Three things

I was having a little rest from socials wasn’t I? But the truth is I often feel so much relief when I express how I feel here, insta or on my blog, that it’s become a compulsion to just get it out of my head. This is me. Straight up. No bullshit. Being my true self.
I know I will never win any prizes for flying under the radar, but what of it?
My latest battle is a cycle of Mum guilt ergo
Wifey guilt. Guilt about work. Guilt about shit I did 15 plus years ago and since. Guilt about guilt. Guilt on guilt.
Currently I have this desperate need for a break from our diva child. It’s like a certified panic button that only she can force me to press, followed by an overwhelming sense of ‘This is her last summer before school take in every second. Finish that scrapbook. Build a fucking tree house and what not.’
I feel like I’m depriving her of valuable time and offering up instead stale days in front of a screen wearing 2 day old pjs.
We fucked off last week, down the coast for a bit of R&R. Our honeymoon holiday in the costa brava with a hot tub clad chalet got cancelled, and we’re still waiting for that refund so we settled for a caravan substitute. Nice caravan too, but of course I ruined it with an obligatory 2 day migraine. Throwing up battered cod into a 2×2 toilet with zero soundproofing and spending the following day with the curtains closed and crying about my uselessness.
It’s so traditional for me to ruin holidays with my health now, that we don’t even consider planning excursions without a day in between for little ole’ me to catch up.
Such is the Spoonie life. Ciara didn’t care less of course. She had Daddy to herself for a day and as always he dutifully complied with her ever growing demands.
So lucky am I to have him as my husband aren’t I? Queue more guilt about how the poor fucker just signed his life away to a woman only capable of frolics approximately 2 days a month – the rest of the month is spent recovering from that thing we take for granted called life.
Anyway whilst I’ve been torturing myself, and it has very felt much like torture in this chubby little head of mine, I got to thinking. So there’s a list as long as Peter Crouch’s leg that consists of why I’m the worst wife and at best, average parent, but I reckon there’s a few things I’m good at. Surely?
I’ve been using this app for a while called Three Things. (Not an ad! It’s a free app too) Every evening you are prompted to write 3 positive things that happened during the day. Somedays though, I just can’t do it. And somedays I’m so trapped in a negative spin cycle that I just don’t want to. So instead I’m doing something a bit different starting today. I’m going to write 3 things I like about myself, every day. It’s a challenge, but I have to get back on the positivity train soon, before I go off the track to no return.
3 good things might not occur on a day spent in bed with a migraine or crying into my pillow cause I can’t find the T-shirt I wanted to wear and I’m due on BUT…..What if I just decide that I have good hair, which I do (if a little grey under the ‘natural colour’ that I now dye it) or that my toes look cute on my tiny feet. Or that I did a good deed and I like myself more because of it? ✔️✔️ ✔️ 3 things. Everyday. I’m no therapist but even I know the key to my happiness isn’t hanging on someone else’s keyring. Whitney said it didn’t she?…. “learning to love yourself…” sing the rest. 🎵
So I’m starting today. I haven’t thought of the 3 things yet, so I can’t share them, but if you think of 3 things you want to share over here, please do. And even if you can’t, start with 1. Start today. And just keep going. Practice makes perfect. Pick something about yourself that’s a quality you’d want in a friend, or don’t. Maybe this is a bit ‘cheese on toast’ but I’m feeling positive about feeling positive, even if it’s just for today because one day at a time, right? Three things. ✅✅✅💗

Tired and Needy – the follow up to Love For Lockdown.

I wrote a post a little over a week ago about my love for lockdown. I still love lots about it, like the family bubble and not having to worry about the outside world. In fact I still love it—full stop! Buuuuuut, I’m also losing my shit a bit. I’m still worrying about stuff that isn’t on the scale of importance to most people.

Like it’s a rollercoaster, right?

Up, down, plateauing and plummeting.

I struggle with life under normal circumstances I don’t ‘cope’ well on a daily basis. Well some might say I do cope well, and others think I’m mad.

— Balance

Writing is my salvation but I have to admit there’s little inspiration flying about my gaff, so I’m losing my creative flow and my anxious mind is finding room to fill up the creative space instead.

If you suffer from anxiety you may relate to some of this. Or you might think I’m a nut job. I am.

I have a brain that understands rationale but doesn’t practice it.

I have a desperate need for reassurance and it’s exhausting to be honest: it’s exhausting for me, it’s exhausting for my friends, my family, and  it’s exhausting for my husband.

Years of therapy and we’re no further forward in killing the bug that is my insecurity.

I know where it comes from – I don’t need a £50 an hour shrink to tell me about it (again).

I know it’s not rational or reasonable but I genuinely can’t help it.

I can’t help how I feel inside my head sometimes. I say sometimes, because it’s not all the time. Sometimes I am content, it can be fleeting, but it does happen.

I am one of the first people to harp on about getting the help you need when you need it for your mental health, but I have had help, lots of it in abundance, and variety.

I’m not fixed, because you can’t ‘fix’ people.

I manage better, better than I did 10 or 15 years ago, but my neediness and insecurity hasn’t dissipated, it probably never will, because it’s part of me.

It’s in my makeup to worry, fret & overthink.

During this lockdown I’ve occupied my days with all sorts of filler. Some of it has been really pleasant and some of it has been unintentionally damaging. The trouble is you don’t always know which is which until it’s too late and even things like reading books and watching TV can play a whole heap of havoc with an anxious mind.

If you too are feeling tired and needy I can only reiterate the importance of having a mental clear out! You’ve probably heard this a lot during the span of Coronavirus. I’ll say it again anyway.

Take time to find things that bring you small wins.

—Something that makes you grateful.

—Do something you enjoy like painting your toenails or going for a walk.

—Cook something exciting.

—Phone a friend.

—Be wary of what you’re watching and reading. I love nothing more than crime thrillers to read, but sometimes they get inside my head and it can create a state of heightened anxiety without me even realising it.

—Pick something you love about yourself and focus on it for a little while.

—Cuddle your kids and remind yourself you’re doing your best.

—Most importantly, be kind to yourself. It’s a tough time for all of us.

You’re not wrong for feeling how you feel. You can’t help it, but you can try to do little things that reinforce the positives. I’m trying to take my own advice today. I’m trying to do a few small things that help me feel better about myself and the current situation. Some days are all consuming and it’s ok to fall apart every now and again.

Feeling guilty about it won’t help. Instead try and concentrate on what’s needed to put yourself back together again.

I won’t profess to own the secret to a positive mindset, it’s something I battle with daily, but it’s also something that really does work if you can get the can of it. Positive minds attract positive vibes.

Married AF

So, a  week ago, I did it. I gave up my maiden name, the one that’s always been the same as my Mum and Sister.

The one that’s seen me through years of happiness and heartache. I could of kept it, of course I could, but I wanted the same name as my daughter and if we’re being honest, I like how it sounds. I feel like I outgrew Steph Skelton a long time ago (if you know me, you’d get this) but it was the only name I had, so I was stuck with it.

Anyway – I’ve decided to write a bit about the wedding, why we decided to go away on our own and do it in private without an audience, and whether I feel like it was the right decision.

When we actually decided to go ahead and get married, not when we got engaged, but when we agreed to tie the actual knot, we decided we couldn’t be bothered to try and please anyone.

We didn’t want to invite people for the sake of it. We didn’t want to spend money we didn’t have (later we found out it’s impossible not to) We didn’t want to feel obliged to invite people we didn’t like, and most importantly, we wanted to make it solely about us. I was met with bouts of criticism over my decision. People told me I’d regret it, people couldn’t believe we weren’t taking our daughter, but the opinions we really cared about on a whole were positive.

Some of my friends have said they wished they kept their own weddings small, most of them supported our decision to do it exactly how we wanted.

So, do I think it was the right decision? ABSOLUTELY! One hundred percent, the best decision I have ever made. It was THE best day EVER. The ceremony wasn’t drawn out, but it was heartfelt. We had each written our own vows and they turned out to be almost identical. Cute eh? It was lush. Our only two witnesses were the photographer and his wife and they both cried, even tho they hadn’t met us before that day.

Love literally powered the day, as well as laughter.

I have so many funny stories, but because we are having a party in 2 weeks I’m trying to save them for that. I promise to come back to the details.

We walked the streets of Dublin in full wedding attire with a photographer in tow and a pint of Guinness never far from hand. It was magical. We chose Dublin because it was one of the first places we visited together and now we return every year on Shaun’s birthday. The people of Ireland are naturally, much friendlier than us Brits, and we didn’t buy our own drinks all night!

Suffice to to say we were drunk, and Saturday was spent in our suite all day with 3 lots of room service.

I can’t wait to celebrate with our family and friends but I’m glad the ceremony was just for us. It’s a time only we will be able to reminisce about, and one that nobody was able to dampen or disturb. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, I just mean we got to concentrate on the people whose day it was, ours.

I don’t regret not taking our daughter, she will be at the party which she is classing as the ‘proper wedding’ and one day I hope she will find it romantic that her mum & dad we’re so in love they wanted to do it their way. So no, I don’t regret our elopement (it wasn’t a secret) one bit. I am looking forward to seeing everyone and doing the traditional parts of the wedding like speeches, cake cutting and a proper first dance.

I also feel like getting married has recovered some of the confidence I had recently lost. I’m overweight, and I’ve been battling with it for some time.

However, that day, I felt sexy, I felt beautiful and even looking back at pics in my undies with my gunt squeezed into Spanx before I got dressed (see attached) I feel content.

Shaun looked handsome AF. We laughed so much and it’s a bubble that I wish I could lock myself inside forever.

I made no secret of the fact I was worried about getting married. Cold feet if you like. I wanted Shaun to want to marry me, but the closer it got to the big day I wasn’t sure I was ready. It felt final somehow, and I was unsettled. I didn’t want to get married unless it was a fairytale, but life ain’t a fairytale is it?

That said, I think it’s the closest I’ll ever get to being rescued on a white horse. (Even if we had a chauffeur that talked non stop about his divorce) 🤣

I will cherish these memories for a lifetime and I will try and hold them close in future when Im feeling stabby.

PS: If you follow me on socials, photos are sure to spam your life, both wedding & wedding party ones are very much still to come. Getting married and feeling content has taught me to care a lot less about what other people think and spend more time caring about what I think about myself, and right now, I’m happy with me.

A Decade Of Lessons

The last 10 years

Well, it’s been a testing decade that’s for sure, but it’s also been the most amazing pilgrimage of self discovery I’ve ever been on.

I feel like the last decade is where I really became an adult and anything before was part of my youth.

In 2010 I was glassed in a nightclub in an unprovoked attack whilst out with friends, and it shook me beyond measure and took me to a place I didn’t know existed. I’d been in fights before, been given a slap when I probably deserved it, in my teens, I’d even (believe it or not) been hit with a bottle before, but it hadn’t shattered the first time and this was on another level. This was in response to me just being out having a laugh with friends, and it could have left me blind. Thankfully, physically most of the scars are on my décolletage and not my face (though I do have a dent in my skull) it could have been a lot worse physically.

But despite keeping up appearances, mentally I was scarred beyond recognition. I was scared too just by the weight of the attack, but in being scared I got angry.

I went ‘mad’ for want of a better word. I was wild. Following that night every time I went out I braced myself for a row and alcohol only fuelled that self destruction. I got in more rows and fights than I’d ever had before. I rowed and physically fought with my then partner, and when I ended that relationship I continued down a rabbit hole of hell.

I did some messed up things and 2013 saw the catalyst to that phase of crazy.

I lost my job, almost my house, and I was alone. Friends had given me a wide berth and my nights out were spent with people I didn’t even really like and who only hung out with me for some drama or entertainment.

I’ve always had a need to fill the shoes of the life and soul of the party, but I’ve filled them by acting like a fool. Being the loudest, the craziest and the wildest person in the room.

I met my now partner at the end of that year. I saw the new year in in Ireland with a good friend and it was like something just clicked, an epiphany if you like, and I didn’t want to be that self destructive, unemployed mess, that I had become.

I got a job, a pretty good one, and from there life has progressed at a steady pace. The following year I was shaving my hair off for charity and raising thousands of pounds. I’ve had some backslides, like being diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and it’s affect on my both my physical and mental health. Having a baby wasn’t an easy feat for me, and it can be hard work just being ‘normal’ most days, but I’m surviving it, and thriving too.

Last year my mum nearly died from a freak fall and I can say with certainty, I’ve never been as scared as I was then. It puts what’s important into perspective.

Nowadays I don’t feel like I’m falling from Beachy Head every time I wake up. I don’t want to hide for a week after a night out anymore, and I don’t wish I was dead. Even on the bad days, I’m glad to be alive.

I still feel like some days I fight stigmas and a bad reputation, but it took me a long time to make it, so I guess it’s only normal that it will take me a long while to break it, too.

That being said, my future is bright and I’m lucky. All the people in my life are in it because they want to be and contribute in some way to helping me be and feel better. So I’d say, despite all of that drama, this past decade has been pretty spectacular and I’m looking forward to the next one. Taking nothing for granted is my only resolution.

Happy new year 🥳

When losers win.

I have always been the girl, who never does anything extraordinary. Never got nominated for anything in school. Never got a part in the school play even though drama is my forte, because I didn’t put myself forward. I didn’t raise my hand to answer questions even though I knew the answer. I didn’t stay for after school clubs in my favourite subjects because I was more interested in smoking weed and playing spin the bottle (that’s a euphemism for whatever the fuck I liked) When I didn’t know the answers I didn’t seek to learn them. I didn’t like rules and I didn’t get the right kind of attention, any attention I did get was for the wrong reasons. My attitude took a long time to change and I’m still learning from the bad decisions I’ve made, and I’ve made plenty.

When my first stint at secondary school didn’t work out and I moved on to the next one I didn’t get praise for good work, I got chastised for bad work.

When I got my one and only A in GSCE I didn’t get told well done. I got told I could of done better in other subjects, if I’d have only worked harder.

When I went to work and had time off sick because my mental health can’t always be relied upon to remain ‘normal’ enough for me to function at full capacity all of the time, I got told I would never excel in my career if I couldn’t show up. I got told to suck it up and do better.

When I got diagnosed with a physical condition I had to take a lesser paid and much lesser privileged job, because I wasn’t deemed reliable enough to do important work. Suffice to say I left that job.

So when I won this award today, it wasn’t a victory because I was awarded winner status. It wasn’t a cash prize or a holiday to the Maldives. It was just a certificate, but it was a certificate rewarding my effort.

It was a victory because I won it doing what I love (writing) and it’s a potential doorway to another realm, one where hope exists and efforts are recognised. One where I’m good enough. It was a small award for a reasonably well read blog, but one day it might be a big award for a bestselling book (never say never) and even if it’s not, it doesn’t matter, because it’s given me the confidence boost needed to pursue a passion. It was a reminder that you can do whatever you want, we have the power to change our futures if we’re willing to give things a try.

Take a chance on yourself, it might not pay off, but it’s a lovely way to learn more about where your strengths are. We can’t all be good at everything but it helps if we like what we are good at.

So my apologies for milking this day to high heaven, but for the first time in my life I feel like a winner. 🥳

You say too much online

You say too much! You post too much! You’re inviting trolls! Nobody cares!

All comments I’ve received in the previous month or so some from friends and family, from a place of love I’m sure, and some from friends of friends, strangers and random ‘trolls’.

The problem I have with these comments is they’re incorrect. I do post a lot of my feelings online, and there are many reasons for this. The first and most important one is, it helps me! I feel better when I’ve projected my thoughts rather than kept them in my head. The second is I guess…. validation. Validation from other mums I’m not alone when my kid is behaving like the devil spawn, from other chronic illness sufferers when I feel useless or people with similar ‘problems.’ Not everything I post is problematic though. I try and post the good too, if you only look at my feed and see attention seeking, negativity then you aren’t seeing me at all.

I do post a lot, but I also don’t post a lot. For example:

I haven’t posted what I ate for dinner this evening.

I haven’t posted that I have serious FOMO from Glastonbury and that the reason I’ve never been is because I’m so desperately anxious in huge crowds, and I’m worried my drink will get spiked or my stuff nicked.

I haven’t posted that Shaun and I had a row Saturday night and have spoken only very forced words to each other since. I haven’t told you who’s fault it was or why and that’s not because it’s another fuck up from me (FYI) it’s just not something I feel is necessary to share.

I haven’t posted that I got a new job and after countless failed interviews and childcare dramas, I’m ecstatic, but too scared to share with the world in case my new employer makes a last minute change of decision.

I haven’t posted that my insecurities are worse than they’ve ever been. That my self doubt gets so bad that some days if I text a friend and they don’t reply I can’t sleep for worrying about what I might of done to upset them, and spend all night listing all the reasons why they probably don’t want to be friends with me. Or that if I’m not invited somewhere I feel like it’s because people don’t like me rather than it being a genuine oversight.

I haven’t posted that I’m trying yet again to go on another diet because I’m still so desperately unhappy with my weight but also desperately love chips. That every time I look in the mirror lately I can’t see a face, just 3 chins. That I’m paranoid to stand at the school gates next to more attractive mums or that I’m constantly comparing myself to how I think I should look. That I’m mourning the confidence I used to possess.

I haven’t posted that Ciara wet the bed last night and I was up cradling her, whilst Shaun, (who I’m still not speaking to) changed the bed.

I haven’t posted my opinion on Love Island and yes I do have one, I am addicted to it, even though I think it gives an unrealistic representation of love and body image. Contradictory I’m aware, and I should probably boycott it, but I won’t.

Yes I am aware there’s a huge irony to me telling you all of this whilst saying I don’t post everything, but it was more for the purpose of proving my point, rather than for a reaction to the above points made.

It may come as a shock to you that I post selfies when I say I don’t like what I look like, but that’s because when I do like it, I want to share it. Maybe that’s for the validation, or maybe it’s just because I like it and we all share pics of things we like. Maybe it’s both. Who knows. More importantly who cares? According to the trolls, nobody, so no bother.

And the reason I don’t comment my opinion about Love Island online, is because I absolutely don’t feel remotely within any right to comment on a strangers behaviour publicly when I am not in their situation. Some people who know me may think that’s rich, coming from someone who’s never been able to keep her opinion to herself, but guess what? I’ve changed.

I no longer feel the need to impose my views on everyone. I no longer feel the need to put others down to prove a point or to make myself feel better (appalled to admit I used to have this mentality) but the message is the same.

We learn as we get older, and I’ve learned that it’s a much nicer feeling being remembered for being kind than it is for being the girl who has too much to say. That said, I do still have an opinion and I will always be a person who stands by my beliefs. But I want to be a person who’s also able to see things from different angles. That’s hard for someone with severe anxiety. We tend to have a one track mind and we see everything as a threat to our happiness, our safety, our loved ones and or our possessions. That’s where the comparison comes from, that’s why we spend our lives wanting what other people have, because we’re sure we’ll feel better when we get it. It’s why we try so hard to fit in with certain cliques but never really do. It’s why we’re hard to love, because we don’t admit aloud that we feel this way and people have no fucking idea why we’re acting so ‘weird’ or ‘neurotic’.

Of course I have a theory where my own anxiety stems from, but it’s not just one place. It’s a combination of factors that are unchangeable, and therefore irrelevant. All I can do now is try and rationalise better, try and be honest, even when it gets me labelled an attention seeker or a crazy bitch.

I’m posting this because I want you to understand, but if you don’t, that’s ok too. We can’t understand things we don’t seek to learn about or haven’t been through. Some people will never understand why addicts turn to their drug of choice. We will never fully understand why people act the way they do sometimes, but the reason I post so much about it is because, whilst I’m still learning, I might be helping someone else make sense of themselves. Maybe not, maybe I’m just spouting bollocks, but that’s your perception of what I post, not my intent. Whether I justify my actions won’t necessarily change your opinion, but it helps me understand myself better and that’s what this blog and my social platforms are about, ME.

Hamster Wheel

Do you ever feel like your on a hamster wheel?

Round and round you’re turning but you still can’t seem to heal?

You’re doing what they say, talking and moving, eating drinking.

But you’re still not able to stop your mind from over thinking.

Intrusive thoughts they grow, as if from a planted seed.

They are watered daily by you, even given feed.

You want to stop the cycle but you’re not sure how.

You try to spread awareness but it doesn’t seem to help.

You feel like you are failing, as a mother and in life.

But you’re so not failing, I wish you could see.

How strong you are getting through everyday and going about your routine.

People don’t seem to notice, but don’t do it for them.

Do it for yourself, write a journal, grab a pen.

Whatever makes you feel better is an improvement, an act of self care.

Don’t let other people’s opinions ruin your hard work.

They aren’t you, they’re not there.

You’re doing so amazing, I wish that you could see.

To others, to me, just how strong you seem.

Anxiety Behind The Screen!

My experience with anxiety is, or at least has, been a parody of Prozac Nation. Have you ever watched it? It’s a film with Christina Ricci, I recommend it to anyone who feels like they’re going insane. I’ve learned over the years to control it better. I function these days for the most part, and it’s rarely all consuming as it was during my first panic attack.

I remember that day like it was yesterday, I was 14 years old, and maybe unsurprisingly, it came on after I’d been hacking a bong full of hash. But it wasn’t the stoned feeling that was scaring me and making me panic. It was every wrong thing I’d ever done in my life come back to haunt me in those moments. It was all the things that I couldn’t undo, couldn’t unsay. Teenagers do a lot of questionable things during adolescence and I was no exception. Those things now enveloped me and choked me as though I was dying. I was so swamped by thoughts of my failings I couldn’t breathe. I was physically trembling and my heart was beating so fast it’s a wonder it didn’t pop out of my chest.

For about two years following that first panic attack I was quite severely mentally ill. I had nightmares, I had obtrusive thoughts and my poor mum couldn’t leave the house without me phoning her every twenty minutes. Every time she did go out, I had convinced myself she was going to die and the fear of that was beyond what my young mind was able to rationalise. I was out of my depth, popping antidepressants like sweets and using everything in my power to numb the constant noise inside my head. I often wondered then if I was some kind of monster. If I had a kink in my armour that made me mental. If I deserved to feel so helpless and desperate every moment I was awake. I lost friends, my relationships with my family suffered and I feared everything.

Now I’m in my thirties plodding along with a bit more self control and the strength to be open (at least on paper) about how I’m feeling. That doesn’t mean I feel any less though. For example I have a hormone imbalance and when I’m feeling a dip, like now, I get a bit introvert. I actively avoid people and places. I don’t have any patience for small talk and I get irritated easily. Sounds like a bit of PMT eh? But it’s not just a bit of PMT it’s my life. The school run for instance is a nightmare for me this week. I’m really struggling with it. I don’t have a good network of school mum friends as yet and I feel like I have to keep part of myself, this part, hidden. For fear of judgement. So I avoid talking to people. I know you may think that’s silly but whether you believe it or not, there is still a stigma around mental health, especially mum’s with mental health problems. I’m trying hard not to take medication at the moment for other reasons, but yesterday morning, given my hormonally anxious state, I took a Valium to enable me to get through a meeting. I was sat in Pret A Manger drinking decaf coffee with sweaty palms and a knee twitch that I couldn’t stop. It worked (The Valium) and I did some self care by way of talking myself round. I don’t sit there chanting to myself or anything, I just try and focus on something else and remind myself there’s no reason to panic.

Some days it isn’t as easy as that to shake off those feelings of impending doom, even with the aid of a tranquilliser. The mind is a scary place, followed by you’re body’s reactive physical symptoms, you really do feel like you’re dying sometimes. I’ve had days where I’ve felt so out of control I’ve wanted to run away. Before I became a mum it was easier to hide. We all know the mental health service is practically non existent, extremely under funded and under resourced. You only have to try and get an appointment with a counsellor to realise how unlikely it is you’ll ever receive said appointment. All the more reason for us to be more mindful of each other, to look after ourselves. To learn new techniques to manage our symptoms. Of course intervention will in some cases, always be necessary, but there’s a lot we can do to help each other and ourselves too.

    Listen – Ask someone how they are and actually listen to the answer. Check in with your friend who’s gone a bit introvert. He/she might not reply straight away but they’ll know you care, and in times of anxiety that can be a real comfort.
    Practise Self Care – It sounds so cheesy doesn’t it? Self care! Breathing exercises and all that bollocks, but for some people these are a ritual that does the job and kicks a panic attack where it hurts before it’s taken hold. Cut yourself some slack too, rest when you’re stressed and do some feel good things, even when you don’t feel like doing them!
    Ask for help – I know I’ve given the psych services a bit of a bashing, but you don’t necessarily need a qualified professional to help you through a period of high anxiety. You might just need a friend. Tell someone. I am guilty of not doing this because it’s something I feel stupid for feeling, so although I’m able to write about it now, actually talking aloud is still a struggle.
    Don’t play it down– In doing so you’re lying to yourself too. You deserve to feel safe and if you don’t it’s ok to say you don’t.
    Think rationally– I know you must be reading this last one thinking, if it was that fucking easy I wouldn’t be panicking. But I don’t mean during an attack (well, then too if you can) but I mean the rest of the time. Tell yourself over and over again when you’re not in the midst of an attack why you don’t need to worry and why you’re not going to have another one. Psychosomatic!

I’m not an expert and everyone’s symptoms of anxiety will be different. I’ve said before and I’ll keep saying it, mental health doesn’t discriminate. There are hundred of different types of mental illness but they will all meet over lapping symptoms. We are each at risk of having some period of depression or high anxiety during our time on this earth, so we need to work together to educate people and ourselves. We need to mean it when we go around saying it’s ok to not be ok.

When you see this pic of me, perfect make up, fresh hair….. What do you see?

Do you see a happy girl?

A girl with her shit together?

Confidence?

If you answered yes to any of the above you’d be wrong. I got up this morning and it took me an age to feel like I looked ‘ok’ I’m not feeling my best at the moment.

I have no job so deffo don’t fall into the ‘shit together’ category, and my confidence is under par. My anxiety is bad, I’ve had about 4 hours of broken sleep and I’m tired. So fucking tired.

Moral of this post: Don’t assume. All is never as it seems. Looks are deceptive. You never really know what’s going on behind the screens.

An open letter to my absent father.

Dear Dad,

Should I call you that? Or is it a title too above what you are to me? My ‘Dad’ who hasn’t paid a day’s maintenance since the day I was born or prior. Who wasn’t there when I was born at 28 weeks gestation unable to breathe on my own. Who wasn’t there when I jumped off a wall and broke my ankle aged 7. Or when I got arrested aged 13, or when I was smoking weed and taking pills, acting like an antisocial yob aged 14.

The ever illusive Dad who wasn’t there when I kicked my bedroom door off it’s hinges or broke my heart after I split from my first boyfriend. Or when I finally got an A in my English GCSE. Passed my driving test. Had my daughter.

The dad who has NEVER been there for a single day my entire life.

Who was there? Mum, that’s who.

I’m now almost 31 years old, with a beautiful daughter of my own. Your granddaughter, who you will never get the pleasure of meeting because you are as pointless to us now, as windscreen wipers are on a submarine.

I used to deny I felt any ounce of hurt at your absence. I used to protest I didn’t need you. Didn’t want you in my life even, but realistically, I did need you.

I won’t deny my mum did a fantastic job of raising me alone and let’s face it with my track record, that couldn’t of been an easy task.

I had a wonderful Nan who helped, and whom I adored, but it’s (only) my opinion that girls need their dads.

At least I, needed a dad. I needed one to teach me boundaries, to help me understand male and female relationships that didn’t leave me confused. When I was just a teen men as old as you would say inappropriate things to me that I didn’t even know were inappropriate at the time. I had nothing to compare it to. I looked for father figures in every relationship and was royally disappointed when they all turned out to be narcissistic gas-lighters, just like you.

I don’t know why I was surprised to be repeatedly let down by men, when the one man who was supposed to never let me down had taken away any hope I’d had of a paternal relationship.

Nobody wanted the role of trying to fill your shoes, and who could blame them.

On the only three occasions in my entire life that I met you, you never once apologised for not being around. You did admit treating my mum poorly, and conveniently forgetting to mention you had a whole other family when you and her were dating, but they were the only honest words to come from your lips during our limited conversations.

You didn’t explain yourself and you didn’t justify your absence, it just was!

You have 3 other daughter’s, 2 with your wife, who have given you grandchildren and you’ve walked down the aisle, and one other out of wedlock. I wonder, what do you tell people when they ask how many kids you have?

You wrote me an email once, telling me that since ‘finding God’ you had ‘forgiven yourself’ for your sins and ‘with his help’ you were ‘combatting each tough, and beautiful day.’

What you didn’t ever do, was ask for my forgiveness.

Today – today, my mum received a letter from the CSA to say they were writing off old debt and that she wouldn’t be receiving a penny for the first 18 years of my life, from you. What a laugh. What an absolute corker of a joke that is. Ha ha ha ha.

In response, I thought I’d write this open letter to tell you, keep your money, and I forgive you. Not because you deserve it, not because you need it, but because I’ve chosen to give it to you. I am a better person than you are. I am a better parent than you have ever been to me, and I no longer crave your input or existence in my world.

My daughter will grow up with a dad who loves her unconditionally and two sets of grandparents that don’t include you.

Thanks for being absent my whole life, your absence has taught me two things, to respect my mum, and to let go of hatred. I refuse to spend a moment longer being upset over a man, who for all intents and purposes, doesn’t exist.

‘Sincerely’

Me.

Mum guilt and chocolate teapots

Mum guilt, if you’re a mum, you’ve had mum guilt at some point. You may even have it regularly – let’s be real about this, it’s a thing that has blown up in recent years because we (I, in any case) spend far too much time comparing ourselves to other mum’s on social media, at the school gates, during a PTA, at soft play or on someone’s follow Friday post.

A friend of mine called me earlier this week to say she’d been called into school about her child’s behaviour. They were acting out and she felt tremendously guilty. She felt like she’d failed as a mother. Let me be clear here, she is a bloody fantastic mother, but seriously, she tore herself a new one over this. I went away and thought about the times I’ve been criticised or not even criticised as such, but spoken to about Ciara’s tantrums and or her lack of sharing and I’ve felt like the worst person on the planet. I’ve gone on social media to make myself feel better and been faced with everyone gushing about their perfect kids or at least that’s what I’ve taken from it and ended up feeling worse. I’ve been penalised for being ‘real’ for admitting when my child acts like a knob. People have said ‘no wonder if you call your child a knob, they’ll act like one.’ FYI I don’t sit there calling my three year old a knob to her face, but sometimes people, she acts like a spawn of Satan, so she gets the finger when she’s not looking, and sometimes….. she’s cute and shit. If you complain about your child’s behaviour or chastise them, you are branded an awful mother, and if you don’t, you are still an awful mother as you must not even notice or worse, don’t care!

It’s funny because when I thought about this in more depth I thought about our mothers and grandmothers. There weren’t parenting books and baby led weaning, or the Ferber Method. There also weren’t tens of thousands of mums on social media talking about being one. (I’m aware I’m that person too) What I’m getting at is, they had nothing to compare it to accept real life experiences from friends and family. There was hardly even any reality TV when I was a kid. None of this teen mum stuff or one born every minute (which I love by the way) but we all sit there and have a little ‘ooh I wouldn’t of done it like that’ moment when watching. Don’t get me wrong, there are just as many mums taking a stand against mum shaming on social media as there are ‘perfect’ parents, but where does this end.

If your kid acts up these days it’s because they have something wrong with them, or there’s something wrong with you, or you’re neglecting them, smothering them, missing something, and so on!

This is a time when if you kiss your child on the lips and photograph it, you’re branded a paedophile. Has the world gone absolutely bat shit?

My mum always gave me a big smacker before bed, she wasn’t/isn’t a paedophile. The only difference is, back then she didn’t photograph it and post it on social media. We seldom take pictures of our babies cute little bums or let them waltz around starkers because let’s face it, there are some sick people in the world and we’re quite rightly protecting our kids, I wouldn’t ever condone anything that put them at risk, but come the fuck on people, can you not give your child a kiss or a cuddle in public anymore? Loving your child and showing affection in a positive way does not make you a monster.

My daughter doesn’t eat any veg, or fruit, accept in the form of juice. We have tried EVERYTHING! Her eating has gotten worse the older she’s got and it’s a real fight in our house some nights to get her to eat pizza and chips, let alone home made vegetable ragu. I can assure you, it’s not for lack of effort on our part as parents, whether you believe my assurances is another matter.

When Ciara’s tired and in an ‘I want Daddy only’ mood – I wonder to myself if this is because I’m a terrible mother. Does she hate me? What am I doing wrong?

When she forgets to use her ‘kind hands’ at preschool I wonder why it’s my child that plays up, what did I do?

I know I’ll go away after this post feeling liberated for all of five minutes for the rant I’ve allowed myself, and then I’ll get back to wondering why I can’t do better or be better. Why nobody looks at me as an idol, why I’m not up on a pedestal of perfect parenting.

BUT when I look at my daughter each day and see her happy and healthy little face, when she randomly comes and plants a kiss on my cheek or puts her little hand in mine, I’m going to try and see myself from her perspective. I’m going to try and love myself a little more how she loves me, and I’m going to give myself a pat on the back for every day we finish a meal, every time I refrain from referring to her as a little knob, and every time she’s kind. Fuck it I may even get myself a reward chart because I am a good mum. Deep down I know this because my perfect girl is so loved, and guilt, guilt is an emotion I render as useless as a chocolate teapot.