Taking The Leap

Well, I've done it.

I wrote recently that I wanted to move away from commercial writing and focus on opinion pieces.  Talk about the things that I wanted to again, instead of using the blog as a part time job with the occasional thought piece thrown in.

I have said similar things before and my intentions have been pure, but somehow I have always found myself lured back in.  A quick guest post or two, a link, then just another couple of sponsored posts.  Not this time.  No more.  I am done.

The real catalyst for all of this I think comes from my Twitter account.  I have always said what I thought on Twitter in the most part, but over recent months I have become more vocal and have become tired of hiding some parts of my thoughts in order to maintain my blog.

I got an email reply from a PR this week, stating that although she loved my blog (do they ever actually mean that? I doubt it), my Twitter account was not something that their client would want to be associated with.

So that, right there was the moment.  Do I reel back what I think and become once again a pen for profit, or do I do what I set out to do?

I decided it was time to be true to myself again.  I started by thanking the said PR for her comments.  Then I unsubscribed to all blogging emails, removed myself from paid blogging groups on Facebook, unfollowed all PR companies on Twitter and started to move away from all the people I had followed purely for numbers rather than actual interest in their content.

I began to get excited about writing again.  Ideas tumbled into my head about what I wanted to write and I finally finished the interview post that I have been preparing over the past few weeks (upcoming in the next week).

Right now, I have five different posts in draft, all different subjects, all partly written when I have come up with an idea and just had to get the bones of it written down. 

My thoughts, feelings and opinions are flowly straight through my fingers again and it feels wonderful.  I don't care about profit, numbers or even whether anyone reads my musings from now on, or not.

But I am back to being totally myself, warts and all. 

Turns out that turning 40 is a little like having a revolution in your head.  I like it.

It Is Better To Be In the Dark?

*Lengthy post - I think (and learn what I think) while I write sometimes

As we grow older, our thoughts and opinions change and evolve; as we do.

We learn about new subjects and topics.  We educate ourselves on the things that we are interested in.  We may take more interest in the news and current affairs and become more worldly.  

As the years roll on, we learn that the best way to educate yourself on a topic, particularly one that has large numbers of followers on both sides of the equation, like politics for example, is to look at both sides of the argument equally and then make up your own mind.

I recently undertook a political compass test which showed what you associated with politically and was surprised to find that I was much more of a centrist than left wing.

I have to admit that it was not until my early thirties that I became even remotely interested in politics and to be honest, I did not even know what left and right wing even meant.  Since then I joined Twitter.  I educated myself politically.   I learned about feminism, declaring myself one in the process.  This lead me finding out about MRAs, MGTOWs, Red pillers, incels.  Then religion.  Extremists on all sides.  The abortion debate.  It went on and on.

Each new thing that I learned about and discovered sent me down another rabbit hole of discovery.

I believe that it is important for everyone to have at least a basic knowledge of current affairs, what is happening in the world, how you generally lean politically; what is happening in the news.  

The question that I have today however is, has all this knowledge, learning and second by second discussion about everything on platforms like Twitter actually made us happier; or has it affected our lives in a negative way?  

Either way, you can never go back.  You can shut down your social media and stop reading the news, but once that thirst for knowledge and discovery has taken you, it is a hard thing to throw away.

At the moment I feel like we are in such a complicated timeline.  You can be whatever you want to be, identify with what or whomever you wish to be and say it loudly and proudly.  

At the same time however, the language that we use, the thoughts that we have and the opinions we share (whether fact and science based on not) are getting policed more and more each day.  The left wing mantra of "Be who you want to be" now has a double edged sword of "Accept and roll over backwards to accommodate everyone, or you might find the police at your door".

Out of my friends and family, with one exception being the man I am dating, I am the most politically driven, socially aware, opinion driven person in my group of people.  

Whilst having a basic (and frankly enough knowledge that is needed) about what is going on in the world, my friends and family care less and know little about things like feminism and MGTOWs.  They do not argue women's body autonomy rights on the internet nor know anything about the current ongoing battles between women and gender critical feminists versus trans rights activists.  They don't really follow current affairs.

You know what though?  They are happier for it.

I read the news and what is going on in the world each morning and throughout the day.  I am always up to date with what is the current big trend.  Things that make me angry when I hear them, things that make me worry, topics that suddenly everyone has to come out and state where they stand.  Which as said above, can now get you arrested.

Although better informed, I am not happier for having all this knowledge.  Having many opinions and beliefs and arguing/justifying them online has not made me a happier person.  I was happier and freer when I did not engage at all!

Is it better to be in the dark after all?  Or, do we need to better police ourselves at how many times we engage, how many times a day we look at the news, Twitter, etc and when we access these services.  Not first thing in the morning for example.

In the end, I will always want to be informed, I will always engage and I will always say what I think.  So what I need to do, and I suspect many others do too, is to reassess my engagement so that it does not detrimentally affect my life and mental health.

Balance, as well, is the key.

Why Should We Hide Our Mental Health?

I am lucky, very lucky in that my episodes of depression and anxiety have lessened a great deal over the past year; with the dark days decreasing in frequency.  Up until this weekend, dysthymia aside (see upcoming blog post with regard to this), I had not had an episode in many months.

I had let my guard down and as such, when a really dark day hit me on Sunday, I was not ready for it.

For as long as I have experienced them, I have always hidden my dark days from others, both in my personal life and at work. 

It is still an expectation of society that we present a "normal" front.  Somehow, people can cope with any physical illness or symptom that you throw at them (generally), but tell people you have anxiety, depression etc etc and you can see them practically running away from you in their eyes.  The "Oh God another crazy" look.

So when a dark day hits, as have millions of others, I have learned over time to hide it as best as I can.  Solitary spaces are found, plans are rearranged, if I have to work, my head switches off into a tunnel vision work mode.  I am careful in what I do and generally try to stay off social media or reading the news.

After not experiencing a dark day for many months, on Sunday, it felt like all of my strategies to cope/hide had been forgotten.  Bad enough the misery, pain and tears, I now had to figure out how to get through visitors at home, travelling on the bus and then going to my fellas, who doesn't really get mental health.  All I wanted, as I ever want, was to curl up in a ball and be alone.

I pulled myself together enough to take the dog a walk, get ready, make nice in front of the guests at home and then went for the bus.  That is where my not used in a while coping mechanisms ran out.

Needless to say, there were silent tears on the bus with people looking at me like I had grown another head.  Maybe I should have chopped my leg off and I would have received a more sympathetic gaze.

But then.  Then I reached the fellas.  I could not hide how I felt.  I didn't have the strength.  I tried holding it in.  I tried passing it off as simply having a bad mood day.  I tried brushing it aside.  He saw straight through me and that day, barriers down, I let him.

He knows nothing about mental health and does not understand it.  But he asked me to tell me how I felt rather than just stay silent and suffer "Use your words Vic".  He understood that he could not improve how I felt, so just listened to me, didn't judge me and held me.

While my dark day continues to the end of the evening, the pressure of having to hide was gone and the talking frankly about it (and cuddles of course) did bring me comfort.

My question is this.  Why, when we are already going through so much, when it is hard enough just to leave our bed, are we catering to other people first and how they feel?  Making sure that they are comfortable around us?

When my dark day hits I feel completely alone in the world.  I feel alien.  I wonder how quickly I could get over or how much less stress and pain I would feel if I did not have to hide it?

Why should we?  Why can we not admit that today is not mentally a good day.  Why can we not say "Today I am struggling a bit, so bear with me". 

Use that sick day when we need to. 

Not say I'm fine to someone who notices instead of saying I'm hurting and maybe get a much needed hug.

I am not hiding any more.  If I am not feeling well and have a cold, I tell people I have a cold.  If I am having a dark day, I will tell people the truth.  Enough. 

Stopping Smoking - Can It Change You As a Person?

Just a little musing on the blog today and a question:  Has anyone experienced a real change in their personality, mental health or general mental wellbeing since they stopping smoking cigarettes?

Image by roegger from Pixabay

First and foremost, let me say that I am not one of those irritating ex smokers who suddenly think that cigarettes are the plague of the earth and shout loudly and regularly from the rooftops of how disgusting smoking is.

I MISS IT.  I miss it so much.  I miss the after dinner cigarette, I miss the pleasurable addition of smoking when having a glass of wine or a cocktail; I miss the temporary calmness they would give me if I was having a bad day.  I miss them.

As a smoker you are well used to all the people that would wax lyrical about how bad it was for your health and how much money it must be costing you etc.  You would feel like wanted to stab them in the eye?  I still feel like that.  Sanctimonious ex smokers can take a hike.

Anyway.  Back to topic.  Physical health and money benefits aside, can't say I have really noticed either yet, I have to say that my mental health and wellbeing has definately changed.

For as long as I can remember, probably my whole adult life, I have had a numbing or  muting of emotions.  General the positive emotions.  Sadness, pain and anxiety I never had a problem with.  How typical. 

Feelings of anticipation, excitement, joy, happiness, feelings of just being damn normal, were just not really there.  I said the words and played out the emotions for people, but I never felt them.  I knew what they felt like because I used to experience them, but hadn't in many many years.

Not feeling, felt normal.  All the bright colours of emotions just did not live within me, except the black that occasionally would overtake me.  Everything was just muted.

Image by Alexandra Haynak from Pixabay

The only reason that I knew that I was not "normal", if anyone ever really is, is that on the occasional day, I felt everything.  It felt wonderful.  I would just wake up one day and experience a full day of normal feelings.  The world became exciting and full of wonderment.  Sadly, the next day, I went back to normal, my normal.

Not to tempt fate here (please fate, I'll be good I promise), but after around four weeks of not smoking, all of these feelings have come back.  I feel genuine happiness.  I feel excited when plans are made.  I feel anticipation when something good and new is about to happen.  I feel.   I feel everything.

Is this an effect of stopping smoking?  It would a be a very large coincidence if it was not related. 

My question I guess is very specific as I do not know anyone else who lived with the muting of emotions that I did.  I am sure that there is a name for it but I do not know what it is.

Whatever the reason, the world is full of colour again.  I look forward to each day, whatever it may hold and there is always now, some happiness to be found.  Even in the smallest corner.

Saying Goodbye To My Thirties

*Long read

So here it is.  The last day of my thirties.  Tomorrow, I will be 40 years old.

40 doesn't sound like something that should apply to me.  It so old.  Middle aged.   Oh Jesus.....

40 sounds like a person who knows what they are doing, more adult than I sometimes feel.  When a problem arises I still sometimes look around the room for an adult.  Someone more adult than I.  So, not like I have a choice in the matter, I am ready to be 40?

Yes, I think that I am.

The past two decades have not been easy, especially between my mid twenties and early thirties.  I had no confidence, I lived in a sea of black clothing and had little self worth.  I went in and out of depression and anxiety and sometimes, felt so sad that I wondered what the point of it all was.

Feelings of happiness, passion and hope seemed to be watered down and only on the occasional day did glimpses of them appear.  An emotional blunting or dulling of effect.

Certain people blazed a trail through my life like a shooting star.  All bright and beautiful till it crashes and burns.  Others disappointed me and abused my trust more than words can say.

That isn't to say that I did not also have fun over those years.  I had lots.  But I knew that I was not the person that I was supposed to be.  I was masked.  A fog covered me.

But then.  I started to write.  I found Twitter and found a voice that I never knew that I had.  A voice that was hidden on the internet so I was free to say what I wanted.  But I was still shy.  Still scared.

Then I started to blog.  I found plus size bloggers and found a world of colour and confidence that exploded my mind.  Fat women, like me, who wore colour and pattern.  They were self assured, knew who they were; they had confidence and sass.  Everything that I wanted.  I vowed to change.

This review was my first outing as a plus size blogger.  I cannot tell you how many photographs were taken and discarded.  How times I wrote the post and published, only to delete, rewrite, edit and publish again.

My confidence grew.  I grew to love pattern and found my confidence.

I did a photo shoot (cue moody pout).  I modeled (Can you see the smile?  That was happiness right there.)  Still not sure about that jumper though haha

I went from someone who actively hid from the camera, to someone who loves a good selfie.  I became more confident and with that, I got angry.

In the past few years, my focus has changed from the confidence in what I look like and the image that I present to the world, to what I think and what I say.  My blog pieces have become more serious and focused.  My voice on Twitter has expanded and I no longer am afraid to say anything that I think.  This has both lost and gain followers.  I care not.

I quit smoking 2 months ago.  Whether coincidence or not, the emotional blunting that I have experienced for so many years has gone.  I feel all the good.  The happiness I now have in my life, the joy, the expectation, the hope.  The excitement for the future.

I went on a spa day today with my best friend.  Someone who has been my best friend since I was 15 years old.  She has been there through every up and down, every high and every low.  She has seen the best and the worst in me.

She has seen all the recent changes in me over the recent years in confidence, in clothing, in what I say and what I share and think.  But she told me today that finally, after so long, she is now seeing the person that she first met, all those years ago.  Free, confident, happy, expectant, hopeful and most importantly, completely and utterly myself, without the fog that has covered me for so long.

I am back to myself again.  I would say that that is a damn good way to start your 40s.  Wouldn't you?

The Snowflake Generation

What is a snowflake?

A snowflake is a unique.  No snowflake is ever alike.   Depending on the temperature it can either melt on impact; or join other snowflakes and create snow.   Snow that can be moved and coerced into a different shape, or frozen so hard that it can sink the Titanic. 

Why am I talking about snowflakes today?  Someone posed a question recently that has been whirling around in my head.  

Why is this generation called "Generation Snowflake" when in fact, it is the older generations that just can't handle confrontation and question of their thoughts?  

But the thing is, it isn't just the older generation that uses the term.

Where is the age line drawn and is it an age line at all?  I am 39 and am regularly called a snowflake; usually for calling out a behaviour or rhetoric that I didn't believe in or found offensive.  Yet I have been called a snowflake by both people in their 50s and 60s and by people in their early 20s.

So the line isn't an age thing.  It is a believe system, borne as a result of how and what you educate yourself in, the family you are born into and what they believe, the circles you move in and your own moral code and beliefs.

For me, it comes down to fear and insecurity.  

In terms of misogyny and sexism, it also comes down to entitlement.  In the 50s and 60s you could get away with slapping the bottom of your secretary or paying women less than men for the same job.  Men grew up for centuries believing that women were (in decreasing terms over the years, slowly) property, second class citizens, objects.   The fact that women now can demand the same wages, control of their own bodies and the right to touch them is something that generations of men are not used to, whether in lived experience or what they have grown up to expect.

I see many articles now after the #metoo movement of men saying that you cannot brush past a woman without being accused of sexual assault and that rape accusations are mostly "regret of actions".  Yet we have rape trials in 2018 where what type of underwear a woman was wearing is called into question.  Where her past sexual experiences is somehow relevant.   Where a man can be given 90 days house arrest for the rape of a child, yet a woman killing someone she was "given to" at 16 to rape at will, in order to escape, is given a 51 year sentence.

If you are truly scared that a woman is going to accuse you of sexual assault for brushing past her, then I am truly scared of you, because it reveals what you truly think you are entitled to.

When it comes to racism, transphobia, homophobia, xenophobia; this is when it turns to fear and insecurity.  

Not that long ago you could listen to that man, or woman, in the pub spouting off about how they thought that being gay should still be illegal, that black people were (somehow, I don't understand it, will never understand it) worth less than white people, how transgender people were "looking for attention".  

People would nod, smile and agree with this person in public, while at home, completely disagree with their views.  No one would question the rhetoric.  Thinking that their views are disgusting but showing support/compliance in public but disagreeing in private.  So who is scared exactly?

The so called "Generation Snowflake", which actually compromises all ages, is not afraid to call people out on antiquated beliefs and thoughts.  They question, argue, reason, debate.  Yet we are called the weak generation for daring to rock the boat that believes that Christian straight, white men (and the women who follow them) should and do rule the world.

I truly believe that people should be able to say what they want, with the exception of inciting violence.  Let them stand on their pulpits and shout their views to the world, let us see just how small, how scared and insecure they really are.

If I call you out for something that you have said, asking you to defend your statement and all you retort back is "snowflake" and "are you triggered?" then you have no platform based on anything other than lack of education, hate and bigotry.  

If you are so scared of being argued with, are you the true snowflake?

Here Come The Girls

At 6.45pm on Sunday, a little smile appeared on my face.  We were about to see the emergence of the new Doctor Who.  For the first time in that leading role; a woman.

There has been much talk about the new Doctor.  A woman did not have, to some angry voices, any place playing Doctor Who.  An alien with two hearts who could regenerate into absolutely any being.  Except, apparently a woman, which was a step too far for some.  

The usual default setting of a white man in a leading role was being challenged.

I started watching Doctor Who when Christopher Eccleston came into the role.  Since then we have had David Tennant, Matt Smith and Peter Capaldi.  All totally different Doctors, all with their own spin, coming from different genres and styles of acting.  Who could have thought for example the shouting, swearing Malcolm Tucker would one day play Doctor Who?

So I watched, with trepidation.  Trepidation.  That is a strange word to use about watching a new actor take over an iconic role.  When I watched the change between David Tennant whom I adored as the Doctor, to Matt Smith; I was uneasy and unsure as to whether he would play the part well.  He was a quirky Doctor, unlike the charm and charisma with the slight dark tinge of David Tennant.

But with Jodie, it was different.  Because she was being, yes in 2018, judged first and foremost as being a woman.  Not an actor who had a fabulous backlog of previous characters to show her skills.  Not her personality and how she would play the role.

But because I knew that should that first episode not have worked, had her spin on the Doctor or the way she played it been any less than spot on and well formed; she would have been blamed not for her character portrayal or her take on the Doctor, but because it would somehow prove in the minds of the misogynists on the internet, that a woman had no business playing Doctor Who.  

(I did not think, by the way, that the story was a great first starter to the series and would have liked a little more oomph with more excitement, but that did not take away from Jodie's fabulous performance).

With Jodie, little girls everywhere have a lead character role that is not defined by the way that she looks, how she dresses or how much she needs to rely on a man to succeed.  Any of us can imagine ourselves as Jodie and I can imagine many a little girl (and sod it, yes me too), visualizing herself now in the role.

When I was a little girl, I remember watching the boys in the playground playing as soldiers and spies (no doubt channeling James Bond).  They had a plethora of film stars and characters to aspire to and want to be.

In my formative years I remember watching Scooby Doo for example.  You had the option of wanting to be the ditsy atypical stereotype airhead of Daphne, or the geeky, dowdy Velma.   The message back then was clear.  You could be beautiful or clever; you couldn't be both.

We had Wonder Woman who could have been an amazing role model for girls, yet her character was defined by the outfit that she wore.  Even Princess Leia who was an amazing role model for girls, is remembered most for the gold bikini she wore when captured by Jabba the Hut.

We had She-Ra who was supposed to appeal to girls as He-Man did for boys, yet she was styled and drawn with barbie style curves, large breasts, short backless dress and riding a unicorn; despite also having super human strength which did not correlate with how she was styled.  Not practical for one!  The idea itself was great, but the execution in her styling, as visualized by the men drawing her, were not.

Boys did in He-Man have a similar problem in the stereotypical muscle bound man, but they had at least other role models to look towards.  The shy, geeky types had Spiderman and any boy could emulate Bond who although an international agent for MI6, was shaped like a regular guy; granted always in a great suit.

Don't even get me started on Barbie.

We did of course have the occasional amazing female lead.  Ellen Riply, Sarah Connor, Clarice Starling.  All well thought out, complex characters who functioned as a single entity without needing direction through the plot by a man.  They didn't need or require sexy clothing, obligatory large breasts (see Lara Croft) and were not there simply to appeal to men.  They demanded respect and they got it.

I noted the recent Lara Croft film reboot.  The main commentary I saw was complaining that her breasts were too small to play Lara.  What the actual fuck?  Is that STILL how women are mainly defined?

In the last few years, female lead characters have been on the uptake.  Little girls can aspire to be Hermoine Granger, Katniss Everdeen, Letty Ortiz, Hit Girl, Merida from Brave (until Disney gave her, and subsequently retracted, her makeover into an "acceptable" looking woman).

I don't want reboots or woman taking over characters that used to be men.  I don't want a female James (Jane?) Bond.  Women deserve their own storylines, their own well defined characters.  We are not a genre, we are half the population of the Earth.

In the days of Instagram and filters and the endless need to be "perfect", female so called icons like the Kardashians who, in the words of Jameela Jamil, are selling self consciousness with their waist trainers and diet lollypops; while one in four 14 year old girls are cutting themselves; we need iconic, strong female leading characters more than ever.

I cannot end this without saying, as I think my teenager self would have shouted out in class had we had The Hunger Games in my teenage years;

I volunteer as tribute!!!!! 

Why I Am Turning Against No Platforming

LONG READ    *Disclaimer - I'm not sure I should give one.  People may have an issue with my thoughts here, but the internet is a place for discourse, so if you don't like them, comment and disagree.  Debate should be what progresses conversations and thoughts.

I have been thinking a lot about non platforming recently and my views have changed.  Do we have the right to be offended by someone's words?  Absolutely.  Do we have the right to vehemently disagree with someone's thoughts and how they express them?  Of course.

But, do we have the right, and should we have the right to stop them speaking?  No.  I don't think we should.  Free speech, provided that it is not inciting and encouraging violence, is something that, in the Western world at least, we are all afforded and should be celebrated.

As the internet has grown over the years, people's voices have grown louder.  Whether you are left, right, centrist; man, woman or child; feminist, anti feminist, MRA or just your garden variety troll; we have all gained a platform to speak.  Whether it be spouting a mini rant on Facebook, 140 characters of your thoughts on Twitter, a lengthy blog post or an hour longYoutube video; there has never been a time in history such as now where we can air our thoughts to the world to such a degree.

My question is, what right do we have to censor speech?  From the point of view I have come to believe, no we don't.  Inciting violence or encouraging violence against others always needs to be dealt with appropriately, but should we stop people from talking about things we don't agree with?

Censorship, non platforming, banning people from social media and places where people can talk openly about their views, only drives those views underground.  The supporters grow in numbers, incensed by the censorship.  Their words grow stronger, get more validation (from those who believe their words) and their voices are amplified, not muted.

There are many people that I disagree with in terms of their views.  But my thoughts lately are that those voices need to be heard.  Not because we agree with them or advocate what they say; but because we need to realise that these people exist, they have followers who believe unequivocally what they say and we NEED to be aware of it.  Those views exist whether we agree with them or not and banning them, I believe, only escalates and elevates those views.

We cannot bubble wrap ourselves against words and thoughts that we do not disagree with.   We need to hear them, sometimes in order to protect ourselves.  

Non platforming for me needs to be dealt with on a case by case basis and viewed in terms of, is this inciting violence or do we just disagree with them.  

For me for example, Alex Jones, crossed the line between free speech that we completely disagree with and find despicable (his views on Sandy Hook) and his recent speech telling his supporters to get their battle rifles ready against Antifa and the mainstream media.  

I, of course, am completely against his views on Sandy Hook.  But thoughts on a something, however unbelievable and abhorrent we think of them, versus an active "call to arms" is different.  That is actively inciting violence.  He deserved to be banned, in my opinion, for his call to arms.  His views and conspiracy theories on Sandy Hook, don't cross the line on free speech; but what it does highlight and publicise what an utter asshole he is, as it does for those who believe in what he said.

What started my thinking about free speech and non platforming is something that someone said to me recently.  At the moment, we live, in the Western world, in a fairly left thinking world.  We non platform hate speech.  But the far right, as we are seeing more and more, is picking up speed in a frightening fast pace.  

Think about it.  The wannabe neo Nazis.  The people who support the man who killed Jo Cox or the guy who drove into a crowd of Muslims who were leaving a mosque with the defence of "revenge".  Revenge for what?  Do we blame every Catholic for the thousands of boys raped by priests?  For the thousands of women imprisoned for decades in the Magadelene laundries?  I digress.  

The people who think like Katie Hopkins that refugees are cockroaches.  The people who think that rights to a woman's body should be legislated by a man.  Those who believe that white people are better than others.  Those who think that The Handmaid's Tale isn't necessarily a bad thing.  The incels who want to kill women who won't sleep with them.  The list goes on and on and on and they all exist.

Now imagine, and it isn't hard to do given the current climes, that people like this got into power.  Suddenly the people talking about left wing views, pro immigration, pro choice etc are the ones getting banned, non platformed and their voices shut down.  Their justification?  You did it to us.  That is all that they would need.

For me, ultimately, on my last, very long point here, is that we need to hear all opinions, all thoughts (unless as I said before, they actively are inciting violence), in order to formulate our own thoughts, disagree with them, actively speak against them and sometimes, laugh at them for what they think because their thoughts are so far from our own that their views become laughable.

If we lose our right to free speech, we lose everything.

Exorcising The Ghosts Of Relationships Past

* Long read - you were warned!

Hello there!  It has been sooooooo long since I have written a personal post.  So long since the words have floated around in my head until I had no choice but to filter them down through my fingers on to the page.

As ever, I can articulate so much better when the words flow through my fingers as I type; but tonight is the first time in a long time that the words have danced, demanding to be set free.

So what am I talking about tonight?  The ghosts of past relationships as a fat, insecure woman.

Looking back at past experiences with men in my life is hard for me to remember.  The experience that I have had with relationships is little, the heartache, a lot.  I have been hidden, I have been put up with; I have been the dirty secret and the one that was so nearly "the one", had it not been for my body.

What I have come to realise over the past few months is that although I have been treated badly in the past, I have allowed this to happen to me.  When society and your peers tells you that as a fat woman, you are not good enough, eventually you believe it yourself. So you overcompensate.

When the #MeToo movement was starting to take shape, I shared some of my own experiences of what happened to me in the past.  I was a fat teenager, but I knew that the actions of those that touched and grabbed at me were wrong.  I knew that the words said to me were unacceptable.

I railed against them, but my words were ignored; my experiences were explained away,  when telling others as "wear a baggier school shirt" (I never wore a tight shirt by the by).  "You have large breasts, what can you expect" (erm basic respect?).  A look up and down at my body and a "you should be grateful for the attention" (fuck you).  A  particular teacher comes to mind.

Those last words shaped me and the experiences that I have had with men for a long time.  Not just from them, but people close to me.  That same message. Be grateful.   Take what you can get because you are fat.

So I allowed transgressions to happen to me because, maybe, I should be grateful.  I allowed myself to be hidden because who wants to have a fat girl as a girlfriend, right? Be happy that he likes you in private.

My love life up until this point has been a car crash, with me shaving off pieces of myself and handing them over on a plate trying to find that love, that attraction; so that someone, sometime will think that I am good enough for them.  That I deserve more than to be hidden or been embarrassed by.

The problem with shaving pieces off yourself is that eventually, you start to forget who you really are. When you give so much of yourself away each time with no return, you lose a piece of yourself.

Society and other elements made me feel like I was not good enough.  It is only now that I look back and realise that, as Eleanor Roosevelt so eloquently put:

No one can make you feel inferior, without your consent

I have always avoided men that found the larger woman attractive.  I did not understand how they could think of me as more than a fetish.  I had no clue or realisation that someone could actually find me attractive, sexy.

As I type right now, I am dating someone.  We met through Tinder, on my first couple of days when I thought that I would give it a whirl.  We have been dating a few months now.  I will call him A.

With A for the first couple of months I found myself in the same familiar cycle.  The insecurities.  The wondering if he really did find me attractive.  The fear when he said that he liked larger women.  Was I just a fetish?

When you have spent the whole of your adult life with your body as the compromise, it is hard to believe that someone can be turned on by your body.

The thing is, he makes me feel sexy.  I no longer feel like that I need to give so much of myself to overcompensate for my body.  He is attracted to my body and, for the first time in my life; I believe it.

So as these new experiences wash over me, I realise that I am in no rush.  I don't feel the need to be his girlfriend.  I don't have the craving for commitment and am in no rush.  We may progress, we may not.  But I am enjoying dating someone and just, for once, having fun.  The pressure to hand myself, my heart over on a plate is no longer there.

I have no idea what will happen with myself and A.  We may date for a while and it may fizzle out.  It  may progress.  Who knows?  But what I do know is that I can be myself.  I can be goofy.  I can be silly.  Turns out, I am a bit of a tease too, which amuses me endlessly.  I can feel attractive and know that he is attracted to me.  I don't hold back on what I think or who I am.  I may even let him read something that I have written, maybe.

I feel good enough for someone now.  It is a lesson that I had to learn for myself.  If nothing else happens between A and I, that feeling will stay with me.   This thing we have is 50/50.  We are figuring each other out, having fun, enjoying each other without pressure.  I no longer feel, as I have done every other time, like I am on an audition.

We are on a dance and who knows whether it will end or whether we will continue to dance.  All I know is that the pieces of myself that I gave away are coming back to me and it feels amazing.  The parts of me I gave away, I am taking them back.  I have owned who I am for years now.  Now I own what I look like, imperfections, perceived or otherwise; and all.

He has given me the confidence in my body it is true and that won't go whatever happens, but my self worth, I finally took that back for myself.

The dating experience I am having now, I should have had so long ago.  It is only now that I realise that this is what I always deserved.  What has happened before I let happen.   That is on me.  What happens now?  Who knows.  But I sure am enjoying the experience.

Horse Racing: The Most Brutal Sport In The World

Today is my annual post about the Grand National.  As always, some will read it, some won’t.  Some of you may look at the title of this post and turn away, not wanting my words to spoil your office bit of fun betting on the sweepstakes.  As ever, all I hope is that at least one person reads my blog today and changes their mind about making that bet. Forever.

The Grand National isn't the only horse racing event of the year of course.  Recently we had the Cheltenham Festival.

North Hill Harvey.  Dresden.  Sandsend.  Some Plan.

Sound familiar?  Probably not.  But they died for your viewing entertainment at the Cheltenham Festival this year.  A broken leg in the horse racing world isn't repairable.  A broken leg is a death sentence.  

Animal Aid began a record of the death of horses 11 years ago at the Cheltenham Festival.  Since then, 1677 horses have died.  That is 3 horses, every single week.  3 horses, A WEEK.  During the popular horse racing events and months, that figure increases.  In March alone 18 horses were destroyed due to injuries in a race.    

This weekend is the Grand National.  People who do not bet the whole year round get together and chose their horses, either with families or work colleagues.  It is a tradition.  After years of horses dying at every Grand National meet, they have at least improved the course and unlike places like Cheltenham who practically have fatalities every year, the Grand National hasn't had a fatality in five years.

Every year the course at the Grand National is improved.  Made safer for the horses, yet still last year 21 horses out of the 40 entered failed to finish.  In any other sport, it would be deemed too dangerous.  By a mile.  By 50 miles.  But because it is horse racing, it is somehow deemed acceptable.

When you make your bet today, what are you thinking about?  The possibility of winning a couple of pounds on  a five pound bet?  Probably.  What you won't be thinking about, what I want you to think about is a horse.  A horse who loves to run.  But a horse that doesn't know that he is entered into a race which could take his life if he breaks a leg, or a shoulder.  A horse who if he manages to make it through the 16 fences, 14 of which jumped twice, will be whipped to the finish line.  All for your two pound win.

So when you think about placing your bet today, ask yourself this.  Do I like seeing horses whipped?  Do I like watching a race where death is a very real prospect for the horses involved?  Do I want to contribute to an industry that values horses value at zero and the mob at one hundred percent?  I hope you know the answer to that question.  

We are a nation of animal lovers.  If you love animals, you do not want horses to be treated this way.

The organisers at the Grand National have started to listen.  It is time that all organisers of all horse races do the same until it is still a competitive sport, but not a fatal one.  Not one where a winner has been whipped to succeed.  

Make your choice.

Lets Talk About #MeToo

I wish I could stay that I was surprised at the allegations that have come to light in relation to Harvey Weinstein.  Disgusted yes, but shocked no.

I won't talk about the allegations made against him here given that there are potential criminal charges against him.  But I will speak about the culture that we have in society that enables, encourages and protects men like him.

A culture where women who speak out are called liars, whores; attention seekers and those that don't are blamed more than the perpetrator.  A culture where men who report abuse "Aren't supposed to talk about it, man up!" and those that don't, live in misery.

I'm a woman and as this predominantly happens to many more women than men, I am focusing on the women's side in this blog.  If you are a man who has experienced sexual assault or rape or wants to talk about the effects of what happens, write about it, I would read it, but your story isn't for this post.

The thing is, women do experience harassment, sexual  assault and rape at a far larger scale than men.  There are things that women are just supposed to accept, behaviours, actions and consequences.

We are supposed to keep silent.  

Reactions to reporting that you have been harassed or assaulted many times ends up with "It isn't such a big deal, why you making such a fuss!", "He is a lovely guy, are you sure? Maybe you misunderstood?" and the favourite of the MRA/MGTOW section of the internet: "Prove it or it didn't happen".

I'm sorry, but I do not carry a bodycam on me and cannot prove that the man last year fake tripped and fell into me, conveniently grabbing on to my breasts to "lever himself".  My life is not lived on CCTV.

When I was fifteen and two boys at school decided to wrestle me down at the bus stop after school every day for months grabbing at my breasts, my reporting it to a teacher received a look at my chest and a suggestion to wear a baggy shirt.

I stopped it myself.  How? I paid them.  I cannot remember the figure now, enough probably for them to buy a pack of cigarettes.  The thing that kills me now is that I stayed friends with them.  Society had already taught me that my large breasts were public property.  It was not their fault, it was "their hormones".

23 years later it only now strikes me that no one stopped to help me. Ever.  No one in the dozens of cars passing the grassy knoll next to bus stop on that busy road ever stopped.  People must have seen.  I guess they thought that I was "asking for it".

The hashtag #HowWillIChange was started today and whilst a few good and on the point comments were made, it was quickly overrun with angry men who missed the point completely and of course, as usual, those there just to throw vitriol at women.  Their daily game.

I have seen so many tweets saying "I have never assaulted a woman so I don't need to change".  Well done.  Have a cookie for never assaulting a woman.  But let me ask you this.

Have you ever had a friend or a family member hurl sexist slurs at a woman?  Have you been in a car and your friend has shouted out something sexual at a woman in the street?  Have you been there in a bar when a friend has grabbed at a woman's breasts for "a gag".  Have you been speaking to a male friend after a night out when he tells you that "she was totally passed out but I went for it anyway".  Have you?

If you have experienced any of these things and not said anything, not called out your friend or relative, let me tell you, you are complicit.  You are enabling the behaviour to continue.

Your silence is deafening.

 I was an early developer.  I remember being around 12 and going to a local playground.  I was on the roundabout when a group of older boys approached me.  The leader of the pack starting making sexual comments about my breasts and asking if he could "feel me up".  The other boys, whom I looked to in the hope that they would pull him up on his behaviour, looked uncomfortable, but ultimately, said nothing.

Would they have let him says those things about their sister?  I doubt it.  But whether teenage boys or older men, it still seems that a value has to be placed on a woman before she is seen as a human being.  If you have to think of a woman as someone you can relate to in order to see that someone's actions against them are wrong, you are also part of the problem.

So how do we ask men to help change this culture we live in?  Listen to us.  Take responsibility for your actions and own up to those people around you who behave in that way.  Just because he is your friend, your relative does not excuse him from common decent behaviour.

Women should not have to share their stories, like the couple of examples I have shared today in order to highlight that we have a big issue in society. 

We are not Hansel and Gretel, dropping the crumbs of our experiences on the floor until you find enlightenment.  

We have been silent.  We will not be silent any more.  You make not like it, it may make you uncomfortable.  It may make you question yourself, your actions and those of people who you know.  But we are not going away and the wall of shame that women feel about what happens to them is coming down.

Don't be that guy.  Be better.  We can all be better.

Why I'm Done With Online Dating

* This is a bit of a read

I never thought that online dating was for me.  I always wanted that chance meeting in a coffee shop, eyes meeting across the street; a friend that turned into the one you love.  That never happened for me and I decided what the hell?  Give online dating a whirl.

 

Tinder was never going to be for me,  The idea of swiping left or right (I never figured out which way was which) just on the basis of someone's face seemed superficial to me.  If you are looking for a partner, it has to be based on personality too.  This is a person you are, hopefully, going to spend the rest of your life with.  Tinder is for hook ups, nothing more.

My commitment to online dating was dubious at best so I chose a free dating site, Plenty of Fish.  I filled out my profile, was as honest as I could be and added the photos.  I decided in advance that the "Hi" messages were not going to get a reply. The people with the "fill out later" profiles were of no interest.

I have had more "Hi"s than I can count.  Some with more of a reply who were basically looking for a hook up.  Some who blatantly copied and pasted their auto first message.  I lost interest and only went on the site now and again.

I met my first online date after weeks of talking and finding more about each other.  He seemed like a nice guy and was really into me, which is always good.  I will call him T.  We lived over an hour away from each other but he was happy to come to me, which was a good sign.  We met in a local pub and within the first five minutes he was telling me that he had very severe anger issues and had been referred to a psychiatrist.  Great.

We messaged a few times after but I had no interest in meeting again.  I had no desire to have any kind of relationship with someone with anger issues.  The anger issues came out when I told him I could no longer commit to messaging him as my step dad had died.  He went ballistic.  Goodbye.

I went on the site less and less, dabbling occasionally on weekends but the messages I received were still the usual.  I went on a few more dates but there was a mutual no "click".  Then I got a message from, we will call him S.  S sent a great first message and his profile, actually filled out for a change was interesting.

We talked for around three weeks, first on the site and then moving to WhatsApp.  We had similar interests, a similar outlook on life and I really liked him.  We agreed to meet in Manchester which was a middling distance between us.

On the Saturday before our mid week date, I realised that there was something inaccurate on my profile; namely that when I created it, I was not smoking and now I am (yes  I know, bad Vicky).  I thought it was only fair that I let S know this in case he changed his mind about wanting to meet with me.

S was the kind of person who was texting me morning, noon and night, every day. If he didn't hear back from me after an hour, he would send another text to see what I was doing.  *Edit* on reading this paragraph after I typed it, I realised just how much of a red flag that is, and wonder how the hell I didn't think that at the time.

I did not hear back from him for the rest of the day, which was unusual for him but I figured maybe he wasn't into a smoker.

Just after midnight (when he starts his night shift) I got my first message.  Incensed that I had not told him previously, not believing that I did not know what my profile said as "he knew what was on his profile, every minute of the day!.  He demanded that I explained myself.

I responded, telling me I wouldn't be spoken to like that, especially after being honest.  I said that I no longer wished to meet and, not knowing how best to end the message, finished with "take care". Turns out that telling someone to take care is not the best idea.

From just after midnight to the time when I eventually blocked him completely at 3.30am, he proceeded to call me every variation of the whore that he could think of.  A "man like him would not be told to take care by a girl like me" apparently.

I don't know how many messages I received.  One probably every five minutes for a good three hours.  By the end, the combination of insults and thinly veiled (almost) threats, I was scared.  What I should have done is save the conversation, screenshot the worst of it and ring 101 the next day.  Hell, I could even have reported him to his employers considering that he was doing all of this on work time.

But I didn't think.  I was scared.  The level of rage directed at me was overwhelming and I will be honest,  I felt really scared for a few days.  Even though he knew what town I lived in but not my address, I found myself jumping at sounds outside when I let the dog outside.  He was a self professed "techie" and he knew I blogged.

Along with blocking him on WhatsApp and blocking him from POF, I also deleted my profile.  It is too easy to hide your true self on the internet.  I know that my personality is more exaggerated on the internet when I talk on Twitter or speak on my blog.  Because on here, I am unfiltered.  This goes the same for people who wish to hide their true selves.

I consider myself as having a lucky escape.  If I had not messaged him that day, I would have met up with him the following week.  If we had clicked,  I could have found out his true self when alone with him, heaven forbid at his place or somewhere on our own.

So I am done with online dating.  My match, my soul match if I ever find one will have to find me in pre internet ways.  I no longer trust the face on the internet.

The Grand National

Today is my annual post about the Grand National.  Some of you will read it, some won’t.  Some will look at the blog title and turn away, not wanting my post to spoil your once a year bet on the Grand National.  I am hoping that at least one of you reads this post and changes your mind about betting, forever.

I want to give you some names.  

Comeonginger.  Here All Along.  Cadoudoff.  Al Reesha.  Athletic.  Sensible Simpson.  

Sound familiar?  Probably not.  But these are the names of six horses who have died in the past week in UK horse racing.  Two died from a broken neck.  Three destroyed due to leg breaks.   One died from a heart attack.

Animal Aid began a record of the death of horses 10 years ago at the Cheltenham Festival.  Since then, 1523 horses have died.  That is 3 horses, every single week.

This weekend is the Grand National.  Families and co-workers get together at this time of year and choose their horses from sweepstakes or by finding the name of the horse they like best.  Jokes are made about who will pick the one who ends up falling.  After the race, you will not even remember the horse’s name, except if it won you some money.

Did somebody bet on Comeonginger yesterday because of the funny name?  He died of a broken neck on the course.  Did someone choose Athletic because he sounded like a good bet?  His broken hind leg rendered him useless to the world of horse racing and he was “destroyed”. 

Was your £5.00 bet worth the life of a horse?  Will it be on Saturday?

They say every year that the course is made safer.  But they cannot deny that in a race which is entered by the best race horses in the country, less than half have managed to complete the course in the past 3 years.  

Last year, out of the 41 horses that started the race, only 16 finished it.   The successful ones make it to the end and are whipped to the finish line.  Riders in the Grand National are actually required to carry a whip in order to race.

I was talking about horse racing last week and someone said to me “If we don’t use them for horse racing, what are horses for?”   Horses do not exist for our entertainment.  They do not need a reason to exist, just like us.

You will either place a bet tomorrow or you won't.  My words will either affect you, or they won't.  But my mission, as it has been every year on this blog, is to give you the facts, and let you make up your own mind.  

I ask you a question, as a national of so called animal lovers, are we not better than this?

Nothing so Grand About the Grand National

I want to give you some names.  

Kingfisher Creek.  Provident Spirit.  Properus.  Clonbanan Lad.  Marasonnien.  Minella Recption. Gullinbursti.  

Sound familar?  Probably not.  But these are the names of seven horses who have died this week in UK horse racing.  At Ascot, Doncaster and Aintree.  Three fatally wounded, two collapsed and died after the race and two who fell and died during the race.

From the time that Animal Aid began their record, some nine years ago, 1378 horses have died in UK horse racing.  That is 3, every single week.

Tomorrow is the Grand National.  The nation's past time.  Families get together and play bets every year.  Workplaces have sweepstakes.  There are "jokes" about who will get the one who came last, or died.  Because we know that they die in the Grand National, we watch every year as it takes place.

The course is much safer they say.  The horses would not race if they did not want to they say.  But they cannot deny that in a race which is entered by the best race horses in the country, less than half have managed to complete the course in the past 3 years.  In 2012, only 15 made it.  As for the horse wanting to race, I am sure no one has ever managed to explain to them the odds of them dying, or that they will be beat with a mandatory whip whilst trying to get around the course.

Yes you did read that right.  Riders in the Grand National are actually required to carry a whip in order to race.

I'm not going to show you photographs.  Because we have all seen what happens.  It is more a surprise when no horses die in the Grand National then when they do.  But as the jockey Ruby Walsh said a couple of years ago "You can replace a horse".  

They are not given value, they are just ever replaceable stock, without worth; especially when they are injured.   When they die, as we saw in 2011, they are merely "obstacles in the way".

So what is so grand about the Grand National exactly?  We dress it is as being the nation's past time.  The one time a year that many ever place a bet.  We talk about what people are wearing, we have "Ladies Day"; we glamorous this barbaric institution with family fun and champagne.

The interesting thing to note is that we describe ourselves as a nation of animal lovers.  We recoil in horror at places like Spain with their bullfighting, calling it inhumane and disgusting.  Yet we think nothing of the fact that we routinely kill 3 horses every single week in a sport that cares nothing for their safety.

Imagine if this was any other sport.  Like football.  Can you imagine players dribbling the ball around a dying Wayne Rooney?  Theo Walcott being carried off on a stretcher and shot because his broken leg made him useless to the sport? People cheering as only half of the players made it through the game?  People cheering as a player fell and broke his neck, because their favourite player was still in the game.

You will either place a bet tomorrow or you won't.  My words will either affect you, or they won't.  But my mission, as it has been every year on this blog, is to give you the facts, and let you make up your own mind.  

I ask you a question, are we not better than this?