It’s a small world. A short story.

Selin Andrews woke up feeling flat. It wasn’t the first time this week, or even this month she’d felt drained of all her energy. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her head as though it was filled with cotton wool. As she brushed the length of her long auburn hair in the mirror of her childhood bedroom, she stared at the dark circles that had become a permanent fixture around her hazel eyes, wondering if she could call in sick at work again, preferably without her mum noticing. Unlikely, considering her mum was a lady of leisure these days. Michelle Andrews spent an age dawdling around the house in the mornings, getting ready for lunches at the Ivy or another equally fancy restaurant, with one of her equally fancy friends. It wasn’t that Selin begrudged her mum this social acclaim, Michelle was a lovely mum whom was making the most of every second of her long awaited retirement, and Selin was happy for her, but she was also jealous. It pained her that her own life once so full of vivacity and social engagements, now revolved around whether or not she could summon the energy and the mental courage needed to climb out of bed and inhabit the shower of a morning.

You need to help yourself, Michelle would say, with kindness, though barely managing to disguise her evident frustration. What Michelle didn’t understand, is that Selin was trying to help herself, and she herself was also extremely frustrated. The days she managed to turn up to work despite being wracked with pain was such an achievement, she really felt as though she deserved a medal. Unfortunately nobody was giving out medals for turning up to work. Even when that turning up would cost Selin a whole weekend in bed trying to recoup some of the energy she’d lost doing so. She knew she’d been off sick lots. She knew her colleagues questioned the authenticity of her illness. She knew this, because she too had once been a colleague who rolled her eyes when the serial “sick note” called in yet again. That was until life had struck her with a debilitating illness that nobody could see. Sometimes as she sat here in her childhood bedroom staring at the garish pink wallpaper her mum hadn’t bothered to replace, she wished she’d lost her leg in a car crash. She knew these thoughts were irrational, insane even, but Selin felt with such an injury a modicum of sympathy might have been thrown her way. These days all she got was noncommittal murmurs and the odd poorly concealed eye roll.

Selin grabbed her phone from its charging port on her bedside table. As she tapped it the screen flashed up with a photograph of the family dog. Drew was an eight year old Red Setter that had the greying eyebrows of an old man, he was also her best friend. The knowledge that at twenty-five years of age she had a best friend of the non human variety depressed her greatly. Her phone told her it was six fifty am and that, as expected, she had no new messages. She tapped into Instagram where her life lit up again. People all over the country and some even in other parts of the world, passed by her profile to double tap on a picture or comment on one of the many inspirational quotes she liked to share. She had friends and family following her instalife too, but either rarely bothered to take the half a second it took to double tap her latest upload, and even fewer left comments or slid into her DM’s. But when Selin’s body forbid her from being able to leave the house, it was this virtual world that was helping her stay connected. When her friends had stopped checking in and her world had become small, this online space had opened up to fill a void. It allowed her to connect with people who understood her situation. People whom were going through similar themselves.

It had been four years since Selin had been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, though the reality was she’d been living with it and many comorbid conditions, for much longer. Her life had once been vibrant and full. Days and nights out with friends scribbled on a calendar which had hung loosely to the kitchen wall in her flat. Her flat. The one she had shared with her ex, James. James had been a good boyfriend for the most part of their relationship, he’d stayed in a lot of nights with her when she wasn’t physically able to drag herself out to socialise. He’d been with her that day in rheumatology when she’d been diagnosed. He’d even seemed positive at first, with a real desire to help her manage this complex condition. Then when she’d been off sick for weeks at a time and he came home to her unable to move from the sofa to their bedroom without his help, he’d started looking at her differently. It had happened gradually, the transition, his blue eyes that had once belied a lust and deep love had started to look at her with pity. Instead of staying in with her on the weekends or planning around her illness, he’d began going out more often with his friends. Coming home later and later, until one night he didn’t come home at all. Selin had been out of her mind. Already prone to anxiety, she’d called all of his friends to find out where he was and when they weren’t forthcoming she’d phoned his family, and the local hospitals.

As she sat now scrolling her newsfeed, double tapping on posts she’d missed from people she followed, she decided that today would be one of those days she fought her body and took it to work. Or at least, she’d give it her best shot. ***

Lacey Rowe had been following Selin’s ChronicallyBored instagram page for some time. She liked seeing the quotes Selin created herself and shared with her audience. Lacey also had fibromyalgia and it had become so bad over the past two years she’d had no choice but to give up her job at a publishing house. Lacey now stayed home day in day out, doing her best to manage her health. She was relentless with routine and tried hard to go to bed at roughly the same time every night, eat consistently healthy foods and had given up her beloved wine in search of cures. A belief that cutting out vices would ease her pain. Lacey no longer worked, but she had responsibilities Selin didn’t have. Lacey had a son. His name was Rafe and he was just about to turn three. Rafe was a well behaved three year old. His cherub face was always smiling and his speech was great for his age, he also never, ever, forgot his manners. In some ways Lacey took all the credit for his upbringing, she knew she’d done a great job and he was teacher’s pet at his preschool too. But she also felt immense guilt. Every time she looked into her son’s chocolate brown eyes and sniffed the sent of his chestnut hair, she felt a stab so acute she wondered if a person could die from such feeling. Lacey’s guilt stemmed from not being able to do all the fun things Rafe’s friends’ parents did. Like host parties in their gardens and offer to help out for stay and play in his preschool class. For starters, living on benefits meant they had very little money left over after necessities were paid for, and secondly, Lacey simply didn’t have the energy or confidence to offer to volunteer her time. She knew the other mums at preschool thought she was odd, possibly even rude. She was neither of those things, but she was unwell. Making small talk was hard for her as brainfog rained over her thoughts and left her forgetting her words. She would constantly stutter and trip over them whenever she attempted conversation with a stranger. That’s why she loved following account’s like Selin’s. They made her feel seen. She knew Selin didn’t have children, but in age there was not much between them and she was pleased to learn they even lived reasonably close to each other. Selin was always tagging Bath as the location in which her photos were taken and Lacey lived about twenty minutes away by train, in a suburb just outside of Bristol.

***

Selin’s workplace was situated in central Bath. What was once a Georgian townhouse was now several small office spaces where she worked selling advertising for a local newspaper. The building itself was ornate, complete with sash windows and a boardroom- which had likely once been the lounge of a wealthy bank manager- overlooked the heritage city. Her office was quiet. The desk she manned was one of four, the others inhabited by Janet, a vibrant lady of indeterminable age, Sasha, also twenty-five and already married to a successful entrepreneur and Juliet, Selin’s very stern, and very straight, boss. Selin’s role was mainly administrative, fairly low grade and uncomplicated work for most people. Though Selin wasn’t most people. The moment she’d entered the building earlier that morning, she’d known it had been a mistake. The air was stuffy and emitting a damp smell which played havoc with her senses. The monitor she was working on too bright and the chair she sat on no longer adjusted to support her back. The pain had accosted her body just ten minutes after the start of her shift. As she forced her eyes to focus she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Realising it was now almost lunchtime, she decided to wait until then to read the notification, which she doubted was anything other than one of her many shopping apps alerting her to their latest sale. When she finally did walk out onto the cobbled street and pull her phone from her bag she saw instead that is was a direct message from Lacey. Selin had interacted with Lacey tons of times since the launch of her instagram profile and they’d had such a good rapport she felt as though she really knew her, despite the two of them having never met in person. Lacey’s message was about to change that, it read: Time to stop talking about it and plan in a date to meet up. Rafe is at his dad’s this weekend why don’t you come here and we can drink tea and lounge about on the sofa?

Her anxiety addled brain told Selin no way. She couldn’t possibly travel to Bristol on her own. She would have a panic attack or get stuck trying to get off the train. She’d be in so much pain when she arrived that she’d surely need a lie down immediately, and what fun would she be to Lacey then? Lacey had anticipated this would be her reaction and before Selin had even begun typing a reply her phone chimed with a second message: I know you’ll be tired when you get here so I’ll collect you from the station and drop you back whenever you feel like you’ve had enough. No pressure. X

She needed a friend, more than she had ever needed anything in her life. Somebody to complain about the day with and make inappropriate jokes about life with chronic illness. The kind of jokes that healthy people didn’t understand or find funny. She decided that instant that she would go. She still didn’t know if she’d manage the train though and planned to ask her mum to give her a lift instead. Hurriedly, whilst trying to stuff half a tuna baguette into her mouth at the same time, she sent a message back accepting Lacey’s invitation.

***

When Michelle pulled up outside Lacey’s new build with its overgrown hedge, she noticed the children’s toys stacked neatly to the side of the blue front door. It was weird to her that Selin would have a friend with a child. She was still Michelle’s baby, and her life had been so halted since she became ill that Michelle often wondered if Selin would ever make her a grandmother. Nevertheless she was glad her daughter was making friends, and hoped that the shared experiences would mean Lacey wouldn’t drop her daughter like a hot cake when the going got tough. Because it did, get tough and she’d seen the devastation Selin felt when friendships had inevitably failed. She’d felt the grief of her daughter’s health just as profoundly as Selin herself had. Smiling, she waved her daughter goodbye and drove the thirty minute journey back to Bath with a good feeling deep in her solar plexus.

When Lacey opened the door Selin knew instantly that she’d made the right choice. The petite woman with her dark hair and elfin features drew Selin into a deep hug and told her the kettle was on. Lacey’s house smelt of cinnamon and though a little untidy in places, it wore the coziness of a much older, and well lived in space. Sinking into the soft leather of Lacey’s sofa whilst waiting for the tea to brew the pair struck up a diatribe of conversation that was so easy it felt as though they’d been friends ten years, not ten minutes.

The two women spent the afternoon laughing. They drank copious amounts of tea that had Selin running to Lacey’s downstairs loo every half hour, sitting on the pan with the door ajar so she could continue conversation. They had so much in common it felt bizarre. Lacey opened up about the breakdown of her relationship with Rafe’s father, telling Selin how he’d left her when she was a few months postpartum and suffering severe postnatal depression. Selin told Lacey how James had become more like a carer than a lover. They each took comfort in the other’s life experience and neither felt they were being pitied. In fact their respective health, though relevant to the conversation wasn’t the focal point. They both loved eighties music and neon, fancied the new bloke in Eastenders though neither could remember his name.

When it was time for Selin to leave, Lacey hugged her new friend tightly. A solidarity had formed between the pair and when they agreed to meet again in a fortnight and venture out for lunch, each knew, without discomfort or simmering insecurity, that they’d be there. Being sick had made each woman’s world undoubtedly smaller, but together they were about to take future steps towards growing them. Each were as certain of the friendship’s likelihood for longevity as they were that daffodils would bloom the following spring.

Stream it ~ Review

I’ve watched a few series over the last few months that I’m desperate to talk (or in this case, write) about. Knowing me as you do, for those of you that have been reading DIVAMUM for a while, you’ll know my interest in TV piques and wanes often. My mum asks me every other day ‘did you watch XYZ last night?’ And I’m there like, ‘No mum, you know I don’t watch much TV’ and the reason is not because I don’t love TV, I do! The reason, is because my kids are shit at going to bed and I live with chronic fatigue, and a brain fogged mind that refuses to concentrate on anything. Oh, and also because I’ve been watching Love Island only, for the last however many weeks and falling to sleep immediately after.

Since that ended though, I’ve had to fill the pockets of time I do get with short, sweet and easy, but still interesting (otherwise I really won’t concentrate on it) watches. So what have I been watching? The below paragraphs are, in no particular order.

Everything I know about love

Everything I know About Love. 5⭐️

Dolly Alderton’s best selling memoir of the same name has been transformed and semi fictionalised for TV and I could not wait to review it.

Full disclosure: I haven’t read the book! I’m aware of the opinion of many bookish bloggers who claim not reading the book before watching a TV adaptation is sacrilegious, but I have to say I’m partial to doing it backwards. A bit like the way I love kindle and don’t obsess over or miss turning ‘real pages’ or reading with a light on. Call me a fraud if you will, but here we are. Everything I Know About Love is, in my opinion an epic watch.

Maggie (played by Emma Appleton) is a post grad, twenty four year old fresh out of uni in the early noughties and looking for excitement. She moves into her first flat with best friend Birdie (Bel Powley) along with two friends from uni, Nell and Amarah in London’s borough of Camden. The episodes are full of exactly what you’d expect… love, but not always or specifically in its conventional romantic sense. Maggie dates many men, has the craziest of nights out, frantically searches for work and her soul, eventually finding both. It’s a beautiful depiction full of warm nostalgia for halcyon days and hedonistic nights. I downloaded the book as soon as I finished watching, but I’m still yet to get past the first chapter. I’m desperately hoping they’ll be another series of this though as Maggie’s story is far from over when the closing credits roll.

Breeders Season 3

Breeders. 5⭐️

If you’re a tired parent prone to dropping the f-bomb, full of parental guilt and rage…. This is for you. A darkly comedic show that shows that side of parenting the majority of instagram’s parental users are trying to shield us from. The bottom line…. It’s fucking hard. Paul (Martin Freeman) and Ally (the wonderful Daisy Haggard) are parents to Luke and Ava whom you see grow from toddler to teens in S 1-3. The show depicts the trials and tribulations of the working parent. Mental health, marriage and menopause also feature, with S3 showing Daisy’s Ally in bits due to the national HRT shortage. A brilliantly executed storyline. Fans of Friday Night Dinner and Motherland will appreciate. For me this show is everything being a parent is, it’s fear, confusion, guilt and an abundance of love, with laughter thrown in for good measure. NB: It’s quick witted and close to the mark, not for the easily offended.

Mood

Mood. 3.5⭐️

Written by and starring Nicôle Lecky, Mood follows the life of Sasha Clay. Sasha is a twenty five year old wannabe singer recently dumped by her boyfriend Anton (Jordan Duvigneau) and kicked out of home by her parents, Sasha finds herself shit out of luck with nowhere to go, before she’s taken under the wings of ‘influencer’ and sex worker Carly Visions. Sasha’s life turns around in an instant but is it for the better? A dark and interesting look at social media and the age of the influencer. Mood also features a soundtrack written and debuted by Lecky. Eye opening if a little exaggerated in parts, Mood is wholly unique with nothing else quite like it on TV.

You Don’t Know Me

You Don’t Know Me. 4⭐️

I liked this show a lot, and the only reason I didn’t give it the full 5⭐️ is because I found it got a little drawn out and hard to follow somewhere in the middle. That being said Samuel Adewunmi who plays main character Hero sold it for me. The show follows Hero’s life and his current trial for the murder of gang member Jamil Issa. I found Hero a likeable character and I loved how the drama flits between present day courtroom and previous events, delving into gang culture and doing the right thing. I’ve read a lot of naff reviews based on the ending but I have to say, I disagree with them. The show is though provoking and the ending gets that thought process going. I thought about this drama long after I finished watching it. If you want something to pass the time before the next series of Top Boy drops; this might be for you.

Have you watched any of these? As ever, leave me a comment or get in touch to let me know what you thought about any of the shows listed in this review. 

Happy Netflix and Chill.

What does family mean to me?

It’s no secret that I was abandoned by the man who fathered me, whilst I was still a tiny mass of cells in the womb. When my mum gave birth at 28 weeks with me weighing just 2lb 10oz, she did it alone.

My father has at least 3 other children, two he had with a wife, and another one of me, born out of wedlock and cast aside as a mistake.

I never really respected (I say respected as opposed to understood, because I still don’t understand) the magnitude of what it must be like to be a single mother, until I became a mother myself. I became a mother with a solid partner, I’m becoming a mother of two with a husband. I have no idea what it’s like to parent solo, and hopefully I’ll never have to find out but I have nothing but admiration for my mum and the many other mothers that have no choice but to face the challenges parenting brings on their own as well as the ones who choose to.

We can be a bit of a dysfunctional family to be honest. In a conventional way. For whatever reason I’ve drifted from extended family over the years. I don’t have close relationships with my aunt and uncle, and very few of my cousins. My sister and I couldn’t be more different. There’s ten years between us and she had a different upbringing to that of my own, but we are close and I love her to bits. My mum and I are best friends but we do clash occasionally, when we do it’s a head on collision. That said I don’t know what I would do without her. We communicate with each other very well and have a mutual respect, as well as a deep and unconditional bond.

My husband is quite a quiet man, unless he’s had a drink (which isn’t often) when he becomes a bit of a clown. He doesn’t stress about lack of closeness to family or friends, where as I keep mine really close and feel absence like it’s abandonment. He is reserved with his feelings, but doesn’t worry about what other people think of us ever, where as I worry about everything. Not necessarily perception, but I worry about accuracy, I want people to know the real me, the truth, and I get frustrated when opinions are formed based on inaccuracies. Where as Shaun, my husband, doesn’t care – and it’s a quality in him that I envy.

It’s true that despite not having a large close knit family, I love family life. I love being a mum, I love being a wife, I love having my mum a constant in my life and can’t go a whole day without having texted her.

When I did meet my biological father, it didn’t bring me anything, not closure, not peace, nothing. I believe family are the people you can count on, the people that support you, know you and actively make an effort to be in your life and I don’t believe they have to share your DNA – he did none of those things, my dad, and therefore has no place in my life. I don’t hate him, because I don’t really know him, I just know he’s not the man he was supposed to be for me and I’m ok with that now.

My daughter is the backbone of our family, she brings everyone together and shares all of her personality with everyone she meets. She unites us when we’d sometimes struggle to find reasons to come together. She looks like her Daddy but she has my openness and lack of filter. She has my fire and sensitivity and her Daddy’s kindness, humour and carefree attitude. She is the perfect mix of both of us and I love her with such ferocity it scares me.

She has grandparents and stepgrandparents and she has never asked who my daddy is, (in fact it took me ages to convince her that her nanny is my mummy) but that day may one day arrive, when it does this is what I will tell her:

I will tell her and her brother (who’s not yet born) that families are a beautiful mass of complexity that never look the same, some people have two mummies or two daddy’s and some have only one of either. Some, like hers, have one of each. Some have siblings and some have none. Families are sometimes of different ethnicities and not all mummy’s grew their babies in their tummies.

I want her to know that family doesn’t have to mean inseparable, but it can if you want it to. Family doesn’t have to mean best friends, but it’s great when they are the best friends you’ve chosen.

It’s an ancient idea (IMO) that you must bond with someone who’s a blood relative, but it’s lovely to do so if you’re able. I don’t want her to feel forced to bond with someone just because she’s related to them, but I will encourage the bond if it’s what she wants. Family can be friends you’ve chosen, it can be in-laws, god’ and step parents, and it can look different for everyone.

Family to me simply means, the people you love. The people you want to show up for. The people you can rely on, but also the people you choose to support. Family means a mixed blend of give and take and respect and kindness. Family means traditions and memories. Friends and pets. I don’t like cutting people off, ever, not family or friends, but the older I get, the more I notice lack of effort. I don’t mean forgetting to wish someone a happy birthday, I mean not attempting to connect, and when I feel it, the less likely I am to put effort in in return. I’ve always been a person that organises people, I arrange gatherings, I’ve always hosted and I always encourage communication, because I’m a good communicator – but the older I get I realise you can’t force people to be in your life, so if they’re not, it’s likely because they don’t really want to be and as much as it stings sometimes, we have to let it go. Ciara has 8 godparents, approximately four of them interact with her. I have family that have never met her, and maybe never will. It’s not my job to force myself or my kids on people. If they want to be involved they will. If you want contact with someone you’ll request it, irrespective of being asked. Life is busy and time passes quickly even when it feels slow. To me it’s not about grand gestures, it’s just about showing an interest. Family are the people you laugh with, trust, spend time with because you want to, and they are the people that check in to see if you’re ok. They’re also the people you remember to check in on, because you want to know they’re ok. They are the people who fill our hearts with fun and love and are the shoulders we cry on. They are not always or only the people that created us or the people that are related to us.

My family, plus one in utero

To my friends (and family) who don’t have fibromyalgia.

Hey,

Thanks for being you, for listening, watching, reading and learning about my condition whilst riding this wave with me. I know it’s been years now. I know it ‘gets old’ boring even, to hear me talk about it ALL. THE. TIME. Part of me is sorry, though I’m not sure I’ll ever stop, because the thing is…. I’ll always have this condition now.

A few people have dropped off along the way, stopped asking, stopped listening, stopped sympathising, I’m learning to be ok with that. I have to be. Yes it hurts my feelings, even when I don’t tell you it does, and when I do.

It hurts my feelings when you ignore the honesty of my illness related posts, and only engage in the cute pictures of my kid. It hurts my feelings when you ask me how I am and I’m honest about how I’ve been feeling and you don’t reply. But, I do think about how hard it is to be around me sometimes, how difficult it can be to know what to say. With that in mind, I’m grateful if you’re still here, even when it might seem like I’m not grateful for anything.

You see, this illness makes me irritable, I get angry with my body, often. On some days, better days I might seem totally ‘normal’ I might even resemble ‘the old me’ but please know, that I am never not thinking about how this illness impacts my life. I am never not considering how activities like having fun with you today, might affect me tomorrow or days later, for days, sometimes weeks after the event.

I still want to do all of the fun things you suggest and sometimes I’m able to, but there will be days when I need to cancel last minute. There will be times when we are out together that you might roll your eyes because I can’t walk back up the hill we just descended, or I can’t come and dance with you when our song comes on. I’m rolling my eyes at me too. I’m annoyed at my body too. What I can promise you, I’m not doing though, is faking it. There is never a time that I want sympathy more than I want to have fun. Believe me when I tell you that, because it’s important you understand, this illness is real. It’s also interchangeable, it’s sporadic. It could be down to the last minute that I am living it up and having the best time then crashing in bed for days afterwards. This is partly why I’ve pulled back from making plans. Pulled back from committing to things. This is why I’ve not reached out to ask if you want to do anything for ages, because I fear that if I do, and then I become suddenly unable, that you will think I’m flakey. You might start to resent me, and drop off the radar with the rest of the people that couldn’t fix me.

I am not broken, not entirely, I’m just bent, learning to live again (almost a quote from a P!nk song there) Please know that I still want to be included in your plans and I still want to include you in mine. I just can’t assure you I’ll always be able to fulfil them. Just know, when I make them, it’s always with the best intentions. I’m trying, all the time, new ways to manage this condition. I’m always trying, to be better, to do better, to make better choices that will benefit me and ultimately our relationship in the long run, even when you might not think I am.

I wish I could go back in time and do more things with you before I got sick, but sadly time travelling isn’t a side effect of chronic illness. Though it’s hard for you to see me like this, though I’m hard to be around sometimes, I am a better, more compassionate and caring friend because of my illness. Of that, I am certain.

If in the past I’ve rolled my eyes at your struggles, I’m truly sorry. If I seem lacking or caught up in my own life, I’m sorry for that too, because I do care. I don’t have all the answers, I don’t have all the solutions – but I still care. More compassionately and with more integrity than I’ve ever cared before.

If you’re still here – thank you and if you’re not, I understand. Letting go is something I’ve had to get used to, and it’s something I’m trying to do without resentment. We all have to look after ourselves and sometimes that includes making changes and protecting ourselves from negativity, including negative people, and whilst I do feel like I am a good and loyal friend, I’m fully aware I’m not always a positive one. Like life itself – It’s a work in progress. And I’m forever trying to be better than I was yesterday.

Love, me X