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.