Ghosting

 I spent International Women’s Day 2023 on a beach in Turkey, reading a book about the gender data bias, feeling angry and empowered and wanting to change the world… while also agonising over a man.

Man in question had somehow coaxed me out of my single-hood, and garnered both my exclusive attention and my commitment, in a reasonably short period of time. I was somebody’s girlfriend again, and I was enjoying it and excited about what the future might bring for us.

Then he stopped… just stopped dead.  I worried at first that he was actually dead, and then when that was disproved, I realised that he had just simply chosen to cut me out, cut me off.  It took me a day or two to realise that’s what he had done, a day or two more of worrying about him before I realised I should have been worrying for myself and my mental state.  Because when someone chooses to make you disposable like that, its hard not to feel like you agree with them.

Instead of feeling safe and supported I suddenly felt vulnerable; I had allowed myself to share responsibility for my happiness with someone else and they hadn’t kept up their side of the bargain.  Over and over I wondered what had caused this monumental shift in things, and I blamed myself of course – something I had done, or not done; I had been too much of this, or too little of that; I hadn’t been enthusiastic, or had I been over keen?   I wondered if this was something we are all guilty of or is this a special treat reserved for certain people, the ability to absolutely destroy themselves with blame for other peoples’ actions. 

I didn’t deserve to be treated this way – whatever had caused his change of heart the very least I deserved was to be told, to be “dumped” in whatever way deemed appropriate.  But this was so cold… so thoughtless and hurtful, and seemed so incredibly out of character for this particular man, who had been nothing short of kind, attentive and affectionate from the beginning.  

And so, I wondered - maybe it isn’t me, maybe it is something that has happened to him, or he has done – has he cheated and can’t bring himself to tell me? Is he having a deep mental health crisis? Is one of his family fighting for life and he is tearfully holding a bedside vigil? I worried then that it had in fact been me that was thoughtless and hurtful, that I was being inconsiderate of his (imagined) need for solitude.  Somehow, whichever way I tried to reason with this situation I made myself feel worse and more at fault than before. 

And now that spiral of over-thinking, blame and self destruction has brought me about as low as its possible to get.  I’m looking everywhere for the remnants of my self-esteem, and I just can’t seem to find any… 

I need to press the reset, effectively remove the last few months and try to stop the walls going up (or the mental health going down…)  It wasn’t long enough to fall in love, but it was long enough to fall in like – to trust him and relax and look forward to some shared future.   It was long enough to deserve a more respectful end than this disappearing act, this ‘ghosting’, whatever the reasons for his change of heart.  

But  I remind myself - I am learning something new at every step of my life, so that my next choices are always better ones. I really hope they are 

Kx 

 

Not Worrying.. Just Wondering x

My sister would have been 30 this year – my little sister would be a grown up.  I sometimes wonder what she might have done – would she be married, would she have children of her own, what would her career be.  Mostly though I wonder what she would think of me.

Would she be proud of me, her big sister, proud of my choices and the things I have done in my life?  Would she have grown up wanting to be like me, wanting her friends to know I was her sister?  Would we be friends now as adults, would we go to bars together, or museums?

I like to imagine her all grown up, slim and beautiful with blonde hair for some reason; she’s elegant and enchanting and her blue eyes sparkle when she smiles. I don’t know what her face would be like, but it doesn’t matter because in my imagination she is happy, loved and loving.

I look at the photographs I have of her and I wonder what that little girl thinks of the grown up her big sister has become and I hope that she is proud of me.  I’m sure that I would have been so proud of her.

K x

Blaming & Shaming

For those of you who have been eagerly awaiting my next blog post, I apologise for the lengthy hiatus.  For those of you who have directly asked me to write again (yes, there genuinely are two people out there who want me to write more), I don't think you're going to like this one.  I'm wondering how I can cover this subject in my usual witty style, but I don't know that it would be appropriate, or funny.

Its not often that I find myself crying in bed on a Sunday morning, though those of you that have known me well  for a long time might find that hard to believe.  Rarer still, rare to the point that I cannot remember a single other occasion, for those tears to have been invoked by a carelessly written piece of Sunday paper journalism touching the deepest, darkest secrets of my soul and invoking not only rage but a bitter sadness.  This morning's reading has moved me to write about this for the first time ever, an experience from my youth that very few people know about but I think I need to share to explain the outrage I am feeling.

The Sunday paper piece in question discusses a recent case in which two young people, drunk and with the intention of not going home alone after a night out, did not go home alone together.  They fooled around, both were too drunk, she removed herself from the situation, told her flatmate things had got weird and the next day she reported being raped to the police.   The case went to court, she told the jury she had been OK with sex at first but then froze in bed; he was acquitted, and I make no comment on whether this is the right or wrong judgement, I certainly don't know enough about this particular case to pass comment.

Where the article kicked me in the gut was in the writer's response of "Bravo!" to a quote from Camille Paglia "...the majority of campus incidents being carelessly described are not felonious rape (involving force or drugs) but oafish hook-up melodramas, arising from mixed signals and imprudence on both sides" - to paraphrase, rape is only felonious if it involves force or drugs.  This comment not only pushes blame for unwanted, non-consensual sex on to the non-consenting party (victim blaming of the worst kind) but frighteningly de-legitimises sexual assaults and rapes in which force or drugs were not used (hint... lots of them, including no doubt a vast majority of marital rape and assaults, and also mine).

In my early twenties I was living and working abroad, and went to a nightclub with a mixed group of friends probably no more than a mile from home.  We drank, we danced, we flirted no doubt outrageously with many people; I remember it was the first time I met the man who later became my first real love.  As the night went on people fell away and went home and by closing time I realised I was the last of my friends still there.  I could quite easily have walked home, the way was lit, I could probably have been home in less than 15 minutes.

Instead, someone in a position of authority from the place I worked offered me a lift - he hadn't been drinking so he, his friend and I went in his car.  He drove us to the beach, not home, and I didn't think anything of it, it was a warm night we were just going to hang out on the beach.  He kissed me, I kissed him back.  He put his hand into my underwear and I didn't stop him, it was harmless fun.  His friend was on my other side and he started to put his hands on me and up my skirt.  His touching me must have shaken me  - I remember trying to stand up and get both of their hands off me, but it continued and I was powerless to stop them, though at no point was any kind of force or violence used.  Eventually they must have stopped, I don't imagine the whole experience lasted more than ten minutes.  I asked him to take me home, so we all got back in the car.

When we arrived at the place I lived, he told me not to tell anyone what had happened - he reminded me of his position, that he had family in the company, that his girlfriend worked there, that no-one would believe me and that he'd make sure I lost my job if I said anything.  He told me his friend would stay the night with me, got in his car and left.  His friend followed me home, I had no idea what to do so I told him firmly he would not be sleeping in my bed but in the living room, but I woke up to find him on top of me, naked, starting to have sex with me.  I pushed him away, or rolled away and he didn't try again.

All of this happened without me being drugged, or either of them using any kind of excessive force.  The comments from this mornings paper made me feel like the journalist was telling me what happened to me really was my fault, not theirs.  That it was an "oafish hook-up melodrama, arising from mixed signals and imprudence on both sides".  It wasn't, and isn't for hundreds, thousands of people with experiences like mine.  No, not like mine - people with experiences of their own, for we cannot compare one person's experience of sexual assault or violation with another's, each is utterly personal and reprehensible in itself.

This all in light of recent comments from Judge Lindsey Kushner QC, that women who drink and behave in an uninhibited manner are putting themselves in danger of rape - basically that women should take responsibility for having left themselves in a vulnerable position, rather than that rapists should take responsibility for having raped.

I may have been stupid, drunk, uninhibited, but I was not to blame for being assaulted.  I was ashamed, fearful that I'd lose my job, I saw both of them on a nearly daily basis for the rest of the year.  I don't think I ever feared that they would do it again but I always felt dirty and embarrassed when I saw either of them and remembered what had happened. It wasn't until quite a few years later that I realised that it had been a sexual assault.  Even then I was so conditioned to think it was my own fault for being drunk, English in another country, perhaps promiscuous on occasion; that it would be me that would lose out if I told anyone about it as I'd lose my job and the home it provided.  I was more worried about being judged a slut, but I should have been making sure these men didn't get the opportunity to do this again to another unsuspecting young woman.  I didn't report it, and I should have; I have seen him in years since and we have mutual friends and I still feel sick when I see his face at the thought of what he and his friend did.  I have never once spoken to him about it.

Rape is not only rape if you are drugged or beaten, forced or tied down.  You don't need to be screaming and pushing them away to be non-consenting, nor do you need to feel ashamed or responsible for the attack, whether or not you were able to fight them off, or if you didn't or couldn't physically stop it.  The blame, the responsibility and most definitely the shame needs to lie with the perpetrators.

K x

Writing to Order

A few weeks ago I was tagged in a "blog-hop" which, for those of you not yet initiated in dark lexicon of blog-speak (as I can assure you I was not), is a kind of game of tag: I get a mention and some links in someone's blog, to which I then respond in my next blog and likewise tag some new people.  All a merry jape, you might think, but it has been playing on my mind for a few weeks and distracting me from actually joining in the game.

I was tagged by my lovely friend Mel Davies, over there on the other side of the world, basking in the Western Australian sunshine, rollerskating, reading loads, barbecuing prawns with her fiancé on a regular basis and writing her fab blog lipstickhoney.com - you can read her post here.  She asked me first if I would be happy to be tagged; 'Sure,' I said, 'always up for a new game', I said.  Well, I hadn't prepared myself for the pressure of writing a structured response to pre-set questions; this was like university essay writing all over again, but without the massive amount of caffeine, ability to quote copiously and a pressing 9am deadline.  What could I possibly write that would be interesting, witty, thought provoking or slightly contentious as per my usual fare?  How could I join in on a game of blog-tag with no-one to tag at the end and nothing to say in the middle?  The questions are about my writing process and its painfully clear that I don't have one! Of course, the pressure became too great and I just decided to ignore it until it went away, but then the guilt crept in and the thought of letting the side down and letting the Aussies win became overpowering - I WILL complete the task, I WILL retain the Ashes.  (note: Mel isn't actually Australian, but the metaphor was working for me, so I stuck with it).  So here we go...

Q1 - What am I working on?
Right now I am working on this blog post, and to be honest that's about as far as my writing-working ever goes.  I often think I might write a book, but after the opening chapter (paragraph) my mind goes blank or I get a bit bored, I just don't think that far ahead with writing. As such, as far as "working on" is concerned, its really a "written in one sitting" experience for me. My blog is an outlet for the mists of miscellany that swirl around in my brain day by day: once the words are out the job is done, I don't have ongoing writing projects. That said, I have written several guest blogs for fittamamma.com which have an underlying theme holding them together, but each was written independently of the others.

Q2 - How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Tricky thing, genre.  Such an easy word to bandy about, great if you're Stephen King and write thrillers or George R R Martin and write fantasy (or, more accurately, you're George R R Martin and you resolutely DON'T write fantasy, you fanny around taking YEARS to write nothing at all).  I write whatever I feel like, whenever I feel like writing it, whether that may be loosely political, or deeply personal or complete rubbish.  I suppose you might just about put me under the nice broad heading of "social commentary" but that is probably stretching a point.  I think I shall choose to consider my writing style as 'uncategorisable' and be done with it.

Q3 - Why do I write what I do?
There's a quote from a film which springs to mind in answer to this question, which may seem completely irrelevant but I'll get there eventually...

Hannibal Lecter: No! He covets. That is his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we seek out things to covet? Make an effort to answer now.

Clarice Starling: No. We just...

Hannibal Lecter: No. We begin by coveting what we see every day.

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

In essence, I don't look for things to write, I don't seek out topics and work out what I want to say about them. The things that worry me, that niggle or bother or upset me, these are the things that I see every day, that I feel the need to write about and, in doing so, clear my brain and sort of internally work through the problem.  (Note: I don't have psychopathic tendencies, nor am I making a dress out of skin, just in case there was any need for clarification).

Q4 - What is my writing process?

As someone who is meticulously organised in my day job, as far as writing is concerned I consider it a leisure activity, a way to clear my mind of the worries that have built up and as such I don't plan, I don't prepare or research, I just write and when I've written enough I stop writing. I will always re-read several times to ensure I haven't made any ridiculous typing errors, but I'm not infallible and I do sometimes write things that I later wish I had worded differently, or not said at all, and sometimes I write so late at night that the next morning I realise it doesn't actually make all that much sense anyway.  I am very self-critical, but as this blog exists as an outlet for my worries and anxieties, its somewhat self-defeating to analyse it too much, because then I would have to write a blog entry about how anxious reading my blog has made me... and then reality might start to twist a little.  Ultimately, I write for pleasure, and I absolutely don't have the time to add anything in to the mix that makes it less pleasurable, like a carefully planned structure, or any kind of advance thought process; I like to live life right on the edge.
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And the final part of the blog-hop is that I am supposed to tag someone new to answer these questions in their blog, in the merry tradition of the chain letter - well I'm rubbish and don't really know that many bloggers and I'm not allowed to tag Mel back again.  So instead I am going to make some recommendations of people whose work you should definitely read, without asking them first and without asking them to join in the game, because I can't pass the anxiety I've experienced on to someone else! (But of course, should any of you wish to respond, please do!)

- I've mentioned before my wonderful friend who writes a blog about living with diabetes, and I would strongly encourage you to read it at www.insulinindependent.com (@T1diabetesblog) - she is truly inspirational and her posts are warm, intelligent and funny; she is very well respected in the blogging community and her blog was voted one of the Top 10 UK diabetes blogs in 2011, which is pretty stupendous!

- My second mention goes to my darling little brother Alexander and his blog theworldandotheranimals.wordpress.com.  He is 21, a German and Politics student at Bristol University, currently in Berlin for a year doing something useful I'm sure.  His blog is mainly about politics'n'stuff, and he uses far too many long words for my taste (why be wordy when you can be verbose?), but he's very smart and up to date with current affairs and, biased though I may be, I think he's Great (geddit?).

- And finally, of course, you should read all the blogs at fittamamma.com, some of them written by yours truly (shamefully few in fact, yet another thing I have been burying my head in the sand about!).  Lots of people contribute different posts to the fittamamma blog: exercise experts, fitness bloggers, midwives, yoga teachers, pregnant women, recently pregnant women... the whole site is a really useful resource, so check it out.

So, I have completed my great challenge unscathed! Normal service can now resume :)

K x

Words

It is so easy to underestimate the power of the words we use.  Every day we talk to each other, we write emails, facebook statuses, tweets, texts, captions on photos, instant messages, maybe even an actual letter from time to time, and so much of what we have to share can be so easily shared again with other people these days that it is almost impossible to fully understand the reach of our most seemingly meaningless thoughts and comments.

Words can cause distress or hurt to someone, somewhere, without that ever having been the original intention; words can be misunderstood or misconstrued, thanks to the complexity of our beautiful language, and can be interpreted in a way entirely different from the one which was meant.  Words can give false hope or expectation to someone by their inferring meaning where meaning was not intended; words can lie and cheat and let you down.

Words are beautiful but treacherous, and should be treated with extreme caution and utmost respect.

K x

Politics

My worrying about politics has been brewing for quite some time.  I've not quite managed to put it all in to words, hence my lengthy radio silence, and actually for the last six months I have been the happiest I have been for the last few years.  But the time has come for me to stand up again on my internet soap box and worry publicly about something that is important to me, and this time it's important to all of us.

I called the doctor this week, suffering with what I assumed to be an ear infection.  The new process in my surgery is for all callers to be put on a list, prioritised by the GP in question and called back in order of life expectancy urgency.  My GP duly returned my call, listened to me explain my deafness and pain and wrote me a prescription for antibiotics.  It wasn't until I was reclining in my sick bed later that it struck me what had happened: I had self-diagnosed an infection and received prescription medication without ever being in the presence of a medical practitioner.  Now I can see two ways of looking at this: The Opportunist - "I could make this work in my favour, get some kind of racket going with black market medications" - and my natural fall back position: The Cynic.  The Cynic notices that her GP is paid a handsome sum by the NHS (read taxpayer) to be the primary care giver for non-emergency medical requirement.  I (one of the aforementioned taxpayers) just did his job for him, by telling him what was wrong with me.  He got paid for writing "amoxicillin" on a slip of paper and signing his name (actually they don't even write it anymore, they click a box on the computer and print it out). So, to whom shall I send my bill?  Why is the NHS under such strain that GPs can no longer do what they are employed to do viz. actually see patients and diagnose illness?

Bedroom Tax, which isn't a tax, is putting people into rent arrears and making people homeless when there is no other option for them.  I don't think that anyone should be entitled to council housing, or housing benefit, for more than the requisite number of bedrooms per head that the law permits.  But that doesn't make it reasonable to suddenly start charging people for the extra bedroom with no availability of smaller properties for them to move in to, or sensible period of time for them to make arrangements.  There must have been a better way to balance the system than the way the government decided to go. There is so much I want to say about this, it rattles around my head day after day, sometimes I get angry- for and on behalf of both sides of the Bedroom Tax debacle - but debacle it has been and continues to be, nonetheless. 

So the NHS is being torn apart, the lowest earners and poorest families are being squeezed the hardest, disability benefits are being cut, public sector pensions are being cut, more and more people are relying on food banks to survive, retirement age is continuing to rise, the country is only barely out of recession but MPs are being recommended an 11% pay rise to £74,000.  I know there are an awful lot of people earning an awful lot more than that, but the average UK salary is something in the region of 28k. Our MPs are earning more than double that already, and that is before their expenses claims and second home allowances come in. 

Russell Brand, in his usual showy and verbose manner, tried to incite revolution recently.  He said what so many of us feel: that we are disillusioned with politics; that we don't trust our politicians or our government to make the right decisions for the majority of the populace; that we don't think our politicians are in touch with the people of Great Britain.  But his answer to the problem was a silent, apathetic revolution, a revolution where  people show their disdain for the current way of things by removing themselves from it, by standing to one side and letting others make the decisions, in the hope that things will be forced into change by their refusal to be involved.

I'm not the first person to notice that this won't work.  I'm no great political strategist, I don't have the answer, but I know that even if 1,000,000 Britons decide not to vote in support of Brand's rhetoric, it won't make a blind bit of difference.  Of the 45,597,461 registered voters for the 2010 general election, only 29,991,471 actually voted.  We now have a coalition government that not even one of us voted for. No encouragement is needed from Russell Brand for people not to vote, what we need is encouragement for people to vote.  We need more people worth voting for, more politicians who we trust and believe in, who understand us and will represent us honestly in parliament.

I recently interviewed for a new job at the company where I currently work.  I really, really want this job. I worked hard in preparation for the interviews and I would be very disappointed not to get it. But if it doesn't go my way then maybe it won't all be bad.  I could become a politician, get paid more money than I would know what to do with (I'd learn), and lead the revolution.  Either that or cash in on my new found expertise as a GP.... K x

Me

Something strange has been happening over the past few weeks - I haven't been worrying about anything.  Or, at least, nothing important.  Work is toddling along, merrily wiping out my mental wellbeing on a daily basis.  The weather has been glorious, which suits me just perfectly as when I'm not tied to my desk drowning in misery I can bask in the hot sunshine and get a vitamin D hit.  My immune system hasn't thrown any nasty surprises my way, my spine is as painful and displaced as it has been for a while. 

I visited some friends who I haven't seen in far too long - they've recently got married and I was so chuffed to have been invited and so gutted to have not been able to make it.  But a month or so afterwards, with a big bowl of moules marinieres, a large G&T and a few hours of reminiscing, I was 21 again, back at university with them, young and carefree, laughing at our drunken antics, promising not to leave it so long until the next time.  Without my friends I'd be half a person, and I'm so lucky to be blessed with a great bunch of them spread out across the country, and dotted around the world. 

So the world has kept on turning; The Royal Progeny is yet to be birthed (and we are all waiting with baited breath...), England are winning at cricket, some nutters are cycling a lot in France, the government are a bunch of idiots, the NHS appears to be being sold off piece by piece, Post Office workers are striking and most people in Britain are being wholly inconsiderate and buying a lot of drinks from outlets supplied by my company.  But, for once, none of this is touching me - my worrying days are on hold.  So keep it up, sunshine, because you're obviously doing me good.

K x

And yes, of course I'll be worrying about something again soon.  But in the meantime, check out some of my exercise blogs on www.fittamamma.com as they're pretty good too ;) x