If You Can't Be Labelled, You Can't Sit With Us

 There have always been labels to describe people.  These were generally physical descriptors: man, woman, child, fat, thin, tall, short, brunette, blonde, redhead.  Then there were ones for personality, a funny man, a confident woman.  Or for your interests.  A bookworm, a rocker, an emo, a gym bro (or bunny!).  When you were in school, whether you were a cool kid, or not.

All of these labels were true to you and gave a good description of you should someone ask.  To describe me for example, a short brunette who loves writing and 90s dance music.  I have never been cool sadly.

But now, everything has changed.  In order to be cool, you must be damaged in some way.  If you aren't, make it up.  The more labels the better and they have become the forefront of some people's personalities.

Remember when someone used to joke that they were a little "OCD" because they liked to clean?  This exaggeration has now been extrapolated by a thousand.  

You like to clean?  You have OCD.  Your girlfriend cheated on you five years ago?  You have past trauma and PTSD.  You are never on time for anything?  You have ADHD.  You have a naughty child who is combative? Must be autism.  You are a moody teenager?  You have Bipolar.  Your 5 year old daughter likes trucks?  Must be transgender.

Yes, I went there.  And?

People are collecting these labels to represent them, the more the better and they use them as their personality and their excuse for not dealing with life.  Look at Twitter bios for example, you have the user name, then the pro nouns, then the long list of everything that is wrong with them.

I am a Reddit user and day after day I see the people that describe themselves in their stories.  "I (23F) have depression, CPSTD, Bipolar and my boyfriend (25M) has PTSD, past traumas and ADHD".

I am just going to come out and say it.  No.  You don't.  Many if not the majority of these people have not been diagnosed with anything at all.  Yet they collect them like charms on a bracelet.

Diagnosis itself these days is also getting more and more extreme and overused.  Especially with children.  The amount of children, especially boys who are diagnosed and then medicated for autism is through the roof.  Boys are three times more likely to be diagnosed than girls.

Over 224,000 people were on the waiting list for autism assessments in March 2025.  The numbers of diagnoses have risen 175% in the last ten years with researches suggesting that at least 30% of diagnosed children being on at least one psychotropic drug.

That is before we get to the horror of what has been and is being done to children and the transgender debate.

We are raising generations of medicated children who will never be there real selves.

More than the use of these labels though, is the way that using them is enabling people to check out of life and responsibilities, because "label".  The labels have also become weaponized.  The people become childlike.

You have a problem showing up on time to work?  Well I have time blindness so accommodations must be made.  Instead perhaps suggesting that you set more alarms and put more systems in place to ensure you do get to work.

You can't be bothered to clean, do your laundry or cook and want to get your partner to do it all?  Claim ADHD and you can get a hall pass into not doing anything.  Instead of setting reminders, putting notes in your calendar, opening your damn eyes.

You are a rude person?  Sorry, I am autistic.   You just have to accept me.

You want to do only the fun things and nothing you do not want to do?  You can claim depression. (This one is a personal one for me as it hits the closest.  Depression can absolutely hit in different ways, but for me, I got up, I went to work and earned money because I needed to live.)  Now some use the word as an excuse to not work and yet still manage to find the energy to do the fun stuff.

No.  No.

I know people who have depression, have autism, have ADHD.  All of these people work with their diagnoses, they don't rely on them for an excuse.  They have routines in place, reminders are set, they go to therapy, they work on themselves and look at their behaviours and see what they can work with and try to improve.  They do not sit back and simply say, I can't.

When I went to a counsellor a couple of years ago, she told me that she believed that I had PTSD.  I have never told anyone that before.  I have never used that label in connection with myself.  Because it is a private thing and something that I worked on, behind closed doors.  I did not celebrate it on Twitter or talk about it on Tiktok.

There is something wrong on a world where anything that can or may hold you back in life is something that you use as your whole personality.  That you rely on to check out of life and responsibilities.

Mental health labels in particular have become a competition.  How many do you have?  Well I have x, y and z.  Plus potential a, d and s.  The more labels, the more interesting you are.

I weep for Gen Z and the generations after them.  They have grown up with the internet, with influencers, through Covid.  Their whole lives are online and now, everyone has to have a thing.  As I have said previously in another post, when in school, there is no escape from the bullies now.  You used to go home and that was your sanctuary.  Now you go home and social media is ten times worse than what is said in the playground.

The only way around this is to conform.  Be damaged, be cool. Check out of life, but make sure people know about it.

It is funny really. no matter who is on top of the social hierarchy, conformity still matters.  There is no escape.  Conforming to anything you do not agree with is wrong, but creating issues about yourself to fit in is not healthy.  

The thing is, before, you could grow up and mature.  The bad choices you made, the way that you may have once acted, you can change.  But the choices being made now, including those choices that parents are making for their children (Tom likes dolls therefore he is a girl and I will now act like he is), can have lifelong effects.  Especially when those choices include medication.

In the end, if it takes a dozen labels to explain you, maybe the most radical thing left, is to be interesting enough not to need them.

Perimenopause and the Hormone Hurricane - Trying to Find the Calm in the Storm

 So as I have talked about previously on this blog, I had a full hysterectomy in late December, leaving my ovaries.

For the first few weeks my hormones were all over the place.  I wrote previously about the cat making me cry because he wouldn't leave me alone in the kitchen.  Full on meltdown....

But those feelings faded and up until the last couple of weeks, I have been fine.  Healing very well, no pain; getting on with life.  But then, the hormones hit again.

It appears that perimenopause is knocking on my door.  I have no other symptoms, no hot flashes etc.  But the mood swings are a killer.

My first indication was a couple of weeks ago on a Sunday.  I was sat on the couch watching tv when a sudden feeling of anxiety hit me and it felt like someone was sitting on my chest.  Then, sadness.  Then, tears.  

Another day, irritability, then rage.  I was a storm cloud that could not settle and woe betide anyone who crossed my path. 

My mood swings seem to go sadness, rage, sadness, rage.  I have continued on this cycle every few days ever since.  

I am grateful that I have done so much work on myself because it crosses off that there is something troubling me or making me feel this way.  Those days are gone.   But just because they are gone does not mean that I do not remember them.  And therein lies the problem.

The anger, the rage I can deal with.  But the sadness, the pain of it; that is hard to bear.  Because it is for me, an all too familiar feeling.   

I have experienced pain and sadness in my past to the point where I wanted to die.  It is a feeling that I have never felt since that period of my time.  It not something I dwell on or ever dip back into, but when you have been on the brink, when you have felt a pain that is all consuming, you never truly forget.

This is again why I am grateful that those days are behind me, because I know without a doubt that these feelings are hormones and nothing more.   But the familiar feeling of such sadness is a dog whistle for me.  It takes me right back to that time in my life.  Where hope was only a dream and pain was my reality.  

The feelings that I have from my hormonal swings are nowhere near how I used to feel.  But there is a glimmer.  There is a familiarity to it that I recognise instantly.  Because whether it was 20 years ago or yesterday, you never forget that feeling.

It terrifies me.

But I am not the girl I once was.  I was alone then.  Lost.  I did not seek help because I did not believe myself worthy of it.  That is no longer me and the feelings are not real.  The pain and the root of that pain has been purged.

So instead, I look for what I can do to combat.  I have started taking evening primrose and star flower.  I have been told that this helps a lot when your hormones go array.  If they do not work, I will look at other options.

I mainly wrote this post today because I realised that there must be so many other women like me.  Who have been to the brink and pulled themselves back.  Who have experienced depression and thought it long gone, only for that old familiar feeling to come back, like a ghost from your past walking right in front of you.

I rely on my partner to remind me that these feelings are hormonal when the sadness hits.   That I am not returning back to sadness, but am just moving into another stage of the physical life of my body and that this is temporary.

If anyone reading this has gone through, or is going through the same; I would love to hear from you.

From Hauls to Finds: Changing How I Shop

There is a moment—usually somewhere between your third parcel arriving in a week and the clothing bringing you no joy, when the shine starts to wear off fast fashion. For me, that moment came courtesy of shopping with Shein. 

One day I realised that it was nothing more than cheap thrills, quick fixes, and clothes that felt cheap and regretted almost as soon as I’d cut the tags off.

I started shopping with Shein for holiday clothing and cheap accessories.  For that, Shein is perfect.  A swimsuit that you will only wear for the holiday, cheap summer jewellery that is disposable and you don't mind losing by the swimming pool or a beach bar.

But then I started to buy more.  A pretty dress here, and there, and there again.  A pair of shoes.  Another dress.  More and more.  But what I realised was that “more” wasn’t actually delivering better.

The Fast Fashion Fatigue

Shopping on sites like Shein is engineered to feel like winning.  Every click is a dopamine hit, by design.  The clothing is unbelievably cheap, vouchers are applied in every basket. Everything looks good in the photos. The quality looks great and for a moment—click, buy, confirm—you believe it.

But then the packages arrive.

The fabric is thinner than expected. The fit is… optimistic. The colour isn’t quite right. And suddenly you’re left with a pile of clothes that don’t feel like you—they feel like a rushed decision. Yet each purchase is so cheap that half the time you no longer bother to send back.  You donate or lose in your wardrobe.  Never worn.  

The Shift: From Quantity to Curiosity

The move to second-hand was not an intended lifestyle change. It started with curiosity.  There have been items that I have wanted to add to my wardrobe for years.  Brands that I like but cannot afford but would like.  Something with a bit more character.  Some pieces that will last.

Enter Vinted

At first, it felt like work. You have to search. Filter. Scroll with intent of what you are looking for. But what I found is that the more specific I got, the more I liked the pieces that appeared.  I could narrow down to brands, and then again to whatever category of clothing I was looking for.  Not just reacting to what the algorithm picked for, but actually choosing pieces for myself.  My own taste.

The Unexpected Upgrade

Here’s the part no one really talks about: second-hand shopping can quietly upgrade your entire wardrobe.  On Vinted, you’re not limited to what’s currently being mass-produced. You’re browsing across seasons, styles, and prices. That especially works for me as I do not follow trends, I just like what I like.

That means, netter fabrics, better longevity and occasionally? A designer piece at a fraction of the price.

Shopping on Vinted has made me excited about clothes again.  About what I can find, specific to my need and for a great price.  There’s a story behind each purchase “I hunted for this and found it.”

The Financial Reality

Buying second-hand means that you are still getting a bargain.  It doesn’t always mean spending less on a piece, but it about spending smarter.

You learn how to shop more carefully.  Checking the photos, checking the description (designer pieces often have more information that you can double check online).  Checking the reviews of the sellers and the other pieces that they have available.

I make sure to only buy items marked as "very good" and so far, everything that I have received has been in perfection condition.

For cxample:

Michael Kors Large Cindy Bag - Retail £180   Purchased for £20

Marks & Spencer Blazer - Retail £70   Purchased for £6

Ted Baker Purse - Retail £70   Purchased for £13

Ted Baker Sunglasses - Retail £95    Purchased for £30

Little Mistress Dress - Retail £75    Purchased for £9

For £78 pounds I have purchased six items (that would have cost me £490!) that will last me a long time, are better quality and are still within my budget. 

Letting Go of the Old Habit

The hardest part isn’t learning how to shop second-hand—it’s unlearning the fast fashion mindset.  Shopping with Vinted is not a see and click buy within five seconds experience.  Shopping with Vinted takes time, but it is so worth it.

The dopamine hit of a £10 dress is real. The convenience is addictive. But now when I receive an item I have found on Vinted, I love it because I searched for it, because I have been wanting it.  The joy is back and I am discovering my taste again.  

When you start buying things that you really love, you stop needing so much.

Creative Corner 6 - A Hidden Getaway

Story Prompt - A fictional character describes their hidden getaway 

Let me tell you about my hidden place.  Hidden, yet in plain sight.

The Broughton Club has always been a special place for me.  It isn’t a gentleman’s club or a country club.  It is a members only club for those who want to, quite simply, disappear out of the world; be it for an hour or two or occasionally, a few days.   Numbers are limited and the waiting list is huge.

There has always been an air of mystery about the place.  The club has been situated on Granville Court for as long as anyone can remember.  No one knows who owns it or even who started the club in the first place.  The imposing double doored entrance gives no clue as to what or who is inside.

While most people who pass by think it is a gentleman’s club due to the number of well-heeled gentlemen you seeing entering the premises; the Broughton Club is in fact open for anyone who is willing to pay the membership fee (and sign the members agreement).

The members agreement is simple.   You must be introduced by another member.  You cannot approach other members who are in the quiet areas.  If you are looking for conversation, the bar and dining area is there for you to converse with other members there.  Non-members are not allowed, except for initial member introductions.  What you get in return is absolute peace, with five-star service and total discretion.  A place where you can go and have some peace, real peace, away from the hustle and bustle of the world.  No matter who you are.

Membership is expensive.  They make no qualms about it.    But this isn’t the kind of club where memberships are passed down through families, nor indeed is it the type of place that allows a family pass.  None of my family (except my husband) even know that I go there.  Once you have been introduced, you are vetted (not that they tell you that, but everyone knows that this happens) and you make an application to join.

Once you step through those doors, you get a feeling of home.  A very luxurious home, but home none the less.  Your exact tastes and preferences are noted down once your application has been approved, and they have everything that you could wish for. 

So what do I use the Broughton Club for?  Calmness.  Some time to myself to indulge in quiet moments.  My normal life is hectic.  My work and home life are demanding and time to myself without being bothered is a rare commodity. 

Whenever I get a few hours to spare, you will find me at the club, tucked into one of the large leather high back chairs in the quiet room.   I press a button discreetly hidden in the chair and the book I have been reading from the library is delivered to me.  I order a coffee or sometimes a glass of Dom Perignon from the butler who delivers my book, along with some lunch or dinner.   There is a menu you can look at, but truly, you can just ask for whatever is your fancy at that moment and they will bring it.   

No is not in their vocabulary.

There are others there in the quiet rooms, all doing their own version of peace.  We don’t talk.  There is no need.  That is not why we are here.  Some rooms are simple, quiet, with large fireplaces.  I enjoy watching the fire in the winter.  Sometimes I put my book aside and simply watch the fire crack and spark.  Other rooms have a similar set up, but quiet classical music is played.   

There also smaller rooms if you want to be truly alone.  All the comfort you could wish for, with a button to summon a butler.  You can do anything from read a book to have a full five course Michelin Star meal if that is what takes your fancy.

If you want to stay a few days, you can also do that.  Opulent rooms with huge four poster beds and twenty-four-hour service at the touch of a button.  But no visitors are allowed in the rooms.  Only members.  I suspect that they have previously learned that lesson.

There is a large dining room and bar area if you want to come out from your quiet place.  I have met a few members that way.  We don’t say much.  We talk about the rarity of such a place that allows you to step away from the world whilst sipping on a glass of Domaine Antoine.  We know how lucky we are to have found it. 

No business deals are done there.  Although connections are undoubted made and a personal relationship or two has been forged.  But this isn’t the place to carry out an affair.  You don’t go there for a date.  I should know.  It was my husband who introduced me to the place.  I have never seen him there, nor would I want to.  This is my sanctuary, just as it is his.

The Broughton Club is special because it is unique.  It is set up for isolation and a calm that you choose for yourself.  It offers conversation if you wish, but the quiet rooms are often more occupied than the dining/bar area.

One a year the club hosts a masked ball.  Chosen so that members who can attend can remain nameless if they so choose.  Black tie and ballgowns, with a mask.  If you didn’t know any better, you would think you had walked into the scene from Eyes Wild Shut such is the abundance of wealth on display.  Except there is (certainly) no sex, no orgies, just wine, good food, a quartet playing and good conversation.  The quartet are not blindfolded, but they are paid handsomely for their discretion.

Many reporters have tried to get into the Broughton Club, convinced that there is something sordid there, some story to tell.  They know that only those with money attend and with money normally follows scandal, power plays and deals done behind closed doors.  They would be disappointed if they knew. 

Like Fight Club, the members know that you do not talk about the Broughton Club.  You only bring someone for an introduction if you completely trust them, because any scandal or even breaking of the rules by them would result in you both losing your membership.

In a world filled with money and power, social media and the internet, secrets sold for profit and our time increasingly taken until nothing is left, the Broughton Club offers a step away from the chaos of the world, and exhale.  

And that my friends, is priceless.

The 1950s Housewife Lie - Why Domestic Bliss was a Myth

One in six people are now thought to be on anti-depressants in the UK.  That equates to around 15% of the population.  Women in their 50 and 60s are the highest demographic.  This information is used by some as “proof” that women were happier when they were in the home and not working.  That those women would not be taking medication had their lives been “as they should have been”.

I have to say first and foremost that the comment "as they should have been" irritates me greatly.  As if women have nothing more to offer than being in the home.  Have no interests other than cleaning and childcare.  As if there is no point in them inspiring for more.  Wanting more.

Yet those unhappy with their lot were stuck.  Until 1964 an employer could refuse to hire you if you were a woman.  You could refuse to sell a home to a woman until 1974.  You could refuse to rent to a woman with children until 1988.  Society then was not designed for women to have independence, whether they wanted it or not. 

So what are the actual reasons behind the current statistics?

Firstly, as we know, men typically do not ask for help.  They do not talk about their problems, and that includes not talking to their GP and getting help.  Women do.  Women also attempt suicide in greater amounts than men, but tend to do so in a cry for help way, whereas men tend to go for the option that will be fatal.

So the numbers are already not accurate.  We do not know the number of men who need help but do not ask.

But let us look at the supposition that the women were happier when they were housewives.  This is something that cannot be quantified.  Because the times and choices available were completely different back then. 

But we do know this. 

Antidepressants were first introduced in the 1950s.  Let's look at some of the adverts, targeted solely at women I may add, from that time.

You can't set her free, but you can make her feel less anxious

Housework is simple ladies!  Take Ritalin!

The food machine can cook again when you take Morndine!

Figures show that 20 - 30% of women were taking anti-depressants in the 1950s and this continued in an upward motion through the decades.  Valium, well known as "Mother's Little Helper" was brought to the market in 1963 and sales went from 500,000 in 1965, rising to 29 million in 1970 and peaking at a staggering 88 million by 1988.  That is just figures from the US.

So many women obviously were not happy.  They were depressed.  There are of course women who wanted to be stay at home mothers and thrived on it, or were at least happy.  

The issue we have is that women in general want more in life than being attached to a vacuum cleaner with a child tied to the hip.  They wanted more than just their lives to be in the home 24/7 with zero breaks.  While their partners get free time and indeed, days off work, the women did not.  Their money was controlled, did not have a bank account or in some cases, access to money that was not given to them by their husbands.  While some wanted this life, many were stuck in that life.

The fact that in the same decade that anti-depressants were introduced, that 20-30% of women immediately needed them, says everything.

I think now of the film Mona Lisa Smile.  Particularly Julia Stiles' character, Joan.  She was brilliantly minded.  She got into Wellesley.  Was offered a place at Yale.  But she chose to become a stay at home mother.  I do not judge her for that.  That was her choice.  It is more the reactions and responses of her soon to be husband that I noted.    How could she go to Yale but have dinner on the table for 5.00pm?  He may have thought that she was intelligent, but it was inconsequential.  Her role was cleaning the home and cooking, then raising children.  Her intelligence was amusing and fun for him, but not taken seriously.

But I hear you say, women started working in greater numbers from the 1960s onwards.  That is the reason for the increase in anti-depressants!!

Sorry, but no again.  The fact that is that more women did start working.  But the amount that they had to do in home stayed the same.  This has continued, although decreased slightly, into present day.

There are numerous studies that show that women do a far greater amount in the home then their male partners.  A recent study shows that 67% of the women interviewed said that they did a far greater amount in the home compared to their partners.  

Is it any wonder that more and more women turned to anti-depressants.  They thought that by working, the split at home would be equal/more equal.  But this was not the case.  They gained bank accounts and access to money, but their time was still regarded as the families while the husband's time was not.

Some men see the 1950s as a golden time.  It is plain to see that for women, it was not.

Creating Space, For Yourself

 I don't think that the work that you do to improve yourself ever really ends.  Nor should it.  It is important to reevaluate, reassess and dig a little deeper.

I am in a place in my life now where I am the happiest I have ever been.  I have worked on myself a lot over the years, especially for the last two years and it really shows.  I have reached a freedom, a peace and a clarity of mind that I never knew that I could achieve.

When you sort out the big things. the smaller things that were not noticeable before, appear.  Old behaviours or reactions that worked well at one time in your life, but are not needed now.  Some of them are so unconscious that you don't even realise.

I feel so lucky that I am at a stage now where I can see these behaviours and can work towards changing them.  For example, I have mentioned in a previous post that I unconsciously wait for someone's reaction, before allowing my own, which affects and changes how I react.  Now I know that I do this, and more importantly, why I no longer need to act this way; I can change it.

One of the things that I have realised is that I have always made myself small.  My needs and wants have always been put second, last or not even at all.  Other people have always mattered more.  I have never put myself first.  Said what I wanted.  What I needed.    

I think that that is why that I have always enjoyed and offered to organise.  Because then I can slip in some of my wants and needs.  But in general, I have always put others before myself.

This stems from a lifelong need to be wanted.  To be loved.  I have burned for years, keeping others warm.

But now, I no longer need to.  Recognising this to be true was a step that I reached recently.  I am loved.  I am wanted.  I deserve to be bigger.  To branch out.  To say what I want.  Ask for what I want.  I can allow myself that now.

I realise now that I matter too.  I have always mattered.  And I deserve to exist in a space in this world.  

The road ahead of me is exciting.  Because I am making choices now for myself, not just acquiescing to others.  Not just assuming that my needs are automatically smaller or inconsequential.  

This is my time now and anything is possible.

Shall I tell you a secret? One day, I want to write a book.  For now, I am practicing with short stories.  Because, why not.  

Tuesdays with Morrie - My Thoughts

I recently read “Tuesdays with Morrie” by Mitch Albom.  It was a beautiful book which made me think about and reassess my life.  That is the sign of a good book.

It started me thinking about what we have in our lives, what we need and what we want.  Which are of those are necessary to our happiness and wellbeing; and which are not. 

It also made me think about the people in my life, those I love, those I like, those I don’t like.  The reasons for this.  About what relationships I want to cultivate and grow.  Those I need to give up on or forget.  Those I need to work on.

It made me think about what I have, that is actually important and means everything to me.

I have love.  That is the first and foremost.  Nothing will ever rival the moment that I first felt truly loved.  To be able to spend the rest of my life with the person that loves me most is a gift that cannot be measured. 

Love cannot be taken for granted.  It needs work, care, consideration and give and take.  Working on my love is something that is a lifelong goal and one I need to remember.  Not to take love for granted.

I have a home.  A real home that is mine.  A safe haven.   That is something that I always wanted, and now have.

There was a line in the book that really made me think. 

You have to be ready to die, in order to be ready to live.

What does that mean?  For me that means no regrets, no things I put off till “insert date”, no chances I should have taken but didn’t.  To have lived my life as best as I can, be as good a person as I can, be as happy and bring as much happiness as I can.  So, when that time comes, hopefully decades from now, I am at peace.

Morrie talked about not worrying about getting old.  That aging means learning, and the older you are, the more you know.   That is a good thing.  The more you have experienced, the more you have lived and enjoyed.

One thing that you could tell about Morrie was that he truly lived.  He experienced everything and let himself feel it all.  He let himself fully enjoy life and completely immersed himself into whatever he chose.  He listened.  He danced.  He cried, when he needed to.  He allowed himself all emotions and did not worry about what others thought of it.

He talked about it being important to recognize when a feeling such fear came upon him.  He gave himself an amount of time to experience that fear, let himself fully feel it, immerse himself in it; and then put it aside.  By doing this it enabled him to detach from the fear having let it have its time. 

This is such an important lesson to learn and one that many of us, myself included, do not allow ourselves.   Pain, fear, anxiety, worry; these are all emotions that I have run away from in the past.  Or experienced some of and then thrown into a box in my head and buried.  But buried things in your head can find their way out.  It isn’t healthy.

Tuesdays with Morrie taught me that I need to say yes more.  Say yes instantaneously.  Before doubt or worry or planning sets in.  Maybes rarely happen.  We have one life to live and it is our duty to live them to the fullest.

I can still feel the glow that I had after reading this book.  I recommend it wholeheartedly.

Fifteen Years of Blogging!

I don't make New Year's resolutions.  I find that doing so just means that I end up actively ignoring them.  But what I did promise myself last year is that this year, I would focus more on doing what I love and brings me joy.  For me, that is writing.

Writing is something that I have always loved.  It is my passion.  My writing has taken many different paths and led me on many different journeys over the years.  Writing and sharing my posts out into the world has helped me grow as a person, given me confidence and also given me an outlet for my thoughts and feelings.

Over the years my blog has been many things.  A diary, a plus size fashion blog, a commercial posts blog and now, a place where I share my thoughts on whatever subject or current interest comes to mind.  I also have a continuing series of short stories, which I was surprised to find that I actually enjoy!

It is easy for life to take hold and for you to put passions aside.  I realised that last year I only wrote five posts for the entirety of the year.  I knew that that had to change.

Last year was a big year of chance for me.  Moving house and all that entails as well as working on myself as a person.  As a result of the personal work I have done on myself, I started this year with a happiness that I never known.  With that happiness, my desire for writing returned.

I have been so many different people during the lifetime of this blog and I think it shows.  What started as a diary of sorts to try and understand myself, changed into plus size blogging.  This gave me more and more confidence, where I had none before.  Sharing my journey into confidence, sharing photographs of myself and pushing myself out into the world, trying new things was a wonderful experience.

When I started plus size blogging, I wrote an email to the person who had inspired me.  A few years later, I received one of my own.  I cannot tell you how happy that made me and how it made me realise just how far I had come.

By this point I was working with clothing brands and I decided to branch out to writing commercial posts as well, which was a nice little sideline for a while. 

For personal reasons I decided to stop plus size blogging and commercial writing and for a few years after that, I lost my way a little with writing, with less posts every year than I ever had before.

I have been on a personal journey these past 5/6 years.  Some of this is documented on the blog, some not.  But I have taken more steps to find my own peace these last few years than ever before; and the result is the woman who writes this today.  Happy.  Fulfilled.  No longer plagued by demons of the past.

Now, I love my life, my partner, my job.  I sat down at my desk at work today and realising that I was smiling.  That is quite an accomplishment for a Monday morning!

So where will this blog go now?  What do the next fifteen years hold?  More of the same I hope.  More opinion and thoughts pieces, more short stories.  The world is open to me now, to take my journey wherever I wish.

I hope that you come along with me for the ride.

What Fictional Character Would You Invite For Dinner

 

Call me crazy, but Hannibal Lecter.  On the strict prior agreement that I would not be on the menu!

Thomas Harris’ character Hannibal Lecter is wonderfully complex and frankly, is someone who has always fascinated me.   He is a psychopath, undoubtedly.  Dangerous, absolutely.  But he is also one of the most interesting characters I have ever read.

Are psychopaths born or are they made from experiences that they had?  I think that the honest answer is probably both.  In Hannibal’s case, he was forced to watch his sister’s murder and then eat some of her body.  You could say that Hannibal’s lack of empathy stems from this very point.  He saw the worst thing in the world and never had feeling again. 

But there is more to Hannibal that the things he went through as a child.  He is extremely intelligent.  He is charming and can easily convince people to do his will.  He is fully aware of what he is and he enjoys it.  He luxuriates in who and what he is. 

He accepts into his world only what he wants, what gives him pleasure, even if that is human flesh.  He sees all other humans as either something to play with, or as food.  They are beneath him. 

But he has standards in who he chooses to eat.  Clarice interested him and he decides that the world is better with her in it.  He is more than likely in love with her, but that is buried deep.  He is capable of love but does not allow himself to feel it.  I think that may be the only safety net that he has.  Instead, he believes that he keeps her alive because she is a toy that he chooses to pick up and play with now and again.

What I find interesting is that Hannibal is not just a cannibal.  He also murders for pleasure.  He killed Benjamin Raspail because his playing displeased him.  But he had his fun by serving his organs to the Board of Philharmonic Orchestra.  Almost like serving up a gift to them, not only enhancing (as he would say) their meal but also by improving their orchestra.

Hannibal enjoys killing.  I have to wonder that if he had not given into these urges, the flamboyant killings, whether he would ever have been caught.   It is his need for admiration and showing off that gave him away in the end. 

He has to be noticed.  He expects to be noticed.  For all his lack of empathy, he has a need to be seen.  You will see me.  Look at me and wonder.   Almost childlike in that regard.

You can see why people flocked towards him.  Are intrigued by him.   Like I am myself.  He was created by both nature and nurture.  We will never know if he would have became what he did if his sister had not been killed in such a way.  But his tendencies for cruelty, sadism and his enjoyment of that, had to in some way been born with him.

I suspect that if you asked Hannibal Lecter whether he regretted his crimes, he would say no.  Because to him, he is above the law.  I believe that Hannibal would think of himself as no less than a god.   A god who did not need to explain himself, nor would he.  A god who made his own rules.  Lived above and beyond the rules and laws that us mere mortals follow.

There would of course have to be rules.  Many people would have to know he was invited.  He would not be the one cooking.  But I think it would be a chance to meet someone who is utterly unique.  One can only hope that there would not be many Hannibal Lecters in the world.  But it sure would be interesting to meet him.  With I knowing who he truly is and he knowing that I knew.  I think he would enjoy it.  A chance to once again, show off.

Who would you invite for dinner?  You don’t have to go to a weird angle as I did!

When Familiarity Breeds Complacency

 They say familiarity breeds contempt.  I say that it breeds complacency.

We are in an age now where job security is not a sure thing.  Where people change jobs every two years, chasing a higher wage, different benefits.  But what about those who stay in the same job for years?

You may be in a relationship for a decade or two, but are you happy?  Or is it just what you know and it is easier?  Are you making yourself unhappy because you are too scared of being alone?

In relation to behaviour, you may have grown up a certain way and you act in accordance with that, but does that not mean that you can change?  Questioning the way you have always acted can be intimidating.   It is has worked for you so far, why change?  But what if the change will make your life better?  Make you better.

The new can be exciting but also terrifying.  It is an unknown quantity threatening to enter into your space.  A space that you know well.  That is safe.  It is what you know.

I have experience with some of these.

I was with my previous employer for twenty-five years.  I had grown up there; it was safe and familiar.  I had a fantastic boss.  But.  The work had changed and was hurting my soul.  The business had moved to somewhere inconvenient.  The money was not what I wanted and was not likely to change.  My partner questioned frequently why I stayed.  My answer was always; it is home.  But the truth was, it wasn't anymore.

Then one day I was approached by someone from my current employer, suggesting a move.  Something in the stars that day made me think.  Made me question what I really wanted to do and what I wanted to achieve. 

My job then was a safe cocoon, but was I still happy?  I decided to make the leap of faith, knowing it was right and that I could do this.  I was ready.  Although there were many tears (from me) when I left, it was absolutely the right choice.  I do not regret it for a second and have been so happy in my new employ.

The second experience is how I act.  How you act and react is often formed early on.  Behaviours are learned that are not always healthy.  Now that I have reached a time in my life where everything is good, those behaviours need to change.

I apologise too often.  I put myself down too often.  I wait to see someone’s reaction before I allow myself my own.  I am scared of rejection and can be like a puppy begging for affection.  All of these things are learned behaviour, but I know are not what I was meant to be.  Who I was meant to be.

Hard wired reactions are hard to change.  But the answer is slowly.  Step by step.   Day by day.

I pause a lot now before I speak.  Before I rush out an unneeded apology.  Before I put myself down.  I have noticed since doing this that I even used to put myself down first, before mentioning something good that had happened to me or something I had achieved.

A prime example of this was this weekend.  I was at a spa with friends and I was talking about a post that I had written with my friend, while we were getting a facial.  She said that I was a writer and I was good at it.  I immediately tried to diminish.   Saying no, I am just a blogger.  I write part time.  Just bits and pieces.  It was an immediate reaction that I could not take back.

But I am a writer.  Yes, I do write part time, but it is my passion, my love.   It is my vehicle for words that may not come out of my mouth, but are in my head.  My words flow freely through my fingers when I write.  It is a natural.  It is freeing.  It is mine. 

If someone likes my writing, then that is wonderful.  But it is not why I write.  I write because I want to.  Because I need to.   It is in me.

Now, when someone asks me what I think, I try not to predict their reaction before I answer.  I also try not to give them the answer or reaction that I think will please them the most.  I am more honest. 

These are all things that I am still learning, still trying to do.  It is hard to rewire learned behaviour, but it is possible.

I don’t know about you, but I have been at so many stages in my life, and I am a very different person to the girl I once was.   Every step, every change, you do not notice while it is happening; but then you look at yourself one day and you are not the same person.

Courage.  Courage is key.  It is about giving yourself a chance.  A chance for more, a chance to be a better version of yourself, a chance to expand your life.  A chance to be happier.

I welcome new things into my life now.  Changing the immediate no, to a maybe, to a yes, to a hell yes.  When you open yourself up to new things, the possibilities and rewards are endless.

Budgeting Tips for 2026

 I have talked about money saving tips before on this blog here.

Today I wanted to talk about the basic budgeting techniques that I carry out every day in order to make the most of my money and make it work for me.  I have one budget for my personal money and another for the joint account for my partner and myself.

I have a monthly budget for every month for the next year.  Sounds excessive?  Probably, but it works for me.

The biggest things to factor in are the things that you don’t think about at first glance.  For example, some months of the year have five weeks in them.  There are four this year.  So what does that mean?  An extra weekly food shop at a minimum.  A five week month will typically require an extra £150 to my budget when you look at all the extras.

What I do to counter this is at the beginning of the year I look at the number of months with the extra week and work out the extra money needed.  So this year, an extra £600.00 was needed.  This equates to £50.00 per month.  Every month as part of the budget, I transfer £50.00 to our savings account, using when needed on the “extra months”.

Another thing to look at are subscriptions services like Amazon.  We have regular subscriptions set up for things like coffee, pet food etc which are all set to different frequencies.  Some can be every six weeks, every three months, etc.  So at the start of the year I check the dates (Amazon helpfully projects the dates for you) and I incorporate these figures into the appropriate month.

When it comes to food, make sure that you have the store clubcard.  With mine, I pay an £8.00 per month subscription, but this saves me 10% of two of my shopping bills.  On average, after taking the subscription payment into account, I usually save at least £20.00.  Over the year, that is a saving of £240.00.   Every little helps!

Other things to think about are things like home and car insurance.   It is usually cheaper to pay annually for these things, so I set aside an amount every month (based on the previous year’s figure with an increase of 10%) to go into a specific savings account to pay for them when the time arises.  This accrues interest and means that when the time comes, the money is ready and waiting to be paid.

I tend to use a cashback site when arranging the yearly insurance too, which can gain you around £100 if you shop around.  I use the cashback sites for many things, but the big earners are home insurance, car insurance and pet insurance.

I also incorporate a “slush” section into my monthly budget.  There are the inevitable things in the month that come up that you need (or want) to buy and having some extra money available helps.  I account an amount of money every month and anything we don’t spend is moved into a savings account.

Forward planning for the year ahead means that I am never surprised by the extra food shop in the month, or when the bulk orders from Amazon come out of the account.  It is there, ready.

This type of planning absolutely takes time and I am much more vigilant than I need to be.  I update the budget when bills come out, food is bought etc every few days so I always know where we are at any given point.

Here is an example of the accounts I use for our joint account in order to keep everything running perfectly.

 Current Account                      All bills are paid from here

Insurance Savings                    Money is transferred here by standing order each month

Regular Savings                       Any money left over from the “slush” money goes in here together with     the monthly “five week payment”.

 These are just a few of the ways that planning out your budget for a year can save you money.  I would estimate that doing everything the way that I do saves/earns me £400-500 a year.

What top tips do you have for your budget?

Creative Corner 5 - Wishes from a Genie

Story Prompt

You are given three wishes by a genie, but the twist is, you don't get to chose what you receive. The genie does.

Do you remember the day that the earth decided to stop hiding the magic in the world?  No one ever discovered the reason why.  It was as if Mother Earth had just decided that there was too much pain in the world and decided to give us the magic that we knew, or hoped, was under the surface.  Just outside of our vision.  But no longer.

What became interesting was what was folklores were true, what creatures were real and what we had in fact made up in our heads.  Fairies?  Real.  Trolls?  Real.  Dinosaurs?  A hoax, apparently perpetrated by pixies (also real) to mess with the human race.

Dragons were real, but had in fact become extinct.  The Loch Ness Monster, was real but also now extinct.  I was sad about that one.

Crime rates went down, though this was a technicality because it turned out that a lot of unsolved murders were actually committed by vampires and the occasional werewolf and no one was quite sure yet as to whether those beings could be charged with a crime.  You certainly couldn’t put them in prison.  They would eat the population.  

The Yeti and Big foot were real, but decided to stay in the shadows.  They were still not interested in interacting with humans.

Magic was real, although who was magical and who wasn’t was still not obvious.  A bit like Harry Potter with us being the muggles.  Magical people prefer to keep to themselves and have their own government.  Although it is called Nydrian.  Not the Ministry of Magic.

What brings me to my post today though is my experience with a magical being.  Not a witch, wizard or warlock, but an actual genie.  They are exceedingly rare so rumours still fly around as to their existence.  But yes, I met one.   Here is my story.

What you need to know about genies is that yes, they do grant three wishes, of a kind.  The difference however is that they choose for you.  They are a pure spirit and can see what it is that you actually need.  So what did the genie choose for me?  Three opportunities to speak to my soul, the essence of my being, at times of my choosing.

At the time I was disappointed.   Winning the lottery for example would have been nice.  But after much thought on the matter, and indeed after having my three wishes, I discovered that what I had been given was actually priceless.  I received inner peace.

Have you ever found actual true inner peace?  I did not think it was possible to be honest, or even if I thought about it, it was never something that I believed that I could ever attain.

The first time I spoke to my soul I was wary.  I was going to find out who I actually was.  I had been through a lot in my life and wasn’t sure I would like what I found.  So I started with “Hello.  Who am I?”

My soul, unnamed and female, told me to close my eyes and she took me back to the absolute baseline of myself.  The core of who I am.  For that time period, every moment of pain, every sadness, every bad moment of my life was lifted off my shoulders and set aside.  It was all still there.  But temporarily moved to the side.  So I could truly see, me, stripped bare.  I felt lighter, so much lighter. And so young. 

There is something wonderful, and quite relieving about realizing that you are the person that you thought you were.  The feeling that had plagued my life of not being good enough was frankly ridiculous.  It was such a pure feeling; and it has stayed with me since.

Even when it was over and all the pain that had been removed was put back, I knew, absolutely, that I was not only still a whole person, but that I was enough and that made so much difference.  That is when I began to realise what I had been given.

I chose not to take my second opportunity to speak with my soul for about six months.  I was settling into myself, the new feelings of confidence and I knew, somehow, that the actual work would begin with my second meeting.

I was right.  The second time was hard.  The hardest thing I have ever experienced.  There was anger in my body.  Rage. Indescribable fury.  There was something in me that needed to come out.  Immediately.  I won’t tell you the details, some things do have to remain private, but the words that erupted from my mouth had festered in me for decades. 

It was painful, but so very needed.

Anger isn't healthy. Pain isn't healthy. Burying them as deep as I had damages your soul. 

The fall out from that took me some time to heal from.  To accept.  To understand what that meant and how my life would be different as a result.   For a time the sadness that I have carried for so long was much worse, but I began to understand that the knowledge of it was no longer festering inside me.  I was free of it.

I waited a year for my final encounter with my soul.  I needed to heal.  

I did not know what to expect.  I was nervous.  Scared.  But what happened that day was the most beautiful, perfect time of my life.  I found my inner peace.

This time, my soul said hello back and although there was no corporeal being for me to see, it felt that she was pleased to see me.  She was welcoming me I realised.  She told me that I was free.  She invited me to step into what I guess you could describe as a mansion in my mind.  Some people call them memory palaces.

I realized that there were no more skeletons hiding there.  No locked boxes with chains wrapped round them, never to be touched.  No dangerous paths that I did not dare traverse.  I was finally free of all of it. 

It is hard to describe, but I felt that I was finally moving into myself.  There was so much of me to explore.  No dark corners.  I was there to be filled, to be explored.  The more I moved around in this place, the more sunlight streamed in.

There was scar tissue there. Previous pain. But healed. It no longer needed attention or notice.

I knew at that point with absolutely certainty that the future was mine now.  To do with what I wished.  That nothing could hold me back. All those dark places inside me were now filled with light and were ready to be filled again with whatever I wanted. With happiness.

I can truly say that I had never felt as happy.  Ever.  I experienced real, beautiful joy.

Knowing that nothing can hold you back now is powerful. I can truly see now what I have in this world. So much to be grateful for.  I can look back at my journey and feel proud that I made it out. In one piece. Whole.

The world is now is open to me.  I can truly enjoy my life. 

So if you happen to come across a genie, let them choose. They truly do know best. 

I'm off now to chat with the fairies, who really do live at the bottom of your garden. Turns out, they can make a mean mojito. 

The Internet - Why Our Lives Are Now Smaller

Do you remember a time before the internet?  I am old enough to.  I remember being taught how to use it the very first time.  The trainer asked us to search “how to cook a chicken”.  I did not know then how the internet would quickly form a major part of my life, my routine.  I did not realise how it would change my life, for the better and for the worse.

Anything that I could possibly want to buy is available online.   Books, music, clothes, the food I eat.

In some ways, the internet saves us a lot of time.  You don’t need to go into a clothing store anymore.  You can choose multiple options of whatever you want and get a courier to return what you don’t want.  You want to clean your sink drain, Amazon is here for you.  You can’t be bothered to cook tonight, Just Eat will sort you out. You forget an ingredient for the meal you are cooking tonight, Deliveroo has your back.   You want to go somewhere, you open Google Maps.

The internet has made it so you could reasonably never leave your home if you didn’t want to.  Especially if you work from home.

You can be permanently entertained, forever.  Netflix, Prime, Disney Plus, Youtube.  You will never run out of things to watch.  Adverts can be a thing of the past, if you pay for the privilege.  You can connect to people from all over the world, without ever leaving your sofa.

The internet even provides some with a job now.  You can use it to purchase things and then review them.  You can game and have people watch you play.  You can spout your opinions online and have people listen to you.

The internet has given me much.  The platform I write to you on now.  Twitter, I refuse to use X, that helped me to find some like minded people and opened up my voice.

But with the good, comes the bad.

We are losing social skills.  We are losing human interactions.  We are losing our time to things that do not matter and do not affect our lives.  We lose hours doom scrolling, playing games, always searching for the next dopamine hit.  The next really interesting thing that is surely just a scroll away.

I remember my old morning routine.  I got up in the morning, had a shower, made a fresh coffee, put my makeup on and sat down on the sofa, munching on a slice of toast before I was out of the door.  Quick, easy.  Up and out of the house within 45 minutes.

Now, I sit on the sofa and check to see what is going on in the world before I start my day.  I check Facebook, Twitter, a news website.  What I guess I would consider “the necessary”.  The absolute basics.  Then I “quickly” check Reddit and suddenly thirty more minutes have disappeared, reading stories about other people’s lives.  Scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll.  So it begins.

I drag myself out of the house and catch the bus.  Instead of just quietly sitting there, maybe reading my book if I have remembered it; it is more doom scrolling, maybe playing a game on an app or for a longer journey, watching an episode of one of my shows on Netflix.  I must be entertained.

Sitting quietly, or chatting with someone is a thing of the past.  We can no longer just sit.  We check our emails, check the socials. Shop.  All while the people next to us do the same thing.  Interacting with our phones instead of each other.  We converse with the people in our phones instead of the person right in front of us.

Children’s birthday parties used to be full of games and playing and pin the tail on the donkey.  Listening to music together and dancing.  Now each child sits there, immersed in their own world on their phones.  Your “cool” status rides on how many likes you have, how many followers you have.

I remember having problems in school when I was a child.  Bullying was involved.  But back then, I could go home.  To my safe haven.  Those children were not there.  I was with my family.  There was an escape from it.

Now, there is no escape.  Those same children are now online, talking about you.  Posting about you.  The bullying actually becomes worse because people says things online that they would never to your face.  They can start a rumour about you that spreads in minutes, true or not.  There is no escape.

You can also not just be “you” anymore.  You have to have a label.  As many labels as possible.  The more you can put on your social media profiles, the better.  You are not tidy, you have OCD.  You are not a moody teenager.  You have depression, bipolar, anxiety disorder.  You have an argument with your parents.  Oh, you must have PTSD.  You are struggling with your growing body and hormones.  Maybe you aren’t a girl after all.  Maybe you are a boy.  Maybe you are both. 

Decide.  DECIDE!  Tell the world.  Tell the internet.  And once you decide, you are not allowed to go back.  You cannot change your mind.  Who you are.  Thoughts that you tweeted ten years ago which do not represent you anymore are enough to hang you.  You are not allowed to change.  The internet lasts forever.

The internet can also be used as a weapon in a different form.   That cheeky snap that you send your partner can end up being shared to everyone you know.  That video you made together, can end up on Pornhub.

Men and women have been pitted against each other like never before.  All men are this, all women are that.  How do you know?  Well I saw a video on Youtube.  I read a thread on Reddit.  Not actual interaction.

People tell you, as I have told you above, that our world has increased and been made easier by the internet.

But in fact, when you look, when you really look, our world has gotten so much smaller.  Our lives have become more insular.  We shout at the world telling them to listen to us, read our stories, watch us; but the people next to us no longer exist.

We can never go back.  Our lives are too intertwined. But there are changes we can make.    These are the promises I make to myself:

·       -  When I am with someone, my phone is away.

·       - When I am on the bus, I will read a book, not a Reddit story.

·       - When I want to go somewhere, I will take recommendations from word of mouth, not a Yelp reviewer.

·       -  I will start writing more again.  It gives me peace and enjoyment.  The numbers of who reads and who   doesn’t no longer concerns me.

·       -  If I cannot find something to watch, I will read, I will talk.  I will no longer doom scroll for an hour to     find something.

There is a hard one.  Reddit.  Of all the doom scrolling, this is the one for me.  There is no purpose to Reddit.  You read about other people’s lives and not your own.  You comment on those lives with your opinion, which is right for some but not for others.  You are barely even allowed to have an opinion on Reddit these days as it is, so why am I still there?

I no longer want to engage in things that do not bring anything into my life.   Do not add to my life and in fact, take time away from actually living my life.  I can use the internet for the good it still holds to.  I can educate myself, I can learn about new things.  There is so much out there I do not know and that information is at my fingertips.  But instead, I scroll.

This is the promise we need to make to ourselves. 

Stop. Scrolling. 

It is ok not to be entertained

Recovery from a Hysterectomy - 10 weeks in

 This is a follow up to my initial post on how I have been recovering from a hysterectomy.

I am now ten weeks in and this has been my experience.

The first four weeks of my recovery were much easier than I expected.  Sleepiness, some insomnia, a little pain now and again but on the while, it was plain sailing.  The following two weeks were much the same.

Then, six weeks post surgery (presumably once all the swelling had started to decrease) I started to get pain in my right thigh.  This increased to the point where I was hobbling and barely able to walk.  Prior to this I had been getting up every hour, walking around the house, was back to cooking lunches and dinners every day.  I made sure to go up and down the stairs every day to get a bit of exercise, as the weather outside was not the best.

After suffering with quite significant pain in my thigh for a week, I ended up after taking advice going to urgent care.  What had happened was something which can be a result of the surgery.  I had robotic surgery and was in a diagonal position for three hours.  This trapped a nerve in my thigh.

It was a relief to know at least what was wrong and that the pain would go away.

I had the pain for about another ten days, and was given Codeine and Naproxen for the pain.  Which I have to say amused me because although I needed it, the hospital only gave me three painkillers to take home with me after my hysterectomy.  Three!  Thankfully simple paracetamol worked for me for any pain I had in that regard.

I ended up taking two extra days off work as a result of the trapped nerve and had to be careful for my first week back at work, where typically I work on the top floor, only accessed by stairs.

I share this with you today not to scare you.  Getting a trapped nerve can happen, but it is not a usual thing or something you should worry about expecting to happen.

I am now ten weeks post surgery and I have no pain at all.  My scars are healing wonderfully and I am again back to wondering whether they did take out anything at all, given that my healing journey (leg aside) has been so easy!

I am happy that I had the surgery.  No more pain.  No more periods.  I am back to normal, working and everything is just as it should be.