, prepare meals and tidy up all of which required me to check certain objects or touch switches and door knobs repeatedly until the feelings of anxiety subsided - a ritual that could go on for hours. Then, mentally exhausted, I’d collapse into bed and sleep the rest of the day away. Something had to change but I was so scared of going back to my GP in case he wanted me to try medication again, which at this point I was really against. After much persuasion from my nearest and dearest I went to see a different doctor. Before doing anything he wanted me to get a proper diagnosis, something that other mental health professionals have since told me should have been done all along.

Two weeks later I had a one off appointment at the mental health branch of a local hospital and was asked some questions for about an hour by a psychiatrist. After the appointment finished she asked me “What do you think is wrong with you?” and I answered “Depression” it was the only mental illness that I’d heard of at that time that somewhat fit my symptoms. She diagnosed me with PTSD, Anxiety, OCD and Depression. I was confused, I said to her “I thought PTSD is what soldiers who’ve been to war have? And isn’t OCD when you need things to be clean and worry about germs?” She was brilliant and explained to me that the abusive relationship that I was in at that moment in time had created trauma in my brain and that OCD is more about the obsession behind the acts rather than what you actually do to stop the anxiety.

Having that diagnosis changed everything for me. My doctor now knew what was wrong with me, I could research the illnesses online and find people like me. It made me better understand my moods and  knowing what was wrong made it treatable. If you think you have a mental illness I’d strongly recommend asking your doctor for a referral to get properly diagnosed by a mental health professional so that you can get the right treatment. There are a wealth of mental illnesses and conditions out there that you may not have even heard of or considered. Knowing what you have and treating it correctly can make all the difference. It's like if you went to your doctor and were treated for eczema when you’ve actually got impetigo. Getting the right treatment for your condition is crucial.

When I went back to see my GP with my new diagnosis he then prescribed me Citalopram. I was very cautious about this but my doctor was really great asking me to keep in touch with him if it made me feel bad and saying that I could come off it or we could try something else. He told me that just because one medication didn’t work, doesn’t mean that none of them will. Those words were the real turning point for me and are something to keep in mind when going through treatment. Confident in my diagnosis and trusting my new GP I bit the bullet and tried Citalopram, because of the severity of my mental condition at that point I was put on a high dose of 60mg. At first it didn’t feel like the medication was doing much but a few weeks in and I started to feel very numb and a bit like a zombie. I hated feeling that way so in my medication review I was honest with my doctor who decreased it to 20mg which turned out to be the perfect amount for me.

Taking Citalopram certainly didn’t cure my mental illnesses but it did soften the sharp edges of my mind making the PTSD, Anxiety, OCD and Depression easier to live with. It also didn’t come without a trade; I put on weight, lost my sex drive and often felt lacking in energy. But to some extent I got my life back so guess who won that trade off? I’ve been on a 20mg dosage of Citalopram for the past ten years; it suits me and has improved my life so much.

I’m so glad that despite my bad experience with medication I tried again. There is so much negative stigma surrounding taking medication for mental illness and I was someone who, for a time, believed that stigma and refused treatment that could have made me better sooner. For the record, taking medication hasn’t changed my personality - if anything it's made room in my brain for my personality to shine through now that it’s not so cluttered with obsessive thoughts and all that darkness. It hasn't dulled my creativity (hello blogging!) and I still experience other feelings vividly and intensely. For the longest time I truly believed that medication was my enemy. That taking it was weak and wrong and would change who I was. Medication is not my enemy. It’s the shield I use to stop the mental illness from hitting me so hard. Deciding on whether you want to take medication or not is a personal choice, but know before you decide that there is no right or wrong option and that there is no shame in picking up that shield.

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My Nan, My Hero

On Monday 4th April, it will be a year since my nan died. She had lung cancer, which she had fought and was told she had beat, and was in remission - only to be told about a month later that it had actually spread to her brain, and she had six months left. She was here for another nine. As I have recently talked about how hard it is to be without her already, I thought that I would instead talk to you about how she was - and is - my hero, my role model, and my inspiration.

People are multifaceted, complicated beings, and Nan was no different. The overall image I have always had of her is: my Nan, the party animal; strappy heels and low cut tops; perfume, lipstick and chewing gum; a dry martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Dancing, flirting, swearing like a trooper, and bragging that she could drink anyone under the table. She was a good ol' cockney bird; confident, fierce and wouldn't take any crap from anyone, and I was in awe her.

Nan was confident in how she didn't care what anyone thought of her. She lived very much by the saying, "If you've got it, flaunt it," and she definitely had it. People were drawn to her; she was always laughing, never taking herself too seriously, and would flirt with anyone. She was fierce in that she had a voice and she used it. If you wound her up, you would bloody know about it. She was assertive, and would stand up for herself and hold her ground, and defend whoever she felt needed and deserved to be defended. When I was younger, I always wanted to be just like her when I grew up; just as confident, just as fierce.

But there was another side to Nan; a gentler, softer side. Nan had a huge capacity to love. She had two daughters and four grandchildren, and you could never doubt how much she loved us. She would do anything for us, and at times, she did go above and beyond. But she loved far more than just us six. As a child minder and a foster carer, she opened her heart and home to countless children for around 20 years. I can't imagine what it was like to have these children come to live with her, get to know them and love them, and then say goodbye - over and over again. I remember her breaking her heart when one baby, Chloe, and, later another, Grace, had to move on.

But there are those who never did leave, those she has always considered family. One girl, Debbie, became a woman who Nan considered a daughter, who considered Nan her mum, whose children were Nan's grandchildren - who I now consider my aunt. Nan also stayed in touch with a family whose three children she child minded, one from when he was a baby right up until he finished school. They were also "hers", and they felt the same; I've heard one of the three talk about how she was raised by two strong women - her mother and my Nan. Besides those people, I don't think it's possible to count the number of children who have called Nan "Nannie" over the years; her actual grandchildren, Debbie's children, great-nieces and -nephews, and those who stayed with her for only a short while. She's touched more lives in her 70 years than most of us could hope to.

When it came to those she loved, Nan was generous and forgiving, more so than she would be to anyone outside her unconventional family who might hurt her. And she had, at times, been hurt. But with us, her capacity to love was matched by her capacity to forgive. And I sincerely hope I do and will always love as fiercely and as openly as she did.

At 00.19am on Saturday 4th April 2015, she passed away, surrounded by people she loved and who loved her. Her hands were held, and she was told how much she was loved. She was there, and then she wasn't. I will never forget that night.

The past year has been hard and painful, and I miss her more than I could ever explain. But I remember who she was: the woman who danced and laughed. The woman who wore self-confidence like a second skin. The woman who loved with her whole heart. The woman who changed lives. The woman who taught me so much, and who, without knowing, showed me the kind of person I wanted to be.

My nan was an amazing, incredible lady. And I want to be just like her.



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Guest Post: Going Braless by Caitlin Lomas

I need to start this post with the disclaimer that I have small boobies. If you read this and think "what does she know sitting there with her B cups" I am aware this whole process has been easier because I have a small chest. And I am by no means saying everyone should stop wearing all kinds of bras, more asking you to consider WHY we wear underwired, padded, push-up, cleavage-boosting ones. Are we all on the same page? Good. Off we go, then.

My first ever bra was, I think, a 28AAA. Seriously. It wasn't even a bra; it was a bra-shaped crop top. My mum got it for me because, at 13, I really didn't have any breasts at all but felt self conscious about not wearing a bra in P.E; my crop tops felt childish. Like a lot of girls, I think, I grew up thinking breasts were the ultimate sign of femininity and that NOT having breasts meant I was less of a girl. Eventually I got enough in the breasticles department to fill a cup that wasn't a made up size and off I went and I never looked back.

 A few years ago I finally came to terms with how much I fucking hate bras. They've never fitted me properly even after being professionally measured, they always seemed to make my boobs hurt all the freaking time and despite being fairly thin I always got that weird mini fat roll between my bra-encased breasts and my arms that made me feel ugly and fat and self conscious. “But I can't stop wearing them!” I thought. “That would...just be WRONG. Everyone wears a bra! What would people THINK. What would they SAY.” I struggled on. Then, just over a year ago I decided I didn't give a rat’s ass what people think. I’m uncomfortable enough in my body from the pain of my chronic health condition, without voluntarily adding extra discomfort. So I took the plunge and I did not wear a bra. And no one said a goddamned thing.

Without a bra, I felt free. My boobs stopped hurting. The level of comfort I now experienced was just...indescribable. But more than that, I felt powerful. For so long I wore a bra because I thought that, as a woman, it was what was expected of me. It was part of the social contract. And going against that, and feeling better for it, made me feel strong. I started to wonder why I'd even started wearing one in the first place. I'd not needed the support because of back pain, so why had I bothered?

Because I felt like I was supposed to. Wearing a bra was a sign I was a woman, like starting my period or growing pubic hair, it was a sign that I had Made It. I was part of the club. And I started to feel like the only reason I ever wore a bra was, not because I needed to, but because everyone else needed me to. Because it was expected that my breasts sit at a certain place on my chest and be a certain shape and not move very much and, heavens forbid, never suggest I have nipples. And the more I thought about it the more I felt I'd been duped. I'd been wearing these godforsaken things for a decade and I really didn't need to.

Aside from this, there’s also the issue that the fashion industry expects your breasts to be within a certain size range, and if yours fall either side of this range, you’re punished by being offered bras that aren’t pretty, or sexy, or whatever it is you like to see in a bra, and instead are boring (or ugly) and often expensive, with limited options on offer in limited places. No fair.

Obviously, bras have many practical applications. I know many of us breast-bearers opt for bras for a range of reasons, and going totally braless is not necessarily an option for all. I do think that when we think 'bra' we think of the underwired variety, probs with a bit of padding for maximum boobage and to guarantee nipple coverage on even the coldest of days, and designed to hoist our breasts up to their socially desirable position about an inch below our chins. Boobies are not supposed to go this way. If they were, that's where they'd be already. The point of this post is more to get us to think about what we put our boobs in, rather than just reaching for what we've always reached for. There's bras without underwire, sports bras, camisoles with built-in support cups. Regular camisoles. And yes, going totally braless.

So next time you try on a totally amazing top or dress, but are going to leave it in the changing room because "I can't wear a bra with it" try it on without one. I bet you look bangin'.

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Being Clear About Getting a Smear

In the UK, once a woman turns 24 or 25, she is invited to go for a cervical screening test, or a 'smear' test. They then need to be tested every 3 years until they turn 50. My 24th birthday came and went, and my screening letter arrived on my doorstep. I promptly opened it, tossed it to one side, and forgot about it. 

Why, you might ask? Maybe it's down to the fact that I am notoriously bad at booking appointments; it took me 18 months after moving to actually register with a GP. But I think deep down I was also feeling what pretty much every woman feels when they receive the letter: apprehension. 

And I'm not really sure. I'm quite blasé about illnesses; I don't worry about catching diseases or developing conditions. I'm pretty laid back in life and it's just not something that I (thankfully) have anxieties about. 

And I knew the procedure might be a little embarrassing, but I've had several STI tests (better safe than sorry!) and from what I gather, they are pretty much the same. Yes it's an inconvenience, but it's over within minutes. 

Yet I joined the thousands of women who put off having their smear tests every year. It wasn't until I received my third reminder letter, and my friend (who I share the same birthday with) booked her's, that I figured that I should just go ahead and book mine.

Smear tests are performed at your GP surgery, and are generally done by a nurse. I worried about stuff that is ENTIRELY irrelevant. What do I wear? How much should I groom? Should I shower before? Or would that affect the results? 

All of this is completely irrelevant! If you want to be able to cover up quickly, I would recommend a skirt, as you can just whip it up for the action and then flop it back down again. But the nurse will give you as much time as you need to take clothes on and off, so just wear whatever is comfortable. I don't recommend fifty layers because you will probably end with something upside down/back to front. 

With regards to the procedure itself – look away now if you're particularly squeamish! – it's pretty straightforward. Once I had undressed from the waist down, I lay down on the couch. They may raise the bed as necessary, so don't be alarmed if you are two feet higher than when you started! It's to save the nurses having to convolute themselves over your nether regions. 

Next comes the part most people dread: the speculum. It's either plastic or metal, and is inserted inside the vagina to hold the walls open so that your cervix can be accessed easily. This may feel a little cold, and some people say a little painful, but I barely felt it at all. There is a slight pressure inside as they take the swab. It's quite hard to describe, but for me it was like a little poke, and just felt very deep? Like an 'oh, that's my cervix!' kind of response.

Bearing in mind the swabbing takes approximately 15-20 seconds, and the speculum 20 seconds to put in and out, the actual examination takes less than a minute. They will ask you some basic questions beforehand, and you can expect results within two weeks. 

The main feeling I came out with is 'why hadn't I done this sooner?'. It's a relatively pain-free experience, took 5-10 minutes of my time, and meant that I can be confident that at least one part of my body is healthy. For the same reason I get STI tested, it's just for peace of mind. And it's great to finally tick off my to-do list! 

If your sample has any cell abnormalities, it will be tested for human papilloma virus (HPV), and if this is positive, you will be asked to go for further testing, known as a colposcopy. There are over 100 different types of HPV, and only a few of these are linked to cancer. 

My results showed 'changes to some of the cells in my cervix'. There was evidence of HPV, but this does NOT necessarily mean I'll need treatment. If you get the same response, I would please urge you to not panic at this stage. If you have low grade changes, most cases do not lead to cancer. However, a colposcopy should confirm what will need to happen next. 

How did I feel about my results? A bit eye-roll worthy, to be honest! It's just my luck that this would happen. I'm glad I eventually went, because having something go undetected could be dangerous, so if I do need treatment, better sooner than later! At the same time, I know the second test is not a result of me delaying the smear, and it probably wouldn't have made a difference if I had been tested straight away. 

What I will say to anyone who has received the invitation letter... just go and have it done. I felt a huge relief once it was over, and it's such a simple procedure. You may not need one if you haven't been sexually active, so check with your GP to see whether you need one or not. 

My colposcopy is booked for next week, so wish me luck! It'll be interesting to have giant binoculars pointing at my vagina...

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Me Time

I took about ten days out from my usual volunteering and daily activities recently.  I'd been very stressed and was feeling pretty run down.  So I needed a break.  Break from the slog of all the things I do.  A break from the expectations others have of me "Oh, Emma will do that."  And most of all I needed a break from the pressure I put on myself to do everything and always say yes because I feel like I should.  It's the downside of doing voluntary work - it's very hard to say no.  Especially with all the pressure and expectation from society that we should be working in paying jobs full time and pulling our own weight. 

I was very clear to everyone what my plans were. I was going to a workshop in Birmingham and to London for two days. And I was going to see a friend. Other than that in the inbetween times I was going to laze around reading, watching TV and knitting.  Several people said that sounded wonderful and they wished they could take the time just to be at home and relax.  At least one person when told I wouldn't be available at that time got the impression I was going away for the whole time.  I didn't disabuse them of that notion because them thinking that suited me.

I enjoyed it and it was very useful.   But getting to the point where I could take this break and put myself first for a few days was difficult.  And even a few days before I nearly backed down - I could hear a conversation going on around me how someone was needed to do something that week. They weren't sure how it could be done.  It was one of my usual days and I didn't have anything planned so for a few seconds I felt like I should speak up and offer to go in as usual.  I didn't though.  Because I knew that actually I'd do better long term and be more useful to them if I did take some me time and recharge my batteries.

After ten days I felt better.  Still tired but less stressed and run down.  I'd done almost everything I wanted to do. If anything I could have done with it being a few days longer - I didn't feel ready to go back to my volunteering this Monday!

Going forward I think that's something I probably need to do much more often.  I need to carve out that time (which I'm not too bad at doing) and stick to it (I'm terrible at that).  But more than that I need to find a way to manage the expectations others have of me and get better at saying no to people when I need to.  Me time is fantastic and so important.  Fitting it in all the time rather than boom and bust like this is more important.

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Why I Choose to Live

Over much of the last ten years, suicide has been a very real option for me. When my mood has been at its lowest and I haven’t been able to see ahead because of the fog of depression, life, as clichéd as it sounds, hasn’t felt as if it is worth living. After attempts at taking my life, when medical professionals tried to keep me safe from myself, I was angry. I was angry that they were taking the choice away from me. I asked myself what right they had to make me live when they weren’t the ones living my life.

But today it is different. There remain times when I see ending my life as a means of ending my distress. I still get overwhelmed at the prospect of living for decades to come. Perhaps that will always be the case for someone who has seen suicide as an available option. What I have seen recently, however, are also the reasons to be hopeful. They are the little glimmers of life, the moments I laugh without thought, the fulfilment that comes with doing something I enjoy. Instead of having a list a mile-long of why I want to die, there are greater reasons for me to live.

I choose to live because:

There is the possibility of change and of progress.

I can be with the people I love.

I can see the world and explore new places.

I can read books and listen to music, old and new.

I can help to make the world a better place through my unique perspective.

I can have new experiences – meet new people, go to gigs and events, and do what scares me.

I can use my experiences, rather than wasting them, in order to support other people.

I can make my life what I want it to be.

We all have different experiences and reasons for the choices that we make. I don’t know what your life is like. You may be content, you may be muddling through, unsure what you’re doing, or you may be like me, wondering why you should live. What I do know, though, is that what I saw as permanent has so often been fleeting. Things change. We can utilise the very worst of life and make it count for something. That reality is my reason for living.  

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My Favourite Feminists

I’m a fairly new feminist. Looking back I’ve always had feminist views but I’ve only been identifying as a feminist for the last four years. I’m twenty six and have a lot to learn in my journey into feminism.

Today I wanted to share with you some of my favourite feminists of the moment, who inspire me and are making a big impact on the world. This list could go on for a very long time so I’m hoping to make this into a blog series of sorts sharing about feminists that I love as I go along and discover them. Here are my first group to start with, if you're not already following the work of these incredible women then I've left handy links for you to check out.

Emma Watson

Emma Watson is without doubt one of the most influential feminists of the moment. She's the public face of HeForShe a campaign for gender equality that specifically encourages men and boys to stand up to sexism. Emma's speech at UN got everybody talking and has over 1 million views on Youtube here. More recently she's started a book club called Our Shared Shelf which is an open book club encouraging people to read books on feminism.

Shonda Rhimes

Shonda Rhimes is a television producer and writer and is known for both her diverse characters and badass leading ladies. Rhimes is responsible for shows such as Grey's Anatomy, Scandal and How to Get Away With Murder. She's a small-screen powerhouse dominating TV and changing what normal looks like on our television sets. She's recently released a book called Year of Yes where she talks about balancing a demanding career and motherhood with refreshing honesty.

Laura Bates 

Laura Bates is the woman behind the Everyday Sexism project and played a huge role in me recognizing that I am a feminist. On Everyday Sexism the public are encouraged to share their experiences of sexism from the big to the small stuff. What makes this project so powerful is that it shows how sexism is happening now everywhere and everyday making the comment "feminism is no longer needed" redundant. Laura has also turned the Everyday Sexism project into a book.

Taylor Swift

Taylor Swift is one of the most powerful women in the world right now. She's hugely successful off her own talent as a music artist and continuously promotes confidence, self worth and being women positive to her legions of fans. She gets a lot of flack for "not being a real feminist" but personally I think she's fighting her own fight against sexism in the music industry and doing things her way and that in itself should be respected as being feminist. Blank Space will forever be my personal anthem.

Malala Yousafzai 

Where to start with the powerhouse that is Malala? She is an activist for female education and is the youngest Nobel laureate. She's one of the most respected young women in history and has won award after award. Her story is both empowering and inspiring and has been made into both a film and a book.

Holly Bourne 

Holly is the author of four books for Young Adults. She has released the first two of three books in the Spinster Club series that follows the lives of three teenage feminists. I love that Holly is making feminism accessible for teenage girls. I think that it's so important that girls are taught about feminism from an early age and that's what Holly does in a really fun and  relatable way. The first book in the series Am I Normal Yet? has recently been shortlisted for The YA Book Prize.

Gloria Steinem 

Gloria Steinem is the very best of feminism and has been fighting for equality since before I was born. She's a writer and the founder of Ms. Magazine and is both a leader and spokeswoman for the feminist movement. She's an incredible woman with a mass of awards and credentials under her belt. She's truly an icon for any feminist.

Laverne Cox 

Laverne is an actress staring in one of my favourite TV shows Orange is the New Black. She's openly a transgender woman on both the show as Sophia Burset and in her own life. She's an LGBT advocate and is an icon for the transgender community. She's won numerous awards such as Glamour magazine's Woman of the Year and is known globally as one of the most influential LGBT people.

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Making Friends When Socially Anxious

If I was to count the number of friends I have, and treat it seriously, I would not get past one. Of course, I have work colleagues I get one with, people from the YA community who I love chatting to, and friends of the family who I think of warmly. But when it comes to real friends - the kind that are there for you no matter what; who you can talk to all the time about absolutely anything; who know you inside out and back to front, all your flaws, and love you anyway; who you can confide in and be silly with and go to for assurance when you're having a wobble - of those kind of friends, I have one. My best friend. And he lives in Belfast, while I live in London.

This hasn't been a problem for me. I've not felt lonely or like something is lacking from my life. I have a very close family, and we spend a lot of time together, and they've come to be friends, too. But at the end of last year, I came to realise that I don't really have a great social life. With a lack of more friends, perhaps I'm missing out on...something. Fun, sure - nights out, lunch dates, catching up over coffee - but also something more. People help you grow, right? They challenge you and educate you and give you a different perspect. My best mate does a fantastic job at this, but maybe I could do with a few more people in my life? And experience more things because of those people?

I decided that I was going to make an effort to try and make more friends this year. For those of you who don't know, #DrinkYA is one of many social events for those in that YA communinity - readers, bloggers, authors, publishing people - to get together and just hang out, chat, and have a drink, organised by the brilliant Jim. I went to my first #DrinkYA event in January, hoping to meet new people, have fun talking about books, and hopefully make some friends in the process.

I have always been quite shy. As a child, I was painfully shy; I remember once hiding in the bathroom when family were visiting my Nan, because I didn't know them well, and I got very nervous and didn't want to talk to them. It's got better as I've got older, university and work have helped, but I still find talking to people I don't know difficult. It's not something that comes easy to me, and I have to work at it. "Don't use small talk. Say something interesting, Stop feeling so nervous. Compliment them, maybe. Look them in the eye. Listen to what they're actually saying." To some I might seem stand-offish and rude, but I'm not, I'm just shy.

But I didn't realise just how socially anxious I was until #DrinkYA. (I'm not talking about Social Anxiety Disorder here, but social anxiety. The latter can lead into the former, but it's not a mental illness.) I went to the event feeling a little nervous, but generally pretty excited. Until I got there and realised in a group of around 30 people, there were only two I knew. It was overwhelming, and I became so uncomfortable. From my intro post, you might think I was a strong person who is happy in her skin and with who she is, and doesn't really care what other people think. And for the most part, I am. But at #DrinkYA, I crumbled.

Jim did introduce me to a number of people, and everyone was lovely. But I struggled with finding things to say. I let them lead the conversation and followed them, asking questions, trying to say interesting things, but I was like a rabbit in the headlights. I felt like I was being humoured, like they were taking pity on me, but weren't really interested. It's hard to describe how I felt. There were all these people, and they were going to judge me and find me lacking, and I just wanted to escape. So I wouldn't have to talk, so I wouldn't have to be judged. It was also hard because everyone else seemed to know each other from other social or bookish events, which I can't always attend because of work, and I was there on the sidelines. So not only was I struggling to talk to people I didn't know, I also felt like an outsider. I even went to the toilet at one point, just to get away from everyone. For a little bit of peace, a little bit of quiet. With my head in my hands, feeling like an idiot. Eventually, I pasted on a smile and went back up, but it was just as bad. As I said, everyone was lovely - I wasn't being judged, I wasn't being pitied, these people were there to hang out and chat just like me. But that's how my social anxiety made me feel, and it was unbearable. I lasted two hours before leaving, making my way home on the bus, feeling like a failure. How was I supposed to make friends, when I can't even handle meeting new people?

A few days after, I had a talk with myself. I wasn't a failure. So big groups are obviously not for me, I can't handle being around so many people I don't know. But smaller groups? I can do that. I organised a get-together with a few people over coffee, and although that was a little awkward at times, I was fine. An old friend from way back got in touch asking to meet up this year, and we had a drink together one night, getting to know each other again and reliving old times. It was a great night! And I went to a gallery with a blogger from the US who is studying here for a few months. Fewer people, but a step in the right direction.

I still have just the one friend, but we're only in the third month of the year. There's time. And I'm hoping that seeing more people at events and organising get-togethers will help me get there. There are several people I know that I would so love to be friends with. People who are so smart, who are just so cool and inspiring, who just seem like so much fun. But it's not really the done thing to go up to people and say, "Hey, I think you're awesome. Please be my friend?" Needy and creepy, much? But I'm sure I'll get there.

And if you see me at an event in the future, and I'm kind of quiet or on my own or not saying very much, please don't feel badly of me. I'm not being rude, I don't think I'm better than you, nor am I not interested. I'm just shy, and I'm probably feeling nervous about talking to you, and maybe struggling for something to say. If you know me online, and want to, please do come over and say hi. You've no idea how much that would mean to me when I'm struggling, how much it would help.



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Choosing Happy Not Skinny

Disclaimer: This post is being written from a privileged position of someone who has never been “over-weight” or had any weight-related disorders and is only *my* feelings on this subject as they relate to *my* body. I’m not trying to tell anyone what is right and what isn’t. Your body is yours and nobody can tell you how it should look or how you should feel about it or what you should do with it.

So I’m going on holiday tomorrow. Yep that’s right- tomorrow. As I’m writing this I’m trying to get the packing for me and Le Boyf done (because I have the odd need to be in control of the packing so I know we don’t forget anything), I have to work Wednesday before we drive over to my parents that night so I’m understandably a bit stressed right now.

I did some shopping the weekend before last to get some clothes to take on holiday and had a rather uncomfortable wobble with my self-confidence. I’m well aware that over the last year or so I’ve put on about a stone but since I don’t buy new clothes that often I’ve not had to deal with the nightmare that is women’s clothing sizes. It wasn’t all that fun.

If you didn’t see my tweets about my shopping mishap then here you go. Basically I opted to get vest tops a size larger than I thought I would need in the end rather than have to suffer through wearing super-clingy clothes while in America. Baggier is better when you’re feeling kinda delicate about your middle. The number on the label is bollocks anyway when you think about how wildly sizes vary from shop to shop. A Topshop 10 could be a Hollister XXL (because damn it if the clothes in there are made for human-sized Pepperami sticks).

Growing up I was always very lucky to be able to eat what I felt like and even with the minimal amount of exercise I did, not have to worry about putting loads of weight on. I was pretty much a size ten for all my teen years, maybe a size 12 for tops to accommodate my boobs. Apparently I have some genes on my side in that my biological father (who we’ll *not* be talking about further) was always fairly slim without trying. Silver linings I guess.

But now I’m in my mid-twenties I think the environmental factors *cough pizza cough* are getting the upper hand. I’m hovering around the 9st 12lb mark at the moment which is not making me all that happy. Most of that extra stone has ended up on my boobs (which isn’t an entirely bad thing because, hey bitchin’ cleavage) and round my hips and stomach.

This is what’s making me dread somewhat going on holiday. Currently my stomach is anything but flat and I have noticeable love handles on my hips. Add in the fact that my body is weird and has zero fleshiness around the middle of my hips before curving back out on my thighs makes it very difficult for me to like seeing what I look like in bikinis right now.

I know that my weight is perfectly normal for someone of my age and height (According to this chart anyway) but that doesn’t stop me from feeling horribly insecure about my middle and how crap *I* think it looks in tight fitting clothes. The other weekend I bought a stretchy body-con dress and the moment I tried it on I knew it was going back with NO swapping for a larger size. Even if I bought a size 12 it still would've only drawn attention to the oddness of my hips which just doesn’t work with that style of dress.

I know that the feeling like you don’t quite fit your skin is one that most girls and women experience all too frequently as they grow up. Society shoves these unrealistic ideals of what women’s bodies should look like down our throats from the moment we’re old enough to consume media. As a teen I didn’t really give a shit about being a size 6 and felt comfortable being the size I was which considering how my friendship group comprised of at least three girls who ate little more than fruit and diet coke every lunch it is surprising that I didn’t feel more pressure to be thinner than I was.

Even now I don’t want to be super-thin, I just want to feel comfortable in my own body. I’d like to be able to look at myself naked in the mirror and not frown at the handfuls of flesh that I can grab. I want to fit into all the clothes I own so I don’t have to keep buying new things that I can fasten without sucking in my entire gut. I want to feel happy to wear a bikini on holiday even if the only people who will see me will be my boyfriend and my immediate family.

Artwork by SiminiBlocker

I don’t give a shit if I’m not the magazine ideal of a bikini body (seriously though fuck that), I’m not trying to feel sexy for other people or even myself really, I just want to be able to look at myself and not immediately see flaws. Which I know is a lot to ask when we’ve all been pretty much conditioned as a society to constantly seek out the minutiae of our bodies and obsess over how it doesn’t adhere to some unattainable aesthetic standard.

There’s a pretty damn epic quote from Julie Murphy’s book Dumplin’ that ought to be the mantra of every single woman regardless of her size. It's what I'll be repeating to myself while I'm on holiday when the traitor part of my brain is saying that I should avoid going in the pool because I won't "look good" in my swimsuit.

Those thoughts need shutting down before they dig into your subconsciousness and linger like a poison, slowly dismantling your self-confidence until all you want to wear is baggy clothes that hide everything.

Now it's unrealistic of me to say that I'll feel better about my body by the time I get home from America. With the quantity of guacamole that I intend on eating it's likely that I'll feel even worse for a while but then I can begin to address those feelings and work on getting my body back to a size that feels right for me. Just me. No one else's opinion matters. 

Skinny or not, bikini body here I come. (By that I mean a bikini is going on my body. obvs.)

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Hi, I’m Jess and I’m a Hypochondriac

Admitting to you that I’m a hypochondriac is a hard thing for me to do.

When I talk about my anxiety, I’m fine.

OCD? Not a problem. 

Depression? Sure thing.

But it’s hard for me to sit here and fess up to being a hypochondriac and that’s because being a hypochondriac carries a bad rep.

Over the years I’ve been called a “drama queen” and an “attention seeker” by my nearest and dearest. I’ve been told to “get a grip” and that I need to “stop worrying about nothing.” I think it’s hard for me to write this post because hypochondria is an anxiety disorder that’s hardly ever spoken about and therefore has a long way to go in fighting the stigma surrounding mental illness that we’re just starting to break.

In contrast to what has been said to me, my hypochondria is something that I live very quietly with, much more so than I live with my other mental health problems. Unlike common perceptions regarding hypochondria I rarely go to the doctor with my worries and I hardly ever discuss my fears with anyone for fear of being called silly.

For me, living with hypochondria is losing a whole night to googling symptoms and reading about various illnesses online spending hours trying to self-diagnose. It’s lying awake terrified that I’m ill or dying. It’s having intrusive thoughts about all of the big scary illnesses out there and the chances of me one day having them. It’s about worrying that even getting help for these illnesses, like having surgery, carry a risk of death. Truthfully, having hypochondria is terrifying and something that I often sit with alone.

In my experience, when people think of death they see it as a far off thing that won’t happen to them, or at the very least is something that they won’t have to face for a long time. I’m the complete opposite. I’m very aware that death is a part of life and that one day I will die and so will everybody that I’ve ever cared about. I know that death can sweep in and happen unexpectedly when you’re not looking and so I’ve made death my personal enemy.

I try as hard as I can to fortify myself and those I love from death by being a hypochondriac, by worrying and thinking of the worst possibility so that I can act quickly. I’m on constant high alert for the grim reaper knocking at my door.

There are so many health warnings these days, everywhere you look from posters to TV adverts. Now I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m sure these advertisements save lives. But when you’re a hypochondriac being reminded that 1 of 2 people in the UK will be diagnosed with some form of cancer during their lifetime is not helpful. I look at those odds and I look around at the people I love and a wave of paralysing fear washes over me.

Every. Single. Freaking. Time.

And what’s worse is that I know that dying is inevitable and that for all of my worry and trying to protect myself and those I love against it ultimately there’s nothing I can do to stop it when it does finally decide to arrive.

Because as well as worrying about my own health I also am a hypochondriac when it comes to the people I love. My family get so annoyed with me when they’re ill. If they have an illness for longer than two weeks I’m certain that they’re going to die. I will nag at them to see a doctor and spend countless nights until the illness has passed crying myself to sleep and having panic attacks because I’m certain that something is seriously wrong with them.

In society hypochondria is a mental health condition that is still very much seen as a joke. It’s perceived as self-indulgent, dramatic and pathetic but in reality it is a terrifying condition to live with. On a regular basis I convince myself that I am ill and that I am going to die. I may not be physically ill but mentally I am there living it and experiencing it. I believe it deeply and wholly. To me, in my mind, I am sick and I am dying. Fact. And it’s not until my symptoms subside or I get a doctor's diagnosis that I believe otherwise. It’s petrifying and mentally exhausting.

Hypochondria is not a silly, frivolous or indulgent condition to have. It’s no fun to live with and is certainly no joke to be laughed off. I hope that one day it will be seen as the crippling anxiety disorder that it is and treated with the respect it deserves. But until that day I refuse to be ridiculed for a condition that I have as little control over as my OCD, PTSD and Depression. I refuse to be made fun of and refuse to believe that my very real fear is trivial, petty and insignificant.

My name is Jess. I am a hypochondriac and I will not be ashamed.

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Wearing A Mask

It seems to me that society has a way of telling girls and women that the only way to really fit in and be a girl or woman is if you wear make-up. Every single film, tv show, magazine, book cover, etc, seems to show a picture of a female who has professionally done make-up, and lets not go down the photoshop road where we remove all spots and blemishes too. But, needless to say, staring everyone in the face is this idea that without make up, females just aren't doing it right.

This is how I felt growing up. I would watch as my eldest sister got ready to go to school and it would take her over an hour just to put make-up on. I'd go to school without it and meet up with my friends who were all perfectly made-up and liked to spend time discussing the newest line that had been released at the weekend while I sat feeling a little confused and alone. 

I don't remember when I first started wearing make-up. I don't know what it was that made me walk into Superdrug and buy my first product. But I have now come to a point in my life where I am physically incapable of living without it. In fact, I actually did an experiment last month just to see if I could live without it and it was hard, I felt uncomfortable, and eventually I was incredibly glad the month was up. I ran back to my BB creame and plastered it on my face with an odd sense of glee.

This was a revealing moment for me. As I grew up without a clue, it's odd to realise that I now struggle without make-up. Essentially the only make-up I use is foundation. Occasionally I might branch out to some mascara and a bit of blusher but that's as far as I go. Mostly because I wouldn't even know where to start when it comes to the rest of the make up range. But what I discovered about make-up and me is that I find that wearing foundation is similar to wearing clothes.

When I walk out of the house without make-up, I feel naked. It doesn't matter that usually by the end of the day my foundation has washed off anyway, the fact that to start the day I was free of it, left me feeling so uncomfortable. It felt like everyone was looking at me. Like they were looking at all my ugly freckles, at my face blemishes, at the ugly spots and the moments when my cheeks would heat up, and they were judging me. (They weren't, but that's what it felt like to me). It's a bit like when you get home and realise you have something stuck between your teeth and you realise no body told you about it. To me, not wearing make-up and having no one say anything felt like they were just being too polite. 

So while it took me a while to first put make-up on, and while I don't think it's something that women have to wear, I thought it was interesting to discover that I have now become someone unable to go make-up free. To me, make-up is as essential as wearing clothes. Without it I feel naked, on show, and looked at. Make-up lets me blend in and I'm able to sit in the background unnoticed.

Because with society making it seem normal to wear make-up, not wearing it can definitely make it seem like you've got a spotlight on you. (But you don't, you really don't). So what I want to end this post with is to say that while I am unable to leave the house without make-up on, in some ways I wish I never started wearing it. Because I shouldn't have to. I shouldn't feel this uncomfortable about not wearing make-up. If you're someone who doesn't wear make-up, good on you. If you're someone who does, good on you too.

I guess what I'm trying to say is; ignore society. Whether you wear it or not, do it because YOU want to. Do what makes you comfortable. Because at the end of the day, that's the most important thing in life, right?

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Feel Good Music

I love music. I love to put it on loud and dance around my flat whilst singing along (badly but enthusiastically).  I probably annoy my neighbours when I do that but I can't make myself stop.

There are a lot of songs that have memories wrapped around.  Songs that make me smile and laugh. Ones that make the bad days better. And ones I probably shouldn't love but I just do.  And I tend to find a lot of meaning in song lyrics.

I'd struggle to tell you my favourite band or genre because I have ecclectic tastes. I have a special place in my heart for musicals and have a lot of soundtracks in my collection and at the moment I'm on a big Adele kick. But other than that pretty much anything goes.

Here are some of my "feel good" songs. It's taken me much longer to write this post than it should have done because I kept thinking of other better songs to include and having to stop to look them up and sing and dance around to them.

Anything Can Happen from the musical Mary Poppins:


"Anything can happen if you let it 
life out there waiting so go and get it 
grab it by the collar 
seize it by the scruff 
onceyou've started living life you just can't get enough
Anything can happen it's official you can choose the super
or the superficial sally forth the way we're steering obstacles
start disappearing go and chase your dreams you won't regret it"

 Roar by Katy Perry

I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire
‘Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me ROAR
Louder, louder than a lion
‘Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me ROAR

Fighter by Christina Aguilera

Makes me that much stronger
Makes me work a little bit harder
It makes me that much wiser
So thanks for making me a fighter
Made me learn a little bit faster
Made my skin a little bit thicker
Makes me that much smarter
So thanks for making me a fighter

Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You) by Kelly Clarkson

You think you got the best of me
Think you had the last laugh
Bet you think that everything good is gone
Think you left me broken down
Think that I'd come running back
Baby you don't know me, cause you're dead wrong

Just The Way You Are by Bruno Mars

When I see your face,
there’s not a thing that I would change,
'cause you’re amazing
just the way you are
And when you smile,
the whole world stops and stares for a while,
'cause girl, you’re amazing
just the way you are

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I'm a Bit of a Girl...

When watching a quiz show on television a few weeks ago, a question about boxing was asked. The female contestant looked dumbfounded and was quick to respond with, “I’m a bit of a girl.” Sadly, her response didn’t surprise me. In part, because I’m absolutely certain I’ve used it myself, but also because it’s a statement that goes unchallenged in many circles. This time, however, was the first time that I noticed my shock about the implications of such a comment.

“I’m a bit of a girl” is always used as a derogatory statement. Instead of claiming our femaleness as fact and observing the strengths that we each have, the comment is used as a put-down. It becomes about what you can’t do (“You run like a girl,” or “You throw like a girl”) and prescribes a set of subjects that you shouldn’t be expected to know anything about, in the case of this quiz show. But do we ever hear men saying their equivalent? Whilst claiming our status as women is so often seen as a declaration of weakness, manhood tends to be seen as the personification of strength and capability. If you cry, “you’re a girl,” is thrown as an insult because the sensitivity that we see as a positive when caring for others becomes a put-down if seen in the opposite sex.

If someone had turned to Nicola Adams, current Olympic, Commonwealth and European Boxing Champion, and told her that her womanhood automatically rendered her incapable of success as a boxer, her life would be radically different today. Yet her sport is the same sport that the quiz contestant claimed automatic ignorance about. I’ve overheard many conversations about sports and about careers, with people claiming that they’re not “very lady-like.” But is history really the best measure of what a woman should be? Perhaps we should be looking at what a woman could be.

The vast number of options available, from being doctors to electricians, playing rugby or badminton, demonstrates the vast spectrum of talents seen amongst men, surely showing that gender has very little to do with what we’re gifted at or what we enjoy. Opportunities, no doubt, are far more scarce for women in certain fields, beginning at school when PE lessons are divided into “girl” or “boy” sports. Only 9% of engineeringprofessionals in the UK are female, helped by 80% of Physics A-level students being male. This is despite there being no reason, biologically, why women can’t pursue this career path.

What we stereotype as being the male domain is kept off-limits, with our statements of “I’m a bit of a girl” being used as an excuse. We can’t keep succumbing to an “I shouldn’t know that” mindset and then expect to be provided with more opportunities. To confine individuals to lives guided by their x and y chromosomes, disregards the human capacity for learning and for achievement, whilst society doesn’t benefit from 50% of its inhabitants. If we, the people who so often speak of female empowerment, put ourselves down with our femaleness, we can’t expect others to do any different. It’s time to stand up and claim our place as women as the fact that it is. It’s not weakness, it’s not less. It just is.

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