Month: May 2022

Lost

There are times my mental health seems bad to me. 

There are times it seems bad to others. This is when it is at its hardest. Like I’m lost down a rabbit hole but I don’t know how I got there. I was quite happy amongst the roots and dirt not knowing any differently. It’s hard to find your way out when you are told it’s not the place you belong. Not where people want to see you. And all along you thought everything was okay.

Maybe I am lost down the rabbit hole. And have forgotten what the outside world looks like. 

Maybe starting writing again has made me delve back into my old self. She is deep thinking and not participating in the real world. And yet I’m told my writing is powerful. But it’s making me a ghost in life. It’s sad because I thought I was okay. At least I had the outer appearance of being okay, while everything inside isn’t. Well, is and isn’t. 

Maybe I’m just floating along content in the displacement. It’s sad. It comes as such a shock to be told just how I appear on the outside. Like I’ve failed to exist. Exist how I should in another person’s eyes. Exist how they love me. Exist, full stop. 

Maybe I just don’t see it from my side. 

That’s a lot of maybes. It always will be. Other than an out of body experience I don’t possibly see how I’d see it from another person’s perspective. All I know is it’s sad to feel like I’m failing. To be the person people want to love. To be the better version of me. All the while thinking that’s what I was doing. 

To those who love me, know me, I’m sorry if I come across unfeeling and lost. 

I’ll do my best to do better.  

Anxiety 101

Do you know anyone that suffers from anxiety?

I didn’t think I knew anyone but it affects so many different people at different times in their lives. And in different ways. The more it’s spoken about the more we learn!

When I’m having a good day, you may not know it if you were to look at me. Although I’m not the world’s most smiley person it doesn’t mean I’m upset, but I actually have the kind of mouth that turns downwards naturally so people always assume something is wrong. You could be completely fine on the inside and then someone thinks they are helping by telling you to cheer up, that is actually when you  start to feel worse! Most of the time people call it resting b**** face, it’s almost a cop out for you or an excuse for them, something to laugh at to make light of the situation. 

I remember a day when my anxiety was particularly bad. We were awaiting some news that would have potentially changed our world, our expectations or how we live the next couple of years of our lives and no matter what I did I sat there thinking the worst.

Isn’t that what we do? We think the worst of an upcoming piece of news, it’s unfortunate but it’s just what we do. So I went through every scenario in my head. How to deal with it. How to live our lives and I sat there petrified. 

I have so many supporters in my life, we both do, but ultimately, these kinds of trials and tribulations they test our individual mindset and outlook.  The outcome only affects the two of us. How it affects US is how it affects other people and I wish I could say I’ll be there for those people too but there comes a time when you really do have to take a step back and say I’ve got to focus on me. I’ve got to focus on us. 

I’m not the kind of anxious person that can’t go out during the day. I do actually find my own company great. I like the quiet and I like the solitude and that really isn’t me hiding away. I’ve been used to it for a long long time. Growing up, I was one sister with two brothers, so unless I went out to see friends, it was just me. I’ve got amazing parents and growing up wasn’t lonely. Being on my own isn’t something I have a problem with so I’m not going to force myself to interact with people daily just because others may think I’m shutting myself away. When you live with anxiety you need the time on your own to recharge before and after spending time with people. Gearing up to seeing a friend, for example, is wrought with lots of preparedness, and then there’s the talking and listening for hours, it’s tiring to say the least. Of course, I’d never live without it. But if you are having a particularly anxious day, you need the time after to be quiet and like I said time to recharge. Much like coming back from a fun and exciting vacation and someone saying ‘I need a holiday to get over my holiday!’.

People may think I shut myself away because isolation is one way of dealing with sad or worrying news. I don’t do that. I don’t shut down. The overwhelming anxiety that precedes a worrisome piece of news weighs so heavy on my mind, that I just need time to reset. I need time to re-calibrate. I’m no good to anyone when it gets really bad. So what I used to do is keep busy. I’d clean the house, have a little project going on and distract myself physically. It meant my mind got a little holiday from itself. 

And that’s what anxiety is. It’s something that hits you square in the stomach and you have no idea when it’s coming. It’s uncontrollable and it makes everyday just a tick of the clock. You might be the strongest person when everyone else needs you to be. You tell them everything is going to be ok. And you believe that wholeheartedly. It’s never the belief you have for yourself. You are never your own cheerleader.  

What I’ve come to realise recently is working through something and pushing it to the back of your mind doesn’t work for me. I want to deal with it in the here and now. Work through it instead of around it. 

And for me, the best thing is wanting to work through it. Wanting to live with it. Not suffer with it. Not letting it win. 

Photo by Dave Watson 

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Pcos, fertility and me

It’s easier to write this part of my journey down, because it’s more fact and time based. I warn you now, this is a long post. Because it’s been going for a long long time! That doesn’t mean that time has made it easy. The longer it goes on the harder it gets. In fact it’s been so hard I’ve considered giving in. Both Mr W and I have considered letting the other one go so they can go have their babies and be happy. But I’m afraid he is stuck with me. I want HIS children. He’s the reason I want children. I see him with children and it makes my heart swell. I know he feels the same way about having children and I think it’s why we are destined to be together. To be parents. I know we would love our child to the ends of the earth. A part of each of us. The most perfect finish to our family. 

So here’s the full medical side of my journey. It’s hard to write. And for those living with PCOS it may be hard to read. I don’t want you to see it as all the doom and gloom it’ll inevitably portray because everyone’s story is different. And I seem to have found the rabbit filled with rabbit poop. For a long time it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. But let’s just dive right in shall we?

As I mentioned in my blog ‘Pcos and Me’, I got my first period at age 13, and then nothing for over 6 years. I plucked up the courage to go to the Doctors at 19 when I noticed other symptoms of the condition ‘Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome’ I had read about. I’d only ever been to the doctors about chest infections before. I remember feeling so embarrassed and ashamed of the condition. I thought back then it was my fault. That my weight was the cause. I sat in the Doctor’s office. Hands shaking. And briefly told her what I thought was going on. As I explained why I thought I had the condition, tears fell down my face. I’d been bullied over my appearance all my life and now all the added symptoms were making me feel like a freak.

“WHY ARE YOU CRYING!” She said abruptly, a look of disdain on her face. It’s funny, even after all this time, I can see her before me, her face painted with this ugly expression.

I honestly don’t know what I said. It certainly wouldn’t have been anything to defend myself. I was not a fighter back then, I’m hardly one now, although I’ve learned to bite back a lot more. I was prescribed the pill and sent for a scan. The scan itself was intrusive and I’d never felt so violated. I was extremely inexperienced back then and I wish I had known what I know now. To be diagnosed with Pcos they can do a blood test, the cysts on your ovaries (if you have them) are a symptom, not a cause. I may have been bold enough back then to say no. 

For 8/9 years I was on the pill, the only precaution I was told to take was with my legs. The pill itself could cause blood clots in the legs and if I felt ‘odd’ I should go back to my GP for a follow up. I suffered with headaches, was moved to another pill and that was the story for all those years. False periods, brought on by a pill. That was their answer. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Fast forward to February 2016 when I had one of the worst ear infections the walk-in centre physician had ever seen. I was prescribed strong pain medication and antibiotics. It wasn’t until my mum mentioned the need for Mr W and me being careful as antibiotics would cancel out the pill. So I stopped taking the pill during that time. A month later, my period was late. We were really happy. It wasn’t on the agenda with moving house on the horizon, but the possibility was exciting nonetheless. Two weeks passed, and my period returned. It’s funny how much you never knew you wanted something until it’s taken away.

We both decided I would stay off the pill. Just to see what happened. Naturally. It took a year for my periods to come back naturally. But as I hadn’t had one in 6 years before the pill I was astounded. From early 2017 to our wedding in late 2018, we wondered, but nothing happened. After the wedding, I started my research into Pcos and fertility. I had been using Ovulation pee sticks to track my cycle. But after 3 months of expensive tests, nothing was showing that I had ovulated. I started tracking my basal body temperature. I was woken up at exactly the same time every morning, by Mr W when he left for work, with a thermometer shoved in my…mouth (haha) and track my temperature. It helps people with Pcos track ovulation much better than the OPK sticks. The sticks detect the luteinizing hormones in urine, and when this is particularly high it means an egg has been released. This gives you a clear indication on when to do the baby dance. Checking your temperature is more accurate when you have Pcos, because the shift in your hormones often renders the sticks useless. So we started temping. And yet no baby.

By September 2019, I wanted help. I was scared. Doctors left a sour taste in my mouth. I registered at my local GP’s as a new patient. We had lived here for over 3 years and I’d avoided them for long enough. I was told by the nurse who took my registration that the surgery was getting all new doctors, fresh from medical school, that they’d be fresh, raring to go and wanting to do good. I must admit, I was drawn in by her excitement. Before my appointment I took the time to write down my entire history. All the results I had from the temping, the lengths of my cycles for the past two years and our desire to have children.

She was lovely, she listened when I talked about my research and held my hand as I cried. Unfortunately my emotions, whatever they are, leak from my eyeballs. It’s seen as a weakness by a lot of people. When I’m upset I see it as a release. When I’m angry, I see it as the much needed vent my body needs instead of screaming at someone. Anyway!

She ordered blood tests, and told me exactly what they would be looking for. Most of which I had researched so I was really pleased. Another external and internal scan. And we’d rearrange a date for the results. Blood tests are easy. The scan went okay, but the woman couldn’t find one of my ovaries and said she “wasn’t at liberty to tell me what she saw”. Hey, thanks lady. It’s only my body. No I didn’t say that. I wish I had. 

The next appointment at the GP, armed with my notepad, results were discussed. No cysts on ovaries. But my blood tests results as well as my other symptoms confirmed Pcos. I finally had a diagnosis. 12 years after asking for help. I had a path I could follow. She referred me to the hospital under the Gynaecological department. It took 4 months to see someone. In March 2020, a week before the country went into lockdown, I saw a consultant. They weighed me. Measured my height. And he ordered a blood test and internal scan before even looking at my notes. When he said what he had done, I told him that I had already had them. His response “Oh, well, you can do them again.” Oh wow, thanks, I just love being probed! And no I didn’t say that either. By this point, I thought it was what was needed. After all, I was under the hospital now. The rest of the appointment was solely based on my weight. It didn’t matter that weight is a symptom of this condition. That despite dieting and/or exercising, nothing much made a difference. He was working to an NHS criteria that bound him to rules and to treat me like a number. I asked what the next step would be, and he said they could try me on an ovulation drug to induce ovulation, but I had to lose weight. So for now there wasn’t anything they could or would do. I mentioned Metformin. My research had taken me down the route of the insulin drug that was given to diabetics. Now, I’m not diabetic, it’s been tested when I’ve had blood tests. But it’s had a success rate in helping women with Pcos fall pregnant. I remember the look on his face as I was talking. But he gave me the prescription anyway. I felt a small victory but remember having to sit down inside the corridor once I had left to cry. Mr W tried to console me. But I felt I’d hit a wall. Why was this criteria so harsh? 

I was able to get my prescription before the world lost its mind. My next appointment letter was sent for October 2020. Six months! I had the blood test and scan, this time the nurse (different lady) spoke to me through it and was so lovely, she must have known how hard I found this. I doubt anyone feels any differently. The next appointment came round, and due to covid, or so I thought, was conducted over the phone. It wasn’t the consultant this time, but a lady. Nothing was mentioned about my tests and all questions were based on my weight. They told me they’d arrange another appointment for 6 months and another blood test. Initially this was cancelled due to covid and in May 2021 I had my phone call. Another phone call. Another different person. He said my latest blood test results showed great changes and it was all pointing to good news. Then he said “Can I ask, do you want children?”. I remember being so shocked I laughed. I said that of course I did, that’s why I was going through all of this. He said that he would refer me then to the infertility clinic. The appointment would take approximately 3 months to come through the post. 

I remember, afterwards, I hadn’t asked for my blood test results. I was curious to see what had changed. I had written them all down from the first test, so I wanted to be able to compare them. I called the hospital and after getting through the absolute maze of the switchboard and endless answering machines I got through to my consultant’s secretary. She said she wasn’t allowed to give me my results. And that was that. I believed her. Afterall, she knows what the NHS are allowed to do and not do. Right?

A few weeks later, I received an appointment for another scan. I was so confused. I had asked the man if I needed any more tests and he said no. The scan appointment was in less than two weeks, I didn’t know what to do. I sat on the couch and decided I needed to know why I had to have another scan. For the better part of 7 hours, I sat on my phone, going between the switchboard, answering phones, the endless ringing of the reception and getting nowhere. In the end, I called the maternity department, just so I could talk to someone. By then, I was spitting feathers. I spoke to a woman, who I now feel so sorry for, and explained the situation. She said she would send an internal email to my consultants secretary and they would call me. Low and behold, she called. I explained what had happened and she said that I had been sent the scan appointment in error, she had no idea how it had been sent to me, but she was sorry. It turns out the woman it was meant for, had a different name, date of birth and was in severe abdominal pain, and needed the scan. I often wonder what on earth they would have said if I had had the scan and what would have happened to the other woman. While on that phone call, I asked the woman again for my blood test results, she said, and I quote, “Well, I’ll send them to you this time, as we kind of owe you.” Gee, thanks! I also mentioned that I hadn’t had my referral yet, she confirmed that it had been sent electronically to my GP and to check with them. She gave me the time stamp down the to second I was sent. 

My doctors said they hadn’t received anything, August came around, and I still hadn’t had my referral come through, so I called the hospital again, geared up for another long wait. They said they would send it again electronically. I checked with my GP. Not received. This to and fro-ing had become a real issue. Another call saw me ask the hospital to send it via the post to me, and I would personally walk it (on a velvet cushion) up to the GP’s office. I was told once again, they couldn’t do that. But they would send it via the post to the GP. I leave it a few weeks, and yet the doctors don’t receive it. You can imagine by this point, I’m losing my mind. The very real feeling of paranoia has set in. Another phone call the hospital  to check what’s going on. Yes, they posted it. And yes they have the right address. They’ll send another one. By November, I felt like a yo-yo between the two offices and I was not getting anywhere.

23rd December, my 6 monthly phone call with the hospital. Another different lady. No results to read out. Only the same question about my weight. I broke down. And she listened. She was so kind. I let it all out. How I felt left out in the cold. That my weight was the only focus for this department. How hard I had tried for years. That I was being left behind. My mental health in tatters. When I told her about the referral and the troubles I had had. She said “What if I print the letter off and you give it to your GP?” I was sitting on the bed at the time, and I felt my body crumble. I explained that I had suggested that months ago, and was told it wasn’t an option. She said she didn’t know why and that as it was 3:30pm I’d have to go and get it right now, as they closed at 4pm. I interrupted Mr W’s Christmas cooking in the kitchen and we raced to get it. Bless her, she gave me all my letters and updates in printed form. By now my faith was all but gone and I said I wanted copies of the letters before ever letting anyone else get their hands on them. 

I enjoyed Christmas after the 2020 debacle and by January I had my copies. I took them to the GP and explained EXACTLY what needed doing. That they were for a referral and it needed actioning. I even left with copies. I knew the referral could take three months. So thought by the end of April I would have answers. 

I celebrated my birthday in March for the first time in three years and after a discussion with family earlier that month decided to contact the GP for an update afterwards. I had a lovely birthday and upon my return prepared myself for another phone call. At this point I am so geared up for bad news and being ‘fobbed off’ I’m not sure what else could possibly happen. Up until this point shock has hit me at each and every turn and I have believed everything I’ve been told. This is key to remember. 

The call to the GP is awful. I explain why I’m calling, I would like an update on the referral that was requested in January. I know that it has only been two months, but an update would be appreciated. That’s when the bomb is dropped. The referral has NOT been sent on to the hospital. I lost my shit. I said how could this happen when I basically, no not basically, literally told the receptionist what she had to do. The lady on the phone said she had no idea but she would call me back. She did in ten minutes. She had spoken to my GP personally who had requested the referral now marked as ‘urgent’ and I would have an appointment within a month. I could even go that night for the confirmation of a referral which would give me passwords and such to call the appointment line for an update. 

I applaud you for reaching this far. It’s quite the story isn’t it?

Four weeks later, no letter, I call the appointment line for an update, they say it can take up to 18 weeks as this is a routine referral. I say no it was put through as an ‘urgent’. No, they say, I’m afraid it wasn’t and only your GP can make the adjustment. Now I’m a calm person. I assure you. But now it is 11 months since the referral was first mentioned. I’ve been on and off the phone chasing people from pillar to post. I was a human yo-yo. I called the GP and got the same lady I spoke to in March. She remembers me. Fancy that!

I explain the situation, and ask to speak to the practice manager. She is shocked. But I am finally done screwing around. He called me back within half an hour. I literally leave no detail out. I tell him everything. He says I am to go through him from now on and he will change the referral to urgent. And will personally email the appointment line to detail what has happened. He also says he will see if he can hurry along any of the tests they may need.

As of the 27th April, I have an appointment. WE have an appointment. For August. At the time I was quite upset and called the proactive manager to see if it could be brought forward. He said he would try but he was personally surprised how close the appointment was. Even at 3.5 months away. 

My dear Mr W has had to deal with the psycho that has erupted out of me on numerous occasions. The fighter in me is exhausted. The scariest part is I believed everybody every step of the way. Am I stupid for doing so? Does it honestly take blowing your lid to get stuff done? That ultimately is so very sad. 

We’ve come to terms with the date of the appointment and have planned to get as healthy as possible. If I have to walk into that appointment and have them point out my weight, it may honestly just break me. I am not my weight. This condition is not my weight! Something has changed in the last few days in my mind. Even if we weren’t trying to conceive. My weight is also a cause for concern with health matters. According to blood pressure and cholesterol checks, I’m healthy. Really. But weight does affect other things and I want to be around for a long time. I have a lot of living to do. With Mr W. With everyone who makes my life what it is. There’s also a whole world to see. 

Since I’ve got the appointment letter it has been moved to the beginning of July. I’ve had a day to process it. I’m not scared to admit that I was absolutely shocked. It’s 7 weeks closer than the other appointment which means seven weeks less time to lose weight. But it may just be 7 weeks closer to a baby. 

The fear of Doctors is not going to go away anytime soon. I believe the other day I said I was petrified and to be honest my hands shake, I feel sick and my eyes leak again. Just at the thought of being in that office. The trust you place in them is enormous. I wish my story was different. I wish the lady who saw me when I was 19 was empathetic. She didn’t need to be sympathetic. I didn’t need a shoulder to cry on. I just needed to feel like I wasn’t alone. That I wasn’t a freak. I’ll talk about how I’ve tried to combat that very feeling in one of my next Pcos blogs. 

The fact it’s taken me a year to get this far is an extortionate amount of wasted time. Especially when you consider the longest amount of time to get an appointment was initially 12 weeks. I’m really trying to be positive. It’s hard considering the anxiety I deal with on a daily basis. The downfalls of the last year and the fight to get this far have left me unsure of who or what to trust going forward. However, something like this must make someone stronger. Surely that’s how it works. 

Maybe the doctors will start fearing me!

Photo by Dave Watson 

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Counting sheep

Sometimes I forget what insomnia feels like. 

Even when I’m in the midst of it. 

Like now. 

My eyes are absolutely streaming. They are tired. They keep blinking away the yawn tears. And the yawning. My jaw is clicking from the big gaping yawns my body is not listening to. 

I had a pretty early start to the day all things considered. It was around 07:30. Which after another really restless night is not great. But it does usually mean that I’ll feel tired enough to get some sleep tonight. Today we did a lot of work in the garden, in the sun and I felt the sense of fatigue that you feel on holiday. You know the one. You’ve been outside all day. Soaking up the rays. And yet you feel like a little siesta would seal the deal to the perfect day. I don’t know what it is about the sun but it is a stealer of energy. And yes, that’s what happened today. 

We came in, showered, ate and then relaxed on the sofa. Up to bed we come and here I am 3 hours later. Body tired. Eyes screaming. Yawn. Yawn. Yawn. Why? Why! 

I wouldn’t mind the later ticking clock hours if I was going to sleep deeply when it eventually happens. But that hasn’t happened in a few weeks now. I forgot what this felt like. The absolute endless fatigue. And yet it’s not fatigue during the day. It’s almost a mission my body has to keep going. It is not tired anymore. And then boom. Bedtime, body tired, hello brain! 

What’s on the agenda tonight. Nothing much. So are we in agreement. Brain and body are both tired. So let’s sleep. 

Yeah, nah, that’s not gonna happen. I can do the ‘wriggling around unsettled, eyes shut, body awake, brain buzzing’ if you want? 

Just what is going on. I’ve got the earplugs in. I’ve got an eye mask. Comfy bed. Dark room. Locked door. Quiet road. 

It’s the brain isn’t it. The non stop hamster wheel churning out useless thoughts and tidbits. And yet even that has stopped. It’s just restlessness. Maybe I’m slipping back into the ‘functioning without sleep’ mode. It used to work fine until I’d crash for 15+ hours of pure sleep. Actual dead to the word slumber. 

Maybe my body is used to being awake. It just had to get over the tired humps. Even now I can feel the tiredness leave my eyes. My yawning has stopped. My body lays numb on the bed. Mr W is next to me. Out for the count. The envy is real. 

Deep down I know that this is caused by Pcos. But knowing that doesn’t exactly solve the problem. I understand it. I don’t have to be confused. It’s just a problem that needs some kind of work around. 

I actually love to sleep. Love it! When I have it, I want more and more and more. Maybe because when it actually happens I want to cling to it so it never leaves me again. 

Some people say, why not read a boring book, which after a while will send you to sleep? Ha! You end up finishing the book so you have something to do instead of stare at the ceiling. 

Count sheep? Hmmm. They’ll be tap dancing in corsets by the time I’m through with them. 

Listen to the sounds of pouring rain. Absolutely love it. That’s why I want to listen to it. And my brain knows it! 

Other than a giant hammer I don’t know what to do. There’s always the medication route. But what a slippery slope that could be. 

Although I must say it amuses the husband. Today I measured half of 21cm as 10cm and said the ‘word’ performanship, he quickly said, “Do you mean, showmanship?”. Yes, yes I do. 

You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you. 

Photo by Dave Watson 

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Donuts

Today I’m struggling with my mental health. I was going to leave it at that and allow you, the reader, to decipher it quite simply. I’d chosen to take a break from writing today.

I’m all for that. Unfortunately there are times when my enormous fear of letting myself down storms to the front of my mind and declares war with rationality. Write. You’ll feel better. Write. You’ll only be disappointed that you didn’t. 

Write. 

I’ve been thinking of Scotland. In 2021 we took a few days out of our busy autumn schedule and travelled up to Edinburgh. I’ll put my hands up now and say the sole reason was to go to Edinburgh zoo to see the Giant Pandas. And it did not disappoint! I, in fact, spent the better part of 30 minutes sitting and staring at Yang Guang, their male panda. I may also have cried. It was a special, special moment for me. It was just Mr W and I for the viewing. The zoo is situated on the side of a large hill and the Giant Pandas are right at the top of this hill. Go figure! We quickly decided to slog all the way up the hill first, making no stops, so we could see the panda without interruptions. And who doesn’t love to get the crap bit out the way first. Walk up the hill. Enjoy the slow, winding walk back at your own pace. Roast dinner, veg first! It’s the rule!

Floating on cloud nine, I eventually had to leave the panda and seeing a donut cart, decided on a treat. Hot, sugary donuts! Mmm! You know the type you get at a fair or by the seaside and you can barely hold the paper bag because they’re so hot, but your stomach can’t wait, so you bite into the molten doughiness and find instant bliss and regret. Yeah, those kind. 

So, while I’m waiting in the queue for my 10am donuts, there is a lady in front of me who asks the server whether she can buy just a single donut. The server says “no, they come in batches of 4 only.” The lady says, “oh, okay, there’s no way I want that many.” I internally gasped and reminded myself to include Mr W on my donut haul. She walked away and I felt sad for the lady who was leaving donutless. I quickly get my bounty, and as I turn to leave, I see her with her family. I made a quick decision and approached her. “ Would you like one I ask?” She gives me the once over with her crazy detector and says “No, that’s okay.” “Honestly it’s okay”, I reply, “go for it”. And she does, I say “Enjoy” and walk away. Mr W is sitting on a wall, watching me, he asks what I’m doing and when I tell him, he laughs. My reason for sharing, it’s nice to be nice. 

There are such deeds in the world that have become a bit of a phenomenon. The ‘Pay it Forward’ movement is really quite special. It’s popular in coffee shops in particular. When paying for your tall skinny decaf latte you add a couple of pounds to the bill and the next person gets their drink free. With the reminder to pay it forward. I’d like to think that the zoo donut lady paid it forward at some point in time, but also don’t like to think of telling someone to do it. I didn’t do it because it was on my mind to do something that day, it was a spontaneous thought, and that meant something to me too. And one less donut.

It’s often when we are thanked for something we’ve done, an unconscious act of ‘nice’ that we realise its power. I have a 12 year old niece who I haven’t seen a lot recently. Covid, life, geography. She’s always been quiet, loves to read like me and is going through a tough time at school. Only recently was I told this. A few weeks ago, she popped up on my personal Instagram feed as ‘someone you may know’. I hit the follow button and sent a message asking how she was. It felt rude not to, to be honest. I wouldn’t add anyone to my online ‘social’ circle unless I actually planned to have a conversation with them. It’s one of the biggest reasons I delete people. If we don’t talk, what’s the point? We had the briefest of all chats and that was that. Fast forward to last week and my niece’s mum gives me a call. We’re chatting away, catching up after a long absence of calls since Christmas and she stops to thank me for messaging my niece. I’m taken back to be honest. It was just a hello and how are you. However it turns out things have been difficult recently, she’s been withdrawn at home and school and very quiet. The night after we spoke, she was very chatty and smiley and her mum felt more relaxed than she had been in months. Not knowing this, I said that it really was nothing, I just wanted to say hello. And I was told that it had made all the difference in the world. That my niece felt seen and not forgotten. I won’t lie, that hit me in the heart with a different kind of ouch. I know what it feels like to feel alone, I’m not alone, but my anxiety makes me feel isolated. I know the joys of someone reaching out because they want to. Not because they’re fulfilling a duty or checking up on you. Sometimes it’s the unconscious acts that make the biggest impacts.

In the autumn of 2013, Mr W’s sister, my now sister-in-law, had a major car crash. She was taken to Whitechapel hospital in London. Working in London at the time meant I could travel easily from work, meet MR W on the station platform and see her for a few hours. At this point we’d only met a handful of times and I still felt like the new kid on the block. One particular evening Mr W had to travel for work, so I went alone. Unannounced. I took magazines, sweets, food and my dry sense of humour. All the things I would want in that situation. I only stayed an hour or so. My sister in law is a loved lady and had other visitors arrive after me. I went home and thought nothing of it. It’s what you do. Fast forward to our engagement, there’s talk of me becoming an official family member and how I had fit into the family from the start. I had made quite an impact on my sister in law. Dumbfounded, I asked why. Back then, and even today 9 years later, my sister in law would talk about my solo visit to the hospital and what it meant to her. She said it showed I cared,not just for Mr W but for his family. I shrug it off. It’s what you do. Someone you love, someone you care about, someone who needs you. You are there. It. Is. What. You. Do. 

I think about these moments and others when I’m sad, upset and anxious. It makes me feel better. It puts me in my place. It grounds me. I don’t know why. I don’t do anything to be seen or heard. I do it because it costs nothing to be nice, well maybe the price of a donut, but it literally doesn’t have to cost a thing. Whether the lady paid if forward. Whether I got told about my niece. And even if I was told of my sister in law’s gratitude. It makes no difference to whether I, we, everyone should be a little nicer. The reward should be secondary. It’s a selfless act. I’m no saint. No one is. But just because we’re not saints, doesn’t mean we’re automatically sinners. Maybe we can be floating in the middle. Being nice. Eating naughty donuts. And sending a hello out into the world. 

You never know who might need it. 

Sustainability on a budget

Covid changed a lot. That is a fact. It disrupted every single life around the world. It’ll be a saga that is told for decades to come. 

I have touched upon how life changed for us in previous blogs, check out ‘Changes to how we saw the world’ and ‘A hop, skip and a fracture’ to learn more. It has changed how we view money, travel and single use purchases. It’s surprising to think that they all go hand in hand. So with that in mind, welcome to,

Sustainability on a budget! 

*play the riotous jingle from our sponsors (there are no sponsors)*

Our biggest trip this year will be 16 days travelling from Essex, up to Inverness, over the top of Scotland, following the NC500, pausing in the Isle of Skye and heading down to the Lake District. It’s a lot of mileage to consider and plan ahead for. It’s a lot of everything. 

Food. 

Accommodation

Rubbish. 

Luggage.

We knew early on that we didn’t want this trip to cost the earth. So, from the moment I started planning the route, our stops were allocated due to low cost accommodation. Luckily enough the NC500 takes you through so many small and remote places that a cheap bed for the night wasn’t too hard to come by. There are places I’ve booked in the Isle of Skye and Fort William that have cost almost double our £40-£50 a night budget, but this is to be expected in the more ‘touristy’ areas. Fort William itself has many shops, the popular ‘Harry Potter’ steam railway and is the gateway to Ben Nevis, the Uk’s highest mountain. So it is understandable that our hotel here is costing £80 for the night. It’s an understanding I’ve talked myself round to. Especially as it’s a room with bunk beds! Although it does have a private bathroom, which the diva that lives in me is so grateful for. Other hotels where cheaper do have shared bathrooms and as someone who doesn’t pee in public bathrooms, I’m definitely going all out for this trip! If I remember correctly there are 2-3 hotels on the trip where we won’t share a bed but the room will be private. For the sake of one night, we will survive the separation. Ha! I think after our full days of driving, hiking and exploring, we’ll want nothing more than our own bed, covers and comfort. All hail a return to separate marital beds. I’ve found that when trying to save money, it’s easier to look for hotels that don’t include breakfast, in fact there are only 3 hotels on our entire trip that offer breakfast to be included. One of those hotels is in the Lake District and was booked using a voucher and is our only luxury accommodation on the trip. When it comes to the accommodations we have booked it’s not easy to see how they are sustainable. When one thinks of sustainability it’s often of eco-hotels and the like. However in regards to sustainability and our hotels, it is more of a need to sustain a budget. This budget is important to us, because it means for the first time, travelling in the UK can cost as little as travelling abroad. Too often have we booked a trip to Spain for a week because it is almost one third of the price of a week in Cornwall. This is one of the huge changes covid has brought about. Our need to stay in the UK, but not pay out of the proverbial arse to do so. So far our budget for 16 days in the UK, is at £1086. 92. We have more food to buy, so this amount will increase, but it does include the more expensive items such as the bladder bags and portable kettle. Something that is really important to us this year is stretching the almighty pound coin. It was important when we started planning the trip in December 2021, and we find now in May 2022 it is even more crucial. The cost of living has increased enormously. So if we can minimise the output in terms of vacationing in the UK and learn more about living sustainably in the process I’d call that a win-win situation. 

One of the biggest budget saving hacks I can share with you, is to make your money work harder for you. Something I’ve been doing for years is using our Tesco clubcard points to book our hotels. It is possible to triple up your points in order to do this. It’s easy to do online and I’ve found plenty of hotels that take the vouchers. It means for every £5 of vouchers you potentially have £15 towards a hotel booking. It takes some getting used to as taxes and vat aren’t covered by vouchers, but ultimately it gives you a huge saving! For instance, the hotel I have booked in Fort William cost £85 for the night. I used a £60 voucher and paid £25 cash. However the vouchers I used were originally worth £20. So that means I’m paying £45 for the room, which means a saving of £40! BUT, if you really want to push the thinking, you did nothing but buy your food shop to gain these points, they take time to build, but don’t waste them on your food shop. Boost them! Even a small amount can be boosted and buy you a great dinner at a restaurant along the way. We’ve exhausted our vouchers as of January this year, however by the time we head to Scotland we may have enough for a cheeky pub meal. Not a pot noodle in sight! All in all, we have used £195 of vouchers for this trip, which has cost us £65, that is an enormous saving of £130. Not too shabby eh. And honestly we haven’t compromised on hotels. They are budget, but you do your research. Clean, not a shed and towels included. On this trip, I’ll be happy for a bed and 10 hours out of the car! It may seem complicated, but I assure you it’s easy and it’ll make the trip you take that bit better when you’ve chopped a budget clean in half. 

Mr W and I have spoken for hours on the best way of tackling a budget when it comes to the food for this trip. To add a challenge into the mix, we want to buy food that we can take with us, that won’t spoil and has recyclable, and therefore sustainable, packaging. 

As discussed in ‘Out of body experience number 342’ we’ve decided to take tinned food such as curries and stews to give us the much needed protein and vegetables we need to consume to keep our energy levels up. The best part being that the tin can and paper label are all recyclable. Along with these food items, we have stocked up on packet soups and breakfast oats. All with sustainable packaging. We hope that every few days we’ll be able to buy loose fruit too. To suit eating these packaged foods on the road, we’ve bought a small kettle that can run off of the car’s electric supply. We are lucky to have a hybrid SUV that will turn into a car/kitchen for the trip. We’ve invested in large, lightweight soup mugs for our car meals, have reusable cutlery and have kept two 5 litre bottles to reuse on the trip for water. These water ‘reserves’ will help us fill our bladder backpacks for our long hikes and our metal water bottles for the shorter ones. It would be easy to buy a huge stock of 500ml water bottles to take on the trip, but we’ve become accustomed to using our metal and 5L bottles in order to use less plastic and save a lot of money! In fact, the only other drinks we’ll be taking on our trip are a small variety of canned drinks when water just won’t cut it. Again, I like to think that the sugary treats will taste better when I know the can will be recycled. I plan to send out emails to our accommodations and ask of their recycling methods, as this is important to us and also in regards to our eating habits on the trip. It may come to me finding recycle points in some of the larger towns, so our efforts to be as sustainable as possible does not fall at the second hurdle of the mixed hotel rubbish bin. 

Something I’ve found really useful, and I’ll admit really enjoyable about this food challenge, is the need to organise the food properly. After a long day of hiking and driving, we will find the need to grab food quickly and therefore easily. Therein comes the large ziplock bags. I have not bought these bags rather been sent them as packaging for clothing purchases. When something like these cannot be recycled, it feels good to use it again and again to prevent it becoming a single use item. In the past these bags have been used to hold dirty washing and toiletries. I have quite the collection! Therefore these will be introduced into the food organisation plan for this trip and make for easy grab bags for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

They will also come in exceptionally handy again for dirty clothes. With the amount of walking and possibly rain we’ll encounter, there will be a great need to separate clean and dirty items. As we plan to take all of our food, the space in the car will be limited when it comes to clothing. So the plan is to pack smart and also to stop at least once at a laundrette. It isn’t ideal. But it means our budget is more sustainable food wise and the food is in sustainable packaging. The only packaging problem I have right now is the milk. It’s impossible to take regular milk on the trip as we won’t have a way of keeping it cool. But this is why I thought of the single serving milks you’ll often find in hotel rooms. The tiny ones that Mr W needs 3 of for his coffee. These are readily available to bulk buy online and I’m happy to have found last night that the actual pot is recyclable. However the lid is not. So if you have any suggestions (other than creamer) I’d love to hear them!

A huge problem we’ve been dealing with at home recently is the amount of bottles we recycle from the bathroom. I’ve been trying out some shampoo bars and Mr W has gone on step further and has a 2-1 shampoo/conditioner bar. So far there have been no complaints, although I’d like to try others due to the after effects and the health of my hair, but there are so many companies that offer these bars with sustainable packaging that I’m sure we’ll find the right ones soon! Team those up with shower gel and soap bars and I’m confident for the environment friendly squeaky clean travellers making their way along the NC500.

However, it is here I will share with you the guilty pleasure I have found in the past. And that is… hotel toiletries! We have a fair few half used hotel toiletry bottles from our travels, which we knew would be thrown out and wasted, that we have bought home and put in a box to use at other times. Now is that time. It is not desirable, considering the implications of plastic and its often found unrecyclable properties. However, I like to think as this was going to end up in the bin when we used it the first time, we are not wasting the rest of the product and moving towards a more sustainable practice of soap bars in the future. Speaking of which, we plan to keep these in mesh bags so the product dries quicker and therefore doesn’t melt away on the side of a sink and we don’t find our money literally washing away down the drain. 

The planning of any holiday can be hard. Learning about a new place, what it has to offer and what works where and when on an itinerary. Adding all of the above into the mix has genuinely been so interesting. I have enjoyed the challenge. I find the closer we get to the trip I am more thankful for the new practices we’ve developed than the experience itself. Sustainable travel is as hard as you make it. And what is sustainable travel really? Is it leaving only footprints? Is it wearing your pants for 4 days in a row? Front, back, inside out and back to front again. Or is it finding sustainable practices that give your mind a cleaner view? That makes your conscience smile. Hiking. New experiences. New places. Morning sprints into the coldest of seas. Driving for 3 hours watching the mountains grow closer and then further away in the rear-view mirror. Maybe it’s the rewards of hiking the path of a waterfall that feels so rewarding. Maybe it’s the gratification our souls need after the last few years of struggling. It’s the rewards of giving something back. Keeping the air cleaner and the seas free from plastic. It’s stopping on a dirt road in the rain, sitting in the boot of our car, tailgate up and watching the world go by. The world that has sustained us. 

Travel needs to be more than jetting off and spending money. It needs to be more than the rubbish we produce and buy. It needs to be a way of sustaining the soul. 

Engaging moments

A squirrel runs along the back of the bench we are sitting on. It is 10:30am, or thereabouts, on a Sunday morning, and we find a rare occasion to sit down in this busy city. We’re in Manhattan, we flew in yesterday afternoon and have so far hit the ground running. The planning for this trip started in February 2015, it is now December. Mr W, my boyfriend at the time, had succumbed to my pleas and allowed me to show him around my second home. New York City. 

We land with only a few hours of daylight left, dump our bags at our hotel and head out into the city. The plan for tonight is a wander around midtown, ending up at Rockefeller centre to see the tree. The big one. La pièce de résistance. Christmas has landed. We stroll up past Bryant Park, lit up by its Festive huts selling their wares, past the Public Library with its wreath wearing stone lions and pause slightly to glance upon the luxurious Saks display and there it is. 30,000 lights and the famous star. And there are thousands of people surrounding it. With the months of preparation behind me, I’d forgotten one key piece of information, tonight was the first Saturday since the tree had been lit. As we get closer to the crowd, my fight or flight kicks in and I have to walk away. Crowds really bother me. The feeling of being shimmied about or being squashed is too much. Mr W understands and we leave with a plan to come back another time, we say a brief ‘Hello’ to Radio City Music Hall and hit Times Square. 

The next morning is the big one. We wake early as the sun rises into bright and clear skies. The Empire State building awaits! One of the most iconic places on planet earth. With its art deco features, history in the making legacy and most amazing views this will be my 5th visit. Mr W doesn’t like heights but the nerves are blown away by the fierce winds up on the 86th floor. With its iconic criss cross metal fencing and viewfinders, it is undoubtedly the most recognisable scene in the city. Coming early has been a good choice, the crowds are thin enough you don’t feel rushed and there’s a slight haze as the sun rises over the East River and shines over the island. It feels as if you are watching the city wake up, allowing a slight lay in on this Sunday morning, and head out into the new day. As we emerge from the gilded lobby we realise we are early for our brunch booking. We take the time to head to Madison Square Park. It is warm enough to walk and the sun feels good. This is one of my favourite past-times in this city. We find a bench and watch the sunlight play with the dappled shade as the city’s residents run, stroll and walk their dogs by. I’m always caught by envy at this moment. Watching the world go by. Of how lucky they are to live here. I know this will be one of the few times we’ll sit still on our 5 day visit. As if they are aware of that fact, grey squirrels approach us, they climb up Mr W’s legs, awaiting a handful of food. One makes it onto the back of the bench. Mr W smiles as he sees me in my element, wild animals so close and friendly in my favourite place. I glance over at him as he looks around and nods ever so slightly. In a single move, he sweeps off of the seat and kneels in front of me. The moment transforms, the city fades, and if he asks me to marry him, I do not hear it. The blood pounds in my ears, the traffic falls silent, there is only us. I start crying as he smiles from his grounded position. There is much laughter and crying and disbelief as I finally remember to answer his question. My trembling hand accepts the beautiful diamond ring while my voice remains caught in my throat. And just like that, the day comes back into focus. The squirrels have abandoned us. People walk by. The taxi’s rumble by. 

I start my engaged life by calling out to two people passing by. My voice is not playing ball and I sound like a strangled banshee. They ask me to repeat myself. “We’ve just got engaged, will you take our picture?” Forever captured, is me shaking, blotchy faced on that bench. Amazing. 

Peeling ourselves from the bench, we head to brunch, steak and eggs for him, bellini for me. The shaking has not subsided and, besides telling the taxi driver, the world does not know what has happened. It carries on despite my world having changed forever.

Before leaving for our trip, several of my colleagues all but bet money on the engagement happening in New York. With exclamations of “Of course he will, it’s your favourite place in the entire world.” And despite my and his insistence that it wouldn’t be happening, they would not stop. It would seem I’d be returning to prove them right. After reflecting on that, we spoke about how he proposed. All was not as it seems, I had inadvertently ruined his initial proposal plans. It was to be under the Christmas tree the night before. But he is laughing. He says it does not matter, that the opportunity in the park was perfect for us. Both laughing, relaxing and drinking it all in. 

I often think of this moment in time. So much of our now married life is planned. Weekends. Social events. Holidays. Schedules are the order of every day. What our engagement reminds me to do is sit, stop and listen every now and again. It’s in those moments we find ourselves again. It is those times that everything around becomes white noise and we find our way back to everything truly important in our lives. 

The games we play

Been there done that ner ner ner ner NER!

Sounds like something a child would say doesn’t it? My family and I have a similar little game we play. We’ve all travelled over the years, those more extensively than others and some who enjoy the lazy lounger days rather than the toiling trekking days. However, over the years we’ve all amounted some serious airmiles.

As us three children have all grown and moved from our childhood home, our parents have done some extensive travelling Australia, India, South America and Mexico to name but a few. As I’ve grown, I’ve more than once discovered the freedom age, money and a passport grants you. By no means was I kept locked up at home when I was a kid nor was I kept from the rest of the world. But, how can a parent keep everyone happy when choosing the summers vacation destination? We did the summers by the pool, in different countries every year (more or less), day trips out and about to get a glimpse of the new cultures. I saw fantastic places like Greece, a place where you are surrounded by huge families in backyard restaurants, where everyone tucks in and is squeezed together in pleasure over Mediterranean food and laughter. I escaped the UK weather to Cuba one summer and was introduced to a vast, vibrant culture who worship the sun and laughter. Our hotel opened their beach over the weekends and the whole of Cuba, it seemed, descended on our weekday good fortune, it was an assault on the senses. I was extremely lucky as a child, as I continue to be into adulthood, the snippets of culture I saw travelling as a child lit a fire under me that have pushed me to explore the world whenever I can.

Looking back, we didn’t have much money day to day, and I now understand, that pennies were pinched so we could go on those trips! I’ll never be more grateful for anything else in my life, travelling is one of the greatest gifts to give and, if you’re lucky enough, to receive.

The game that I and a few of my family play, is based on where we’ve been, it often comes into action when an image of a city/country/place is flashed across a screen or brought up in conversation. “Been there” someone will utter after I mention that a new skyscraper has been built in New York, “been there” someone will blurt out when a colleague has been to India on their honeymoon and ‘BEEN THERE’ my mum and I shout when someone muses over a documentary on Egyptian history they saw the other night.

To outsiders, and probably you, it seems like a terrible game with a mix of bragging and a certain level of NER NER NER NER NERNESS.

I can understand that, most definitely, but all in all it’s that personal feeling of achievement to remind ourselves of. Oh I’ve been there, cor remember that trip! Feels like yesterday! Onto the next! It’s become a lot of fun between my family and the once newly introduced Mr W. When it was first introduced to him he was taken aback. Now he just smiles and nods along.

Oh the games we play…

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com/

The rain falls outside

Rain falls outside. Like it has before. And how it will again.

It is late. The only light when I turn off my lamp is from the streetlights haze outside. I like the nighttime. You can hide away. In the shadows. Turn off the lights and disappear. In the light of day, you are an object that can’t be hidden. A voice with a face, a heart with a name, a body with a purpose.

At night. The voice is in your head locked away in the darkness. Your heart hammers and yet it is calm. Your body is just your mind’s life source. There’s no hiding from yourself. The light is out. 

I can lay here and listen to the rain in the dark and feel totally alone. It’s okay to feel alone at night. The world is asleep. You can run free without anyone being bothered by you and you by them. Thoughts clash loudly and an awful racket is made. Its deafening noise is silent in the night. No one hears it but me.

When the rain stops, my breath catches. It’s comforting to hear the drops upon the roof tiles, the splashes on the leaves. When the rain stops, only I am left. Only me and my thoughts. 

I don’t like it. I need a distraction. A noise. A light to follow. Just with my eyes. Or ears. The darkness offers a glimpse into my forbidden thoughts of self doubt and distress. But the distraction, every so often, stops me from falling down the well. The well that has no bottom. And no light. 

I like the darkness because at its most impenetrable it’s already turning to day. It offers a step back from the wells edge. I like the dark because it has the ability to transform. And someday it’ll teach me how to transform. Like the rain it brings new beginnings.

And so in the dark I listen to the rain.

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com /

 

Little Excerpts. A Day in the life of.

Just a few glances at how living with Pcos and my mental health changes day to day:

25-2-22

As I’m doing the crap job of putting washing away (although it does help quell me on anxious days by being organised etc) I’m listening to a podcast on being plus size called Go Love Yourself. 

I’m not a podcast listener, but thought why not. And tbh they’re very upbeat, and it’s way out of my comfort zone to even think about being as confident as they are. However it has brought to the front of my memory block how many times I’ve been called out for my weight. 

I’ve found photos from nights out where someone in my friendship group has zoomed in on my stomach because it didn’t look flattering in a certain outfit or at a great angle. 

I’ve had someone draw me as a head on top of a circle when drawing a ‘stick’ person. 

I’ve even been flirted with on a night out and then had the guy go back to their mates laughing because they got the number of the big girl. 

This was all over a decade ago. Which seems so long ago and like yesterday all at the same time. And I was smaller then than I am now. And yet still wasn’t seen as normal or worthy of being treated like everyone else. 

So I’ll continue with the podcast, until it makes me cry, or rage, but it’s not been easy having those memories flood back. 

I’m not my weight. Nor my dress size. 

I’m a girl who has PCOS which 

– causes my weight to fluctuate whether I eat a salad or a burger

– makes my body cells stress out and alter the hormones in my system,whether I’m sitting down or running 5k

– go from laughing until tears are streaming down my face and then switch to actual heart wrenching sobs because my emotional well-being is shot to shit

– causes a vast number of fertility issues which can’t be solved by getting drunk and just ‘going for it’ with the husband or relaxing and let motherfucking nature take its course. 

– so many other issues that I tackle every single day

And yet PCOS is not my personality. I’m caring. I’m kind. I’m sarcastic as fuck. I love entirely and unconditionally. I’m awkward when I first meet people so I’m really really loud! I’m actually really shy. I’m quiet. I like to be quiet. I’m intelligent. I’m artsy. I’m creative. I have a filthy sense of humour. And a proper cackle. I say sorry way too much. I’ll help pretty much anyone just so they never feel bad about themselves or their day. 

I’m me. Not my weight. Not my dress size.

9-3-22

So for the last three days I’ve been in Birmingham. A trip I latched onto for a free hotel stay with Mr W while he worked here. I’ve been left to my own devices in a new city for 13+ hours a day. And if you’d have said to me as little as 3 years ago this would have been an issue for me I’d not really have thought about it. But I have been a nervous wreck! And I truly believe this is down to covid and lockdowns and losing that sense of independence.

So I’ve wandered aimlessly around shops, toured the old town, gone up to a rooftop garden and today I’m going to the cinema alone! Originally I planned to stay in the hotel room, sleep, veg and pamper. But my inner explorer could not be quietened. It’s that voice that helps me more than I know!

It feels so stupid to say I’m proud of myself because to be honest this is just an every day activity in the mundanity of life. If I hadn’t had such a breakdown when we got up here I’d not have realised what a big deal this was.

I have to remember to be kind to myself. But also remind myself that life has changed so dramatically and yet brave I’m still here. Deep down.

18-3-22

I look at this picture and feel sad. (the picture if you can imagine is me in jeans, a wrap top, posing in the mirror, I must have been going somewhere.)

Sad that this body turns 34 next week and hasn’t achieved what I want. Upset that it has let me down.

I try to be positive all the time, tending to my mental health daily and forgetting my body needs me too.

My body has let me down, it’s true, but more often than not I’ve just given in to it. Let it do its own thing. I’m kinda feeling the need to fight against it more and more. Which is hard because my mental health doesn’t let me fight much these days.

How can I control so much about my life to feel safe and secure,  without taking control of my physical health?

In a way, my body letting me down has led to me letting my body down too. I need to fight back. And I’m starting to believe I actually can. 

Today

So there we are, my biggest outbursts of the year. And it’s only May! We have an appointment looming with the NHS in August. I know they’ll mention my weight. And as I’ll discuss in the next Pcos blog, it’s been a rough ride just getting this far, and because of this, I’m angry. I don’t like being angry, it’s self- harming to the max and does nothing but add fuel to a fire. Except no one else is tending this fire. The NHS disappears and comes back at their own will. God love them for what they do for us Brits but it has been hell! My actual mental health plunges at every single mention of Doctors and hospitals. I’m yet to have a reasonable experience. I have to play a particular game of 2 steps forward 4 steps back with them and where I used to get depressed and shrink away, I can feel the sense of rage fuel actual determination. For the very first time, I’m sitting and thinking ‘Oh, so you won’t help me until XYZ is done? Well, let’s just do that then eh? Let’s get you to do your bloody job! Because I DESERVE THIS. Mr W deserves this!’

Deep breath! Breathe out the anger. Breathe in the determination. 

I’m off for a run now, pray for my back, knee and shins. Ta-ra!