Stars Can’t Shine Without The Darkness

I am a star. I can shine brightly in a sky full of all you other stars and we don’t have to compete with one another because there’s enough room for us all. It’s ok that there’s darkness and cloud sometimes. It’s normal.
I just have to keep reminding myself of this, because right now I’m feeling dull and empty. I feel inadequate and useless and second rate in everything I do. Everyone is brighter than me right now.

I’m so tired and drained. This month has been just a write off. It started badly with my computer dying and so I fell even further behind with work and then I got ill and have had trouble shifting the malaise and mood. I’ve gone to bed between 8/9pm every night and just laid there wishing for more time, for more energy, for more enthusiasm but none of it seems to be coming.

I’m fed up of moaning but today I saw a video that really helped. It’s the difference between empathy and sympathy and it clicked. I’ve had a couple of people message and to me, all I read is sympathy and it grates. I hate it. I hate sympathy. I don’t want sympathy or a positive bullshit meme phrase/saying, or a cliched super positive peppy cheerleader comment. I want someone who understands what I’m feeling and, I dunno, just makes me feel less like a failure – cos that’s what I’m feeling right now.

I’m failing my friends by not being there. I’m failing my writers by being slow to reply. I’m failing myself by not having the energy to write or edit. I’m failing my husband by being so tired and exhausted and not being there. The only person who I’m not failing is Logan and that’s because I’m giving him everything I have, which right now isn’t a lot, but I’m trying.

Monday I’m back at both the Churchill and JR hospital, so I’m hoping that my physio and counselling will help re-align my mindset. I have a blood test next Friday to see if my low mood and fatigue is down to my thyroid (which is very possible and a side effect of my condition). I hope it is as it’s then an easy fix.

Here’s the video I saw.




Talking, when sometimes you don’t feel like it.

Today I had an appointment with my counsellor. I’d not seen her in 4 weeks because of ‘life’ (mostly my trial, more on that later), and I had a lot to talk about. It’s odd as sometimes I don’t feel like talking. I’m happy to sit in silence, writing, reading, working away and if I’m alone I don’t feel the need to speak. Yet, when I’m sitting in her cosy room at the JR, I find it so easy to just talk and talk and talk and talk.

I never thought that I’d be one to embrace counselling, but I think that’s because I never understood exactly what it is. It’s not a cure, it’s a tool. For me it allows me to tell someone how I’m feeling, how I felt, share memories and experiences and not worry that the person listening isn’t interested or doesn’t care, or worse, thinks I’m attention-seeking or making it up. I come away from these sessions feeling lighter and less emotionally bogged down. I feel vitalised and positive and they help me find the energy and enthusiasm to start planning mini projects or organising myself and my personal space.

What I talk about isn’t secret, but it’s not for public consumption either. It’s a combination of pain triggers, emotional scars and memories, and concerns for the future. I’ve chosen to go fortnightly and so far I’ve definitely seen a difference. I feel less stressed and my pain has decreased. It could be coincidental due to environmental changes, but I guess November will let me know!

Oh yes, my big trial…Happy Sammy here. In April I became OIC (officer in case) for a nasty job. On Friday last week the defendant was sentenced to 18years in prison for attempted murder at court. Justice!

Past 6 weeks

So I had my bunionectomy 6ish weeks ago now, and it wasn’t as straight forward as I hoped. A week post-surgery I contracted an infection that hampered recovery and what I thought would be 3 weeks off work will become 8 (to be fair though, my surgeon said 3 weeks would never have been realistic and that NHS guidelines are 6 weeks, but try telling a manager or work colleagues that and not receiving stressed out looks!).

I’m able now to wear some dorky looking trainers with memory foam padding and my crutches are only for days when I’m on my feet a lot, so that’s good. I’m hoping to start driving the end of next week and see how it goes. Good times.

Whilst I’ve been off, my Consultant at the JR Women’s Centre arranged for me to start counselling to deal with the pelvic pain issues I’ve experienced for the last decade. Not many people know just how much it has affected me, but let’s just say I’m close to rock bottom. Imagine living every day in burning pain in your intimate area. Washing hurts, peeing hurts, everything hurts. Imagine having sex with your partner less than 4 times a year on average and not even once in the last 2 years and you’ll come close to understanding. This past week I’ve wanted to cut away at my vulva, to burn it off, to do anything to kill the nerve endings and give me peace. It wakes me in the night, it drives me to distraction. I can’t sit, I can’t get comfortable. It’s no way to live, yet how do I explain to people who don’t understand? All they see is smiling Sam and have no idea at all how I get through every day.

Anyway, I’m having fortnightly sessions with a specialised counsellor to help me get through this. It’s quite liberating in a way, and never having had counselling I had no idea what to expect. We’re talking about everything: past, present, goals for the future, my job, my writing, relationships, the works. She’s helping me identify things that need to be changed and to prioritise. I look forward to talking to her now, and hope that my remaining 10 sessions (plus some psycho-sexual counselling) will help give me some relief. She asked if I was depressed. I said I don’t genuinely know. I’m worn out, I’m ground down, I’ve had 10 years of pain every single day and I don’t know if I’m depressed or not. I have no idea how I’d feel without this pain because it’s been a part of me for so long. She was surprised at how much I have on and what I do, and we both agreed that yes, I keep myself busy because if I stop, if I relax and do nothing, who knows what will happen to my mental well-being.

The counselling is being paired with physiotherapy. I have my first session on the 10th October and I can’t wait. Please, body. Please let me be ‘normal’ for just a few days this year. I don’t want more surgery that will last 6 months until the nerves re-grow, I don’t want to have to apply numbing creams every day for the rest of my life. I just want to be normal. Or as close to normal as I can be.
The physio will be to help my body relax and allow us to have sex without spasming and closing down. If I can manage this one step, I will have the strength to move forward and tackle the rest.

On Monday I had my first ever massage (amazing, btw!) and was told my hips are out of line and anterior and locked? I’m waiting for the lady to email over the exact problems, but she asked if I’ve ever dislocated my hip as my right one is very locked, stiff, tight and has scar tissue. Now, my Consultant advised me that nerves, muscles, tendons etc in the pelvic area are all interlinked and so we’ve made the decision that I’ll have massages to work on my hips every 2/3 weeks initially and then once a month. I’ll also (on advice of Consultant, Counsellor and massage therapist) start Yoga classes to help with stretching and relaxing. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to sort my body out. I went nearly all of my twenties with no love life with my husband, I cannot, we cannot, go all of our thirties this way.

So here we are. I’m broken. Again. But guess what? I’m keeping going. I have to.

The One Where People Show They Care…And She Feels Bad Because Of It.

So I didn’t realise that my blog was linked to my Facebook, and a few people messaged and wished me well after my last entry. I’ve disconnected WordPress and Facebook now so that I can control what I share there for the time being. Not because I don’t appreciate it, quite the opposite, in fact. It’s because I am touched by how many people contacted me and as I’m feeling a little low at the moment, it sort-of makes it worse…You see, I *know* there is no identifiable reason for me to feel like this, but I can’t help it. My son is perfect, my husband is amazing, the house is being renovated, we have very little money worries (small credit card bill, but nothing huge and scary), but I have been low. I have a lump in my chest and feel like a failure. Having people message me and tell me that they care and that they are my friend just makes me feel even more pathetic for feeling this way.

Right now, aside from writing this blog, I’m on Pinterest looking for ideas for coat storage. I see stuff I like and instead of my usual excitement, I just feel ‘meh’ and want to crawl under the covers.

Hubby has been extra sweet and doing anything he can to cheer me up, so naturally I feel worse because I can’t cheer up. Never have I felt this way. It is just awful.

I don’t believe it’s situational, I’m thinking it could be hormonal. I’ve reduced breastfeeding down to one a day and ‘comfort’, and this month I’ve had 2 periods almost back to back (just a week of no bleeding in the middle), so maybe that has something to do with it? Whatever this is, it can just do one.


I’m feeling lonely at the moment. I don’t know why, but it’s hitting me hard. This happens about twice a year and I end up wishing that I had close friends. I try my hardest for people and yet I end up feeling like people just ‘put up with me’ and that they don’t really like me.
I have some lovely friends via writing and Grimbold, but again, because I run the company I feel like sometimes their kindness is because I’m ‘boss’ and not because I’m ‘me’ – does that make sense? I have no idea if it’s rational or not, it’s just something that gets to me.

When it does get to me, I find that I’m flooded with sadness and lethargy. I can’t find the drive for anything and a heavy cloud smothers me. I’ve posted before about this and my anxiety at making friends and keeping them. I think I cope better now than I did a few years ago, but it still almost cripples me. I just want someone that I can meet up with, maybe go out for a coffee or a pub meal with, and just feel like they’ve got my back and I’ve got theirs. I want a best friend and I want to be someone’s best friend (family and husband excluded).

It doesn’t help that I’ve had the date through to start counselling at the hospital for my medical issues. The consultant honed in on my past relationships and family mechanics and since she did, I’ve found it playing on my mind quite a bit. I never considered a lot of things that she raised as being potential triggers, and a small part of me scoffed and scorned at it, but it does make sense…maybe…perhaps.

I’m off to bed now. Maybe I’ll feel better in a few day’s time.



2 posts in 2 days, aren’t you all lucky…

Truth is, I wanted to write this yesterday but I was too tired. I’m actually exhausted at the moment. I wake up tired, I go to work tired, I come home tired and so on. Logan is (thankfully) improving with his sleep, but he does still wake 2/3 times a night at least 4 times a week. He doesn’t want John at night, either. He wants mummy. It is shattering.

This is the sort of tiredness that turns my head to porridge. I find it hard to talk, to function, and I forget things. It’s thick and clogging and I feel stupid and frustrated.

This isn’t the sort of tiredness that comes just from lack of sleep; this is the tiredness that comes from my thyroid as well. I’ve struggled to get my levels right in nearly 17 years and when you add this to my other issues, I just want to scream.

Someone please cut me a break?


After my last blog about my VVS returning, I’ve now seen the specialist at the JR Hospital. Last Friday I saw an amazing consultant at the pelvic pain clinic and spent almost 90 minutes in consultation with her. I’ve suffered with this problem for nearly a decade and if I’m honest, I’m very close to cracking. I can’t really hold it together much more.

For those who don’t know what VVS is, it is vulvar vestibulitis – localised pain that burns and stings when any pressure is applied. The pain will last hours and drives you to distraction. I can be walking, sitting, going to the toilet, anything that might cause contact and then the agony starts. It has led to vaginismus and an extremely unhappy relationship with my vagina. I don’t much like my body on the best of days, and this just further cements my hatred and disgust at myself.

The consultant asked about my history and was impressed with all the treatments I’ve tried and paid for myself. She asked about my family relationships and about my posture and other health complaints. At the end, we agreed a course of Amitriptyline (10mg) tablets at night, physio and counselling.

Amitriptyline in a low dose helps deaden nerve endings and studies have shown it can work with sufferers of vulvodynia and VVS. To me, it definitely seems worth a shot. In the past, I went straight from lidocaine gels to surgery (as it was *that* bad), but this time I want to try everything else before further cutting around.

The physio is to help my posture, my breathing techniques and work at having my body accept a penis without clamping down. I have a twisted back and hips, so this should help.

The counselling is to help my current anxiety levels, help address past relationships with family and to address issues surrounding sex that have arisen during the last decade. We touched briefly on the past and the consultant feels that given how I take a lot on my shoulders and help a lot of people, it could be some sort of stress that’s manifesting itself physically. This makes sense to me, and as I told her, I’m happy to try absolutely anything.

So today I picked up my first prescription of Amitriptyline and I start tonight. The physio and counselling will take 6-8 weeks to start, but that’s fine. I can deal with that. I feel quite positive about getting these issues sorted. I cannot go another decade with no sex. Neither can John. It’s just unfair and cruel.


TL;DR I’ve effectively got an anti-depressant and therapy for my vagina. I have a sad vagina.

Bibbity Bobbity Boop

So yet again I’ve abandoned my blog for months. I’ve not really had the time to sit here and write, and the times when I have had a free thirty minutes or so, I’ve ended up doing housework or DIY or Grimbold admin.

It’s been thoroughly exhausting if I’m honest. I’m someone who thrives on being busy and enjoy working hard on a project (or projects!), but Logan is a baby who likes to sleep a maximum of 3 or so hours in a row. Oh how I cringe at smug Sammy who crowed about how he would sleep for 4 hours at a time when newborn. Those were the days… Since he was 8 weeks old I’ve had terrible sleep. He’s such a light sleeper and hates to drop off. We’ve recently invested in a blackout blind and a slight change of bedtime routine. It *seems* to be working and he’s sleeping for longer, but I don’t want to jinx it! I guess he’ll learn to settle when he’s ready.

I think the lack of sleep has played havoc with my health and immune system. I’ve caught colds and coughs galore from my petri dish of a child (who in turn catches everything from nursery) and, sorry if TMI, but I have verrucas! I mean, what??? I had verrucas a few years back but they are back again! Eurgh!

I’m also suffering with my autoimmune conditions at the moment; my thyroid is all over the place, my skin conditions are flaring up, my VVS is back and I’m re-referred to the specialist and my joints are swollen in my fingers. I am falling apart!

I had my MRI (finally!) in May and my brain is fine but there was still this mass behind my right eye. It’s grown since my CT scan last year and this week I saw the eye surgeon. It is a cavernous hemangioma (benign tumour) that is pressing on my optic nerve and will be monitored with scans. When it gets too big they’ll operate and remove it. I’ve had a lot of people express shock and concern, and I’ve found it a bit bemusing. I think it’s because I’m so used to having things wrong with me I just don’t get phased any more. If I was to sit down and think about it, I probably would get a bit down, and potentially genuinely depressed, but I don’t want to think about it for that very reason! I’m here, I’m walking, talking and able to go about my daily routine and life without any real restrictions. Regardless of what’s going on with my immune system and Ted (the tedious tumour), I’d say that’s pretty damn good going.

I say this all because the news this week has been shockingly dreadful. 49 innocent lives lost in Orlando in one of the worst hate crimes ever. I just…I can’t eloquently put in to words how it makes me feel. I have many LGBTQA friends and like so many of my CIS friends, I support the LGBTQA community with every ounce of my being. It is painful to think and read about without genuine upset. No one should be persecuted because of who they love. It makes no sense. At all.

Today, an MP was brutally murdered. The full facts aren’t yet known, but what is known is that she was shot in the head, stabbed and then kicked when bleeding to death on the ground. She was known to be compassionate, loving and kind. Another senseless death that makes no sense. At all.

Cancer took a good friend’s father today. I have nothing to say other than fuck you, Cancer. Fuck you. I may be a writer, but I have no eloquence for you. We will beat you one day. I have no doubt of that.




Been A While: Addendum

Interestingly, the response has been overly lovely and understanding of yesterday’s blog post. My message of ‘try to understand behaviours, try to look beyond what you consider ‘the way people with depression behave, try to understand that by you showing a huge amount of affection on one person and not the other will drastically affect the negative party’ was accepted.  Only two people have aired their negative opinions and seem to have missed the entire point of the post and asked if this was my malicious side coming out and accused me of being ungrateful and attacking. My brother (who knows all involved) commented that it was an impartial reflection on mental health. He got it.  So I shall be a little blunter.

No, this is not a post about me and my experiences. That much is pretty clear. Messaging me and calling the other person malicious, full of hatred and so on just cements exactly what I was trying to say: people don’t understand mental health and how it effects and manifests itself. If you do not know someone, are not their friend, do not speak to them, visit them, show concern for them or reach out in any way, how can you cast aspersions on their personality? You cannot. It is natural for us to moan to one another, to have a bitch and complain about how someone behaves. I do it. You do it. But there’s a difference between a private conversation and allowing it to spill into a public forum. Please stop and think about what you say and what you have control over going on a public space. I don’t think it’s a lot to ask.

I clearly put in the post, it does NOT matter whether what I put was true (though it is), but it doesn’t matter because it is the perception, the thoughts and feelings, of the other person. Mental illness can distort memories and twist things to suit. That doesn’t make the person necessarily a nasty person or someone who over-exaggerates, it is how they perceived the situation and what they remember. It is a very common side effect of abuse and as someone who works with abuse victims every single day, I get it and want to try and help others understand it.

That’s all I’ll say on the matter. You guys ‘got it’. I’m not going to flog a dead horse. A hedgehog is soft and sweet inside, you have to take the time to get to know it and not get angry if it pricks you every now and then.

I got a message from a sibling, who said: ‘…bad things happened to all of us, some worse than others, surely that should be a reason to stick together rather than argue..’ – you are 100% right. That is the entire blooming point.

Alas, I got a bit of an earful about how I supposedly try to buy affection (by sending Christmas and birthday pressies) and haven’t seen my nephew since before Christmas and how I haven’t seen my new niece. I’ll just say this – My niece was born in January (I didn’t travel anywhere as it was my SMP month and we lived on the credit card that we paid off this month), at the start of Feb I returned to work full time with just weekends off. John contracted whooping cough, which can be DEADLY for newborns and young babies. I repeat, DEADLY. There was no way on earth I was going to visit a newborn baby and potentially put them at risk. My brother (baby’s father) understands.

I also have a mass behind my eye that I’m waiting for an MRI on. I get cluster headaches and blurred vision. I am currently not allowed to drive police cars and can only drive short distances. My nephew lives 45-50 minutes away and so visits take place when John is able to drive me which is after work or weekends that I’m off (1 in 3). To be accused of buying affection is grossly offensive and shows a lack of understanding, especially when the person who believes I’m selfish and buying affection knows about my condition. Anyone who knows me, knows that this is not the case.

To be blunt, I’m done with this now. The original post was self-explanatory and understood by many. I’ve spoken to the angry parties and left the ball in their court. I refer back to the original post about trying to understand issues from other people’s perspectives and not be judgemental. I took away from my conversations that things can be viewed as a personal attack even though they are not and clearly were not meant to be. I have learnt from this experience and apologise if anyone misconstrued or misinterpreted what I was saying.






Been A While…

So it’s been a while since I updated my blog, 2 months in fact, and it’s fair to say that it’s been a busy ol’ time.
January was a write off. I spent every minute I could with Logan and just enjoyed his company. Honestly, he’s such a character and genuinely makes me laugh.
I didn’t want to go back to work at the start of February but with bills to pay, it was an unfortunate necessity. It was suggested that maybe I stop working and be a stay at home mum.
Now, firstly I enjoy working. I enjoy showing my son that I’m a strong, independent woman who can hold down a high-pressure job with responsibility but secondly, how on earth would we pay the mortgage and bills??? Long gone are the days where the average family can afford for one person to be at home. It’s a sad day when your parenting is judged by the older generation and you’re not deemed ‘good enough’ because you have to return to work and put your child in nursery. Especially when this generation were the ones to preach about ‘hearth and home’ ‘marriage before children’ and always spoke of having a good work ethic. Well I did that. I’ve worked full-time since I was 16 (through A levels too) and had a mortgage since I was 21. I bought (with hubby) my second house at 26 and rent that to family at 20% below market rate and don’t make a profit from it (the house is a future investment and not there for us to profit from nor take advantage of our tenants). We watch our pennies and don’t live on credit. We buy second-hand clothes and furniture and we always put Logan and our family first. We did everything the ‘right way’ and because of that, I have to work full-time to maintain the income and pay the mortgage. Our house is modestly sized. It is not tiny, it is not large. The mortgage on our main house is £760 a month and £200 cheaper than renting something of the same size. I often speak to family and friends about finances, and I’m candid about the fact we don’t have a lot of spare cash. Nursery is £640 a month (£50 for a full day). If I was to drop a day a week, I would lose £500 a month from my wages. Nursery is the *only* viable option as John’s employment cannot accommodate part time working.
Do you not think I’d love to spend more time with my son? Of course I would! I am however a modern woman (proud of that!) living in the 21st century, a time when house prices are over 10x the annual income of one person. A time when everything has a higher cost than before.
Reading this back, it could be viewed that I lament those that have children younger, or who don’t have large mortgages, or those who receive assistance. Not. At. All. I am privileged. I know this. I am extraordinarily luckily to have what I have and who I have in my life. I am merely ranting against the generation that on one hand tell me I’m a bad person for returning to work so soon and then on the other tell me that I should ensure I do things ‘the right way’, the way that has meant I am financially dependent on returning to work – else there would be no ‘hearth and home’. This doesn’t make sense.
I struggle with the lack of logic and often confusion of it all. The same when I think about the mechanics of families and how they work, and mine in particular.
My family has a history of depression and mental health illnesses. It’s no secret that several close members of my family suffer. What makes me mad is when a family member with depression criticises the actions of another family member who also has depression. It’s almost as though they feel that because they don’t act that way themselves, it can’t be right.
Mental health conditions are not a ‘one size fits all’ with symptoms and behaviours. Depression (for example) effects people in different ways. Let me tell you a story and put some context on it…
Some people close down and appear to isolate themselves and appear hostile to other parties, especially if they are having a particularly bad day and their personal life is being negatively commented on by someone who has previously shown them little or no concern. They are not ‘nasty pieces of work’ or ‘immature’. They are protecting themselves from future harm. Imagine growing up in a household where you’re taught appearances are everything and you’re criticised for the colour of your hair, your weight, your teeth, your lack of smiling, your height – all this by your mother. Then you get to school where it happens again and again. Your mother, having lost her oldest daughter for the same behaviour, tries to win your affection by buying you gifts but really, all you want is some honest interaction and love. You don’t want false declarations. You want consistent support and someone who will always care for you. You accept the gifts because otherwise you’re an ‘ungrateful bitch’. Sometimes, you like the attention you get because for just a few minutes you get a glimpse of a normal parent, but as quickly as it comes, it goes again with the next glass of wine and insult.
A person can only take so much until they close down and, outwardly, they appear sullen and ‘moody’. You escape that situation and you’re practically alone. You don’t want to trust anyone. They’ll betray you, hurt you, not love you. A few years later, a sibling escapes and they are instantly surrounded by extended family. Family who never reached out and asked ‘are you ok?’ and instead left you. Your sibling escaped under a cloud of controversy, you escaped because you were physically abused. How is this fair? Short answer: it’s not.
It doesn’t matter if what I have written is factually accurate (it is), but it doesn’t matter. Why? Because this is what the person feels and sees. This is their understanding of the situation. A lifetime of criticism, neglect and rejection that comes back each time they see or hear about visits, comments, posts and similar. They are unwanted. Their sibling is wanted. They are called names. Their sibling is an ‘adopted daughter’. If all you ever do is criticise and hurt someone then they are going to show you their prickly hedgehog exterior.
Not all of this behaviour is intentional. It is entirely natural for people to gravitate towards those that are open, bubbly and chatty, and to those that have a similar personality and disposition. If you are naturally quiet and an introvert then it is difficult for extroverts or those that don’t know you to understand that you are not rude, you are simply someone who doesn’t want the grandiose declarations and who finds idle conversation exhausting. It doesn’t help if you both have differing views on the world and politics, and with the world of social media and memes, a lot of inaccurate rubbish can be regurgitated and manipulated (I admire a person who challenges something that is clearly incorrect, even when that show of strength is utterly terrifying to them. I will show solidarity when needed. I will challenge when needed.).
But the behaviour does, sometimes, become intentional. When the hedgehog continues to curl up for protection and prick you, you start to view it as personal. ‘They’re nasty’, ‘they’re selfish’, ‘they’re rude’. These comments are batted around and misinterpretation becomes a warped perception and a personal truth – magnified by unwarranted comments from other people who haven’t spoken to the hedgehog in years or indeed do not even know them. You forget their troubles, you forget that they are suffering, and instead you see what people tell you. This isn’t fair. It isn’t right. But it happens.
I go back to my musing (and this isn’t directed at anyone in particular) – depression is a cruel creature. It doesn’t behave how you expect. Someone who appears happy, who appears confident, often isn’t. Abuse effects each person differently and to different levels. Show compassion and understanding and if you just can’t understand, no matter how hard you try, don’t call that person weak. Don’t dismiss their depression or their reasons for being depressed.
We have the capability (and capacity) to learn, to grow, to admit when we’re wrong, and to mature – a lot of this comes with experience and age, and so I do expect the older generation to be more understanding and forgiving than the younger generation. Is that right of me? I don’t know…I genuinely don’t. You tell me.
God knows I’ve done a heck of a lot of growing in the last few years and I’ve reflected on past comments and opinions with shame, but instead of thinking ‘I was an awful piece of shit’. I now think ‘I’ve grown. I’ve changed and I’m not that person anymore’.

Families, they’re hard work. No doubt. Quite often I’m told I’m too soft and I should be more forceful or speak my mind a little more, but instead I brush things away or don’t comment at all. Not everyone has the same opinion or political belief. People raise children differently, people view pets differently, people sell and buy online, people go to shops still and refuse to use Amazon and the ilk. So what? That’s life. It’s only when I passionately feel that something is wrong or doesn’t sit comfortably with me do I have to comment (or write a blog post). I’m not sure if the people I’m writing about will read this, and so I don’t view it as passive aggressive attempt at voicing my distaste, but instead a sad reflection of what I feel is miscommunication and a lack of understanding – something I have been guilty of on many, many occasions.
I don’t expect these people to have a relationship, but I do hope that future comments about someone’s ‘nastiness’ and ‘immaturity’ are instead challenged and perhaps viewed with a different mindset and outlook.
That nasty and immature person was abused, neglected, depressed, suffering multiple health problems (inc recovering from the loss of an unborn baby and told they had a tumour) bullied at work and financially struggling. If (big if) anything they said was nasty, if their behaviour (deleting from a social media account) was a proverbial ‘slap to the face’, perhaps instead of resorting to social media to air a disagreement and obtain social group validation for your own personal feel good factor, a gentle ‘are you ok?’ would have been better. We are not perfect creatures. We are moulded by our experiences and relationships and we learn from mistakes. Be kind, always. Take time to sit back and assess the situation before responding.

^ I know that someone might read this and think ‘but the older person has depression and anxiety, they’re not seeing things clearly either’ – and you’re absolutely right. They do and they might not be, but this isn’t a personal attack on them. This is a reflection on the way every person who commented on a particular social media thread behaved. The group mentality that, instead of showing compassion and understanding, instead found it easier to bad-mouth and name call, was wrong, utterly wrong and should have been stopped. I have suffered with anxiety, and I still have this crippling need for everyone to like me otherwise I feel worthless. I’m disappointed in myself for not challenging the thread when I first saw it. I should have. I was wrong and I’m happy to admit that.

It took years for my sister to open up to me and realise I wasn’t going to abandon her. I won’t let her down now.

Same for my other sister and my brothers, I am always here and always will be. You might not talk to each other and not get along with one another but that’s fine. We don’t have to talk about your gripes and dislikes with each other. Let’s be adult and civil.