Why I'm Done With Disclaimers

*At this point I would usually go with "Beware, this is a long read"  But I am done with disclaimers.  Read or don't read.  It is up to you.

Go to any article about women, feminism; crimes against women; tv shows or films with female leads and you will run into trolls or MRAs.  Usually both.  

After a few years of engaging and getting angry myself (I know I should avoid the comment sections but I cannot help myself), I have tried a change of tactic.  Amusement. I laugh as the insults get worse, the comments become more and more "But women bad, men good!". 

Recently I made a comment on Facebook on an article from the Guardian about who should be the next James Bond.  There was a spoof piece written in the Guardian entitled "Forget Idris Elba, It's Time for a Lesbian Bond  Clearly a satire piece and one that I found funny.  

Whilst some took it in the humour it was intended, there was the inevitable backlash of PC gone mad, feminazis at it again, don't fuck with Bond bitches!  

I commented "Jesus people, it is satire.  Don't worry.  Your Bond will remain the misogynistic asshole he has always been".  I wasn't actually intending to provoke a reaction, that thought went straight from head to keyboard.  But, all hell broke lose.

Long story short, I ended up deciding to have fun with it and play a game of troll bingo.  In 89 comments on my little sentence, I had points on the board for triggered, feminazi, overweight, lonely, cat lady, man hater and my favourite. obnoxiously mouthy.

via GIPHY

That is the funny side of the comment section.

Then, and this is the point of my blog post today, you find the #notallmen crowd.  The #whataboutmen crowd.  The "I'm going to ignore this horrible crime that happened to this woman, but look at what happened to this man one time five years ago" crowd.  The "you didn't mention men in this article/post/quote so therefore you are a misandrist" crowd.  The "feminist doesn't mean equality, look what this woman said 15 years ago" crowd.

A woman was raped "Men get raped too you know and false rape accusations are rampant".  A woman was beaten by her partner "Not all men".  A woman was murdered "women kill men too".

Hell, you can't even win a gold medal without your husband being given all of the credit.  You might not even have your name used, you are just called someone's wife

Time and time again you see the entire comments section filled with arguments that have nothing to do with the article, filled instead with "yes I know bad things happen to men too" conversations.  Those of us who dare to question the diverting tactics are immediately labelled man haters.

Now it is all over social media.  You cannot say anything about being a woman, inspiring women or anything that happens to women without being told that you should have mentioned a man.  Proof?

On Saturday night, after another "you got nothing to be vain about bitch" comment on a selfie, I posted:

"A woman having confidence is not the worst thing in the world.  You know what is? The people who tell her she shouldn't have any"

Nothing wrong with that as far as I can tell.  Nothing derogatory against anyone, other than the people who do that.  Something uplifting for women to remember.

However.  I received a message, that I did not understand, telling me in a series that I was trolling men and I was a man hater.  This did not come from a troll or the usual MRA fuckwit.  This was a regular (I thought) person.

I read and reread my tweet, looking for answers.  I asked why they thought the above, only for them to resend my message back to me, asking me to reread it.  I was completely oblivious as to why my tweet came across as anti men.

Today, I read my tweet again, together with the conversation that followed.  It dawned.  Dawned in a way that made me want to smack my head against a wall.  The reason they had a problem with my message was that it did not include that men should have confidence too.

I am done with this shit.  I am done with this whiny want of inclusion of men in every single thing about women.  We are seemingly not allowed to say anything about ourselves, without first acknowledging that some man, somewhere, has experienced it too.  

If you cannot get through a tweet, an article, a comment about women without crying "what about men"; I cannot be arsed with you any longer.  I will no longer engage.  You are not worthy of my time, in the comments sections or on social media.

Women are not required to mention you in every section of their lives. We do not need to pander to your insecurities any longer.  If your response to an article about a woman being raped is "Men are raped too" you are a pathetic excuse of a human being.  

If you cannot read a comment about a woman having confidence without thinking "Why didn't she mention men having confidence" I can't help you.  Reassess your fucking priorities.   I'm done.

I'm out.  

Just Keep Swimming

I am looking at you, the vast white blank space that is my new draft post.  You entice, making me want to fill you up with words, my thoughts on display, my feelings on show.

(Jesus, that sounded a lot more filthy than I meant it to come out.  But hey, the intention here is to get me writing again, so I will allow it, this once)

I can see the words that I want to type, dancing just behind this vast white screen.  The many topics I want to speak about, suddenly disappear the moment I open my laptop.

It used to be so easy.  I used to post 2, 3, 4 times a week sometimes.  With ease.  I could bang out an opinion piece in a few hours, the thoughts formulating in my head as I went through my day, pouring out of me when I got to my laptop at night.  

Do I have less opinions these days?  Hell no.  Probably more.  Am I less passionate than I used to be?  Definately not.  But the words, they still do not come.  Irritatingly, if I am given a subject, a starting point; I am fine.  The words flow easily like they did before.

Ironically. this post that I am writing to you now is flowing.  The words are here, within my grasp.  The thoughts come together.  This means that I still have it in me, but the dots are not connecting.  Is this writer's block?

I think what I am lacking is focus.  My work life is insane at the moment, my head is still coming out of the loss of my step dad and my beautiful little dog child, Ellie.  My anxiety has spiralled and I feel like I am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. It has been a really shitty couple of years, but I feel ready, more than ready to clear the head space and become me once more.

I re-read a post that I wrote for the Huffington Post in 2014 this week. Mirror, Mirror On the Wall and it made me remember the love that I had for writing.  The passion that I felt about body confidence, about reminding people that we are more than just our bodies; that is ok to look at yourself in the mirror and like your reflection.

I have tried everything to reignite my writing bug.  It is still there, in force, but still under the surface where I cannot yet reach.  I need my focus back.  I need to clear my head of what has gone on before and just write.  I need the Twitter me to expand and jump on to my blog page.

via GIPHY

I think that I am just doing to channel Dory.  Instead of keeping swimming, I am just going to keep writing.  Not focus on a subject, just write.  Lord knows what you will be reading, but I feel that it is the only way to bring myself back.

I will try and throw some interesting pieces in between the journey of self reflection.  But I ask that you bear with me in the transition.  It is time for the gobby opinion to make a return to The Curved Opinion.

Work Handbags

One universal truth is that the bigger the handbag you buy, the more you will find that you absolutely have to have in it.

I remember in the late 90s (yes, that shows my age) going on a night out with nothing more than a purse that held my money and a lipstick.  These days, that list has expanded somewhat.  Phone, purse, lipstick, eyeliner, concealer, pressed powder, face brush, mini brush... Ah, to have my 1990s face complexion!

When it comes to handbags for work however, my tastes have never changed.  I need something that will go with every outfit (a different coloured dress every day could pose a challenge), something to hold the never ending list of things I absolutely need (read not really) to take with me, something that is aesthetically pleasing and timeless.

I am currently looking for an new work handbag so thought that I would show you some the bags currently in contention.

Asos £59.00 

You really cannot go wrong with a black crocodile skin (fake obviously!) handbag.  This is the first handbag I spotted on my search and is high on the list of contenders/

Carvela Winged Tote Bag £49.00

This bag would go with every and I love the simple gold detailing to it.

DunedinCashmere £69.99

This is the most professional looking of the bags I have been looking at.  It would go great with a suit for those days I want to look a little more professional.

John Lewis £33.00

I love the styling of this bag, although on a practical side it is only something that I could use in the Summer months and is cream a good idea when dragging around on the bus every day?

Vivienne Westwood £400.00

Ok, ok, I admit it.  This bag is not in contention.  I cannot afford a £400 bag for work.  But I LOVE it.  I adore everything Vivienne Westwood and I have a major style crash for this bag.  Sadly, it is not meant to be, but at least I can look at the picture.  Sob!

Going through all of the above, I think that the Asos bag is my best bet.  What do you think?

A Midnight Crisis of Confidence

You will have to forgive me.  This is a 12am post.  So not thought out, not rewritten or checked for confused sentences.  Just me.  Talking.  Panicking a little.

I have been very lazy of late when it comes to talking about body confidence on this blog.  That is something I am not happy about, because it is SO important to me.

As a fat woman, I have had a great year in terms of body confidence.  In truth, there has been so much going on in my life that it hasn't crossed my mind that much. Proof of just how far I have come.

Sure, I have momentary relapses, curled into myself when I have received derogatory comments, noticed the stares that were not complementary; but they have paled into insignificance with what has been going on with my life.  Mostly downs to be honest, for the past couple of years, although now, I am starting to see the sunshine again.

But, my midnight crisis confidence, 

I am a little scared.  A lot unsure.

I recently signed up for a year long thermal spa experience.  8 times a year which does wonders for relaxation.  So far, it has been with family and friends.  The spa is fabulous and although mixed sexes, I have, in the most part, felt comfortable in myself and ok with walking around in my swimsuit around others.  A good thing.

A couple of weeks ago I decided that I needed some spa time.  Just me.  Floating around in the jucazzi, staring at the stars in the ceiling in the dark relaxation swimming pool.  Perfect.  I booked my solo appointment, for tomorrow; without much of a thought, except for excitement of having a lovely couple of hours chilling out.

But, suddenly, the day has come.  The thought of walking around, on my own, in a mixed thermal spa experience in my swimsuit, terrifies me.  Do I feel any less because of who I am and what I look like? No. Do I take a scared breath at the thought of others looking at me, with judgemental eyes (as is inevitable at a spa from both sexes); yes.  A lot.

My safety blanket of a friend being there is not there.  I did not realise until tonight just how much I relied on someone else being there.  Someone to talk to when you see a judgemental stare, a derogatory glance.  I will exposed.  Nowhere to hide my insecurity.

So will I be the fat woman alone in the spa, hiding in the dark relaxation pool for cover, or will I be the woman who doesn't care, sitting in the jacuzzi actually enjoying some me time.  I don't know yet.

This is a far bigger step than I ever realised.  All safety nets gone.  Exposed.  Alone,  In one way I am excited.  Confident that I can meet this challenge ahead.  In another, I am so scared.

I am not the person that is able to talk easily with strangers.  I am odd.  I am going to be the fat woman alone in her swimsuit.  Experience tells me that this is not going to be easy. But I am more than just my body.  

So send me your steely looks.  Your don't give a fuck attitude.  Your "yes I am fat woman in a swimsuit" confidence.  

My screw you confidence may be waning today, but my stubborn "I will not hide" attitude is still full throttle. 

I am scared, as hell actually now I think about it, but I will do this.

My Voice Doesn't Matter

The first thing I have to say is that my voice does not matter.

I have watched, heartbroken, at the murders, because that is what happened, of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile.

Two men, two days, two needless and unlawful murders.  Because again, that is what happened.  But these are not the only examples of police officers who have shot down innocent people for no reason.

Michael Brown.  Sandra Bland.  Freddie Gray.  Trayvon Martin.  The list literally goes on and on and on.

In 2015 police killed at least 102 unarmed black people in 2015, that is 5 times the rate of unarmed whites.  37% of the unarmed people in 2015 that were killed by police were black, despite being only 13% of the population.

As a white person, these are statistics that do not affect me.  My privilege as a white person allows me to quote these statistics to you in the knowledge that this will never happen to me.  I will never be treated this way.  

I will never be presumed automatically guilty because I am white.  I will never have to watch my boyfriend die while I film as Diamond Reynolds did, for fear that the police will kill me and my child.  I will never be shot and killed whilst not resisting arrest. 

White serial killers are bought hamburgers after killing a church full of people.  Black men are being shot and killed for traffic violations.  

As a white person, I have many privileges.  This is why my voice does not matter.  You should not be listening to me.  I am not experiencing this prejudice.  This racial profiling.  Who you should be listening to are the black men and black women who are subjected to this, day in and day out.

I feel uncomfortable writing this.  Because I am talking about things that I do not know and have never experienced.  But when I see people saying things like "All Lives Matter" and coming up with ridiculous excuses for white officers shooting black people, I have to say something.  Because it is wrong.  So fucking wrong.

As white people we are so unbelievably privileged.  In ways that many cannot seem to comprehend.  So what should we do?  Listen to the people whom this is happening to.  Learn from them.  Fight against prejudice.  Speak up.  Force change to happen.

The problem is us.  Our privilege.  We are the ones that need to change. My voice does not matter.  Listen to the people that do. 

Sorry Not Sorry

Last week I wrote a blog post called Be Kind in which I talked about how I was trying to improve myself by being kinder and more helpful to strangers.  This week's task therefore sounds a little at odds with that idea.

I am going to stop apologising.

Now, when I say I’m going to stop apologising, I don’t mean for the times when I have actually done something wrong or stepped on someone on the bus.  I’m talking about the dozens of times that I say sorry every week, simply for existing or having an opinion.

The funny thing is, this behaviour was so ingrained that I did not realise that I was even doing it.

I read an article the other day which talked about how many times a day people say they are sorry, particularly women, when there is no need to do so.  So I thought that I would run an experiment and see when and why I was saying it.

The most noticeable and numerous amount of times I said sorry over the past week, was when I was coming into a new conversation with somebody.  My very first word when I started to speak was sorry.  Using "I'm sorry" at your starting point for sentence is a little bit odd when you actually analyse it.  

You knock on a door, you hear "come in" and then you walk in and say "I'm sorry".  For what? Existing?

You are in an interesting conversation or a debate; you start your point with "I'm sorry but".  I'm sorry I have an opinion? I'm sorry I am expressing my thoughts?

What am I apologising for?  

The second noticeable time I apologised this week, actually shocked me when I realised what I was doing.   Twice this week when walking down a corridor that only had room for one person, I have seen someone at the other end, both men on these occasions, and immediately said "Oh sorry!!!" and immediately acceded to their alleged right to the corridor space.  This was not asked for, it was assumed behaviour that I did not even know I was carrying out until my experiment this week.

This was not being polite.  This wasn't the atypical British way of "You go first" "No you" "No I insist".  This was acceding to someone else who in that moment my brain was telling me that they were more worthy than I to be in control of the space.

Why do I think that I am not worthy? 

So that is my new goal for the week.  To stop unnecessarily apologising.  To realise that I am allowed to speak under my own merit.  That it is allowed.  That I am allowed to exist in the area that I am in.

I have no problem vocalising my thoughts online, so it is time that my offline life matched my online life.  Being brave enough to own that moment as my own, that space,  It is a reaffirmation that I am enough.