When Did Life Get So BUSY?!

Back in early 2017, I remember thinking I was never going to do much, again.  I was going through a really nasty bout of depression, brought on by a fairly well-documented life event.  I had my day job and maybe once a month or so, I'd see a friend.  I was making YouTube videos and writing weekly children's stories, to give myself a creative outlet, but that was it.  There really wasn't much more to my existence.

Fast forward to now and I'm suddenly wondering when life got quite this busy.

You see, I now have far more hours in my day job, so I've got less free time.  And yet I'm now also a singer with a chorus, I'm training/studying for a qualification in directing, seeing as I'm Assistant Director of that chorus, I'm a member of an offshoot quartet formed via said chorus, I run social media accounts for the chorus, I co-host a podcast, I still have my own YouTube channel, as well as two others to create content for, I try to write whenever I get the chance and my social life actually exists, again.  Oh, and my best friend and I are talking seriously about setting up a business together.

It sounds hectic.  It probably is, if I actually sit and think about all the stuff I have to do.  But I love it.

In the last couple of days, I've had a bit of a stressy "blip," thinking about how I'm going to fit things in.  I've asked myself how I can dedicate myself to each individual thing I have to do, without watering anything down due to time constraints.  I've panicked that I might focus too much on one thing and let another slide, which is terrifying, especially considering one of the things I'm doing is going to involve exams, which I definitely don't want to fail.  And I've wondered how I'll fit in any "down time" for myself.

And then I came to my senses.

I've always managed to squeeze a YouTube recording session into an afternoon off work.  I've always fitted editing into my evenings.  It doesn't often take more than 4 hours to edit one of my videos and it's frequently less than that, since I'm pretty good at writing detailed notes for myself, so I know exactly what I'm doing.  With that in mind, a weekly YouTube video for my channel can generally be sorted out in one afternoon/evening, leaving me the rest of the week for other stuff.

Once I'd gotten that into my head, everything started to feel less hectic.  I told myself I'd come up with something of a study timetable (probably worked around evenings where there's not something I really want to watch on telly and I'm not out at rehearsals) for the course I'm doing.  My best friend and I have already gone through the calendar for the rest of the year and plotted out when we need to record videos/podcasts, so that's all organised.  Social media is an ongoing thing that I love doing and it has become part of my daily activities, without me even thinking about it.  It turns out that I was panicking over nothing, really.  I can do this.  All of it.  I can do it because I want to.

You see, everything I've got going on - all the things that are keeping me busy - are things I love.  Things I enjoy doing, with people I want to spend my time with.  When you realise that, your life feels less full-up and more...just full.  Sure, that probably makes no sense to anyone not living in my head, but it makes sense to me, at least.

My life is full of opportunities to learn and grow.  It's full of possibilities.  I get to keep my creative juices flowing, have a lot of fun in the process and I am discovering new skills.  All of that is good.  It's something to be happy about.

Sure, there will be days when I still stress over upcoming exams, or worry that I've spent too long on one project and not enough on another, because that's just me.  But when I look back at my life in early 2017, it seems horribly empty.  Life nowadays is busy, exciting and challenging.

And that's just the way I like it.

How's Your 2018 Going So Far?!

So, we've reached the end of January!  This month is always a strange one.  By the time you reach the end of it, you feel certain that it must have lasted at least seven weeks, and yet you're also stunned that February is already upon you.  Not to mention, there will be people who, on January 25th, felt compelled to post "ONLY ELEVEN MONTHS UNTIL CHRISTMAS!" all over social media...

I sat this morning, staring at a blank screen, wondering what to write about and, as is my wont, I inevitably started thinking back to this time last year.  Life was in a massively different place, at the end of January 2017.  So much so, that comparing seems unfair.  It would be like producing a smoothie made of dog poo and toenail clippings and placing it next to a really delicious chocolate malt shake and asking me which one I'd rather drink.

Regular readers may be aware of my fervent love of chocolate malt shakes.  And, er, even new readers should probably be aware that I don't tend to consume dog poo, as a general rule...

I've also started to realise that when I look back over the events of 2017, it's less a case of wistfully gazing over my shoulder, these days and more one of rubber-necking at a particularly horrific car crash.  I find that emotional outbursts of "I'm still so saaaaad" have been replaced with a stunned: HOW did I get out of that alive?!"

Case in point: this morning, as I was doing that half-curious, half-masochistic thing of checking Facebook's On This Day feature, I spotted a photo of me and a girl who was once one of the closest people on the planet, to me.  It was actually a very old picture, from one of our first ever days out, together.  And the first thing I thought upon seeing it was: "Man, I miss that hairband I'm wearing in this photo."

Go me?

I've said this a lot, especially in the last six months, so I don't want to repeat myself like a BBC Christmas schedule, but life is about rebuilding.  It's about filling the gaps and strengthening your foundations, even after the most traumatic of personal earthquakes.  

My plan for 2018 was always to get to a point where I'm no longer looking back over my shoulder (as much as I like Mike & The Mechanics).  It feels refreshing to have my eyes firmly fixed on the present and the future, rather than sullenly locked on the past.

I had a few goals to achieve in the first few weeks of 2018 and I feel like I'm on track with them, so far:

I told myself I'd join the ladies barbershop chorus I did a singing course with last year and I have (passed my audition, joined the committee and everything - they're well and truly stuck with me, now!).

I told myself I was going to branch out and meet new people this year and thanks to the above band of awesome singing ladies, I can tick that one off, too!

I told myself I'd spend more time with the friends I'd not seen anywhere near enough of due to my general wallowing throughout the first half of 2017 and I think it's fair to say I'm doing pretty well with that (my lovely friend Louise has even seen me scoff way too much pizza and then dramatically perform a song from Les Mis this month, so...result?!  Possibly for me more than her...).

I mean, I told myself I'd find a new job and improve my non-existent love life as well, but you know... I guess you can't have everything all at once...

My point is, whilst January has been a long month and the endless rain we've had down here in Cornwall has had me seriously considering building an Ark, it's actually been a pretty successful month, in terms of achievements.  Of course, saying all of this could bring forth some kind of harbinger of doom, to defecate all over the month of February, but...  Fingers crossed not, eh?!

I hope your 2018 is going okay so far.  And if it's not?  Have a look at what needs to change and get rebuilding.  I promise you, it'll be worth it.

How Caitlin Doughty Changed My Life (And Death!)

Spiders.  Blood tests.  Vomit.  These are all things guaranteed to strike fear into my heart.  But the biggest fear I had was, for many years, the one thing that can never be avoided.  The one thing we will all eventually face: death.

My fear of death was so enormous that I would freeze in my seat, if I drove past a hearse.  I obsessively watched programmes about ghosts, in an effort to remind myself that death couldn't possibly be the end.  I was so utterly terrified of being buried alive, that I would tell my family that if anything happened to me and I was thought to be dead, I wanted to be buried in a huge crate, with enough room for a bed, several bottles of water, food, tools to aid my escape and a mobile phone and laptop.

Quite what use I thought a phone or a laptop would be underground, I'm not sure, but it eased my fears to imagine having them with me, so I kept on insisting.

There were nights - and I wish I was making this up - where I would lie in bed in the darkness and hold my breath for as long as I could, just to see if I could possibly imagine what death would feel like.

And then one day, I stumbled upon a YouTube page.

It happened entirely by accident.  I had been thinking - for reasons I can't even explain - about the Titanic.  I had decided to see if there were any good documentaries about it on YouTube, to placate my sudden fascination and, as is customary when you dive down a rabbit hole on YouTube, the search results eventually started to get stranger and stranger.  I watched the (awful) alternative ending to James Cameron's 1997 movie.  I saw a Lego version of the Titanic sunk in an outdoor pool.  I spotted - but did not watch - a video insisting that the Titanic was sunk on purpose.  And then a video came up with the title: What Happened To Titanic's Dead?

The thing with my death phobia was that whilst I was totally freaked out by death, I was also weirdly curious about it.  Things seem much scarier when you don't know much about them, after all.  I can vividly remember seeing a sign for a local crematorium, reading "Family Open Day" and being torn between feeling creeped out by such an event and - bizarrely - almost wanting to go along.  I never did nip down to the crematorium's open day, but I did click "play" on that video.

The channel - Ask A Mortician - was hosted by Caitlin Doughty, a real-life mortician, with her own funeral home in America, Undertaking LA.  Two hours later, I was still on the channel, glued to the screen as I watched videos on all kinds of subjects, from dressing a corpse to the decaying process and everything in between.

And a weird thing happened.

As the veil was lifted from this frightening subject, it started to lose its horror.  To my enormous surprise, the longer I watched these videos, the more I found myself considering my own mortality and not feeling the same fear I had always felt.  Instead, I realised that I was starting to see myself as a being made of organic matter, who therefore has a natural shelf-life, so to speak.  Death - that big, dreadful thing that made me so terribly afraid - was just the end of life.  And by shying away from it, we were not only making it more frightening than it needs to be, but we were stopping ourselves from taking a more active role in the process of caring for those who are dying or who have died.

Caitlin Doughty

Of course, it helps (a lot!) that Caitlin is enthusiastic, passionate about changing the way death is treated and very funny.  Her dark sense of humour appealed to mine immediately and her personality and easy way of discussing big and potentially scary subjects was a huge reason that I kept watching for so long.

But, once I had finally turned off my laptop and rejoined the land of the living, the memory of what I had seen remained firmly lodged in my brain.  I realised that I was thinking about death in a whole new way.  Yes, the unknown quality of it was still a little unnerving and of course I don't want to think about the deaths of any of my loved ones, but in terms of accepting my own mortality (and embracing the need for open conversations about the end of life), I realised I had turned a corner.

In fact, I hadn't so much turned a corner, as I'd crossed the street, walked round several corners and entered an entirely new part of town.

I wanted to lift the veil further.  I wanted to know what happened to the dead and what choices we have in terms of how much involvement we have when a family member or friend passes away, as well as what choices we have for ourselves.  The more I demystified the subject, the less frightening it was.  I even found myself using a new phrase: "I view death as just a really good lie-in."  And I found myself meaning it.

within a week or two of binge-watching Caitlin's YouTube videos, I had ordered her first book, too.

Reading it (and yes, I will be getting her latest book once Christmas is out of the way) opened my eyes even further.  I was completely captivated by Caitlin's vision of a world in which death is not some big, frightening prospect, but a natural fact of life which we embrace.  I was fascinated by her ideas about home funerals and the families of the deceased being more involved in the preparing of the body - if they wish to be.  After all, isn't that the last thing we can do for someone we love?  

But perhaps most importantly of all, Caitlin's frankness on the subject of death was what really stayed with me.  I had always been one of those people who, if asked if I'd like to live forever, had gleefully shrieked: "OF COURSE!"

It was a shock to my system to hear myself saying "actually, I'm not sure I would."

As Caitlin so rightly says, it's death that influences our lives more than anything.  The idea that some day we will be gone is often what gives us the kick up the backside we need in order to take a risk, do something life-changing or really try to make a difference to the world.  If we knew we'd all live forever, would we bother so much?  Isn't it the knowledge that we have a finite amount of time on this planet that encourages us to squeeze every last drop out of life that we can?!

It was a bizarre feeling to realise that in the space of just a few weeks, I had gone from someone who cringed at the word "coffin," to someone who was determined to add her voice to those campaigning for greater openness on the subject of death.  I'd gone from someone who looked the other way when passing my local funeral home, to someone who wondered how much involvement they allow families or friends to have, in the wake of a death.

Indeed, armed with my newly gained insider knowledge of the post-death process, I found myself considering what I actually wanted to happen in the event of my own death.  Gone was the longing for a large crate and a long list of supplies.  I told my parents I wanted a natural burial, with a tree or wild flowers marking my grave, rather than a headstone.  I wanted a biodegradable casket and I absolutely, in no uncertain terms, did not want to be embalmed.

Seriously, if anyone has me embalmed after my death, I will haunt the heck out of them.

A natural burial site.

I'm not going to sit here and say that I have absolutely zero fear of death, now.  I still worry that it will be painful.  I still don't know what - if anything - happens to my soul afterwards.  And I still can't bear the thought of anyone I love passing away.

But those fears are as natural as death itself is.  Grief is a natural thing.  The unknown is something that will always cause a little apprehension.  And nobody wants to think of themselves - or anyone they love - experiencing pain.

But death itself - the inescapable fact of it - is no longer something I am afraid of.  It's just a reminder to get out there and do things whilst I have the opportunity.  

What I want now, is to spread the word.  To encourage others to peek behind the curtain, the same way I did.  To remind people that it's important to know what we want for ourselves in the event of our passing and to make our wishes known to those we'll leave behind.  It might not be something we want to talk about, but it's going to happen and it's best that we have these conversations whilst we can.  To paraphrase Caitlin, only by communicating openly and honestly about what we want at the end of our life, can we try to ensure that we have a good death.  For ourselves and those we care for.

The fear is gone.  I want to live my life to the fullest, embracing my mortality and understanding that there will come a day when I'm not here, anymore.  I want to ensure that those I leave behind know what my wishes are for my final days and afterwards.  I want people who fear death to know that that fear can be overcome.  

I have overcome mine.

Life will one day go on without me.

And that's okay.

Let's Make Plans!

Earlier this week, I went for a drink with one of my dearest friends and we sat in a bar, making a list of the things we want to do together in 2018.  It was - and this is not hyperbole - one of the loveliest moments I've had this year.  

Some people hate making plans.  There are endless memes to be found in all corners of the internet, equating plans to "obligations" which people then feel a sudden need to wriggle out of.  I have rarely been someone who feels constricted by having a plan to stick to.  I'm ridiculously organised.  For me, a plan is bloody marvellous.  

But it was more than just my love of organisation that made me so happy, that afternoon in the pub.  It was the knowledge that I was sitting with someone who wants to make plans to hang out with me many times over.  It was the excitement of thinking about the fun things we both wanted to do in the coming weeks and months.  It was a way of ensuring that I have the kick up the bum I need to keep on getting out there and doing things.

We all have times in our lives when we just don't feel like doing much.  When depression, stress or anxiety causes us to dread venturing any further from our duvets than is absolutely necessary.  When the black dog has you firmly in its grip, the last thing you might be inclined to do is go out and take part in any kind of social activity.  Those are the times when pre-arranged plans feel like millstones around your neck.  The thought of having to force a smile onto your face and somehow muster up the energy to do more than binge-watch a TV show can be difficult to contemplate.

But, on the other hand, looking forward to something can be a way of lifting yourself out of the doldrums.  Having a reason to get up and out of the house can have a hugely positive impact on your mental wellbeing.  Just taking your mind off whatever's getting you down can be incredibly helpful.  After all, if we constantly dwell on the same thing for long enough, we start making it bigger than it needs to be and before long, it starts to harm us.  Taking some time out can even clear your mind just enough for you to be able to find a practical solution to the problem when you come back to it, later.

For me, sitting with my friend and making plans for the last few weeks of 2017 and well into 2018 made me realise how much I have to look forward to.  A day out with another couple of friends yesterday, in which we also made some pretty major plans for next year, had the same effect.

When I think back to the start of this year, when I was depressed, struggling to make plans for something I'd been really excited about, only to have it cancelled, it's hard to imagine a more different place from where I am, now.  I may not end up doing everything I talked about with friends, next year.  But even if I do half of it, I know that I have a whole lot to be excited about.

For me, making plans has been that last little step I needed to take, in order to get my mental health back on track.  Something as simple as "hey, do you fancy doing  *insert thing here* next weekend?" was, as it turned out, all I needed to make me realise that my world is full of amazing people, good friends and positive experiences.  And making plans for more of that can only be a good thing.

So, here's to making plans and having things to look forward to.  Life is short, after all.  Let's go out there and live it.

Why Blog?!

You know that old iPhone advert (which subsequently became a meme) that had the tagline: There's an app for that"?  Well, I was thinking about this blog the other day, pondering what to write about next, when I realised many of the subjects I was thinking of, are ones I've already covered, sometimes more than once.  In other words: There's (already) a post for that.

That's not just because I really like repeating myself.  Although, anyone who works with me and hears the same story several times because I insist on telling every colleague, may beg to differ...

It's because this is what I do.  I think about things, I mull them over and put my feelings into words on the virtual page.  It helps to untangle the thoughts buzzing around my incredibly noisy brain (and, if there's not a blog post about my noisy brain already, I've definitely made a YouTube video on the subject).

Sometimes, the things I write are merely observations on my own silly quirks, or on life in general.  Other times, I might want to write something about a hobby or a passion of mine.  Then, there are the occasions when I see something on the news, or read something online, that shocks, angers or upsets me so much, I feel compelled to publish something on the subject.

All of it is done because I'm someone who finds that when thoughts are bubbling up in my brain, I need to get them out.  As I mentioned earlier, writing things down helps to untangle my thoughts.  I would rather sit for an hour, sobbing over the keyboard as I write a piece on a horribly upsetting news story, than lie awake at night, feeling sad about it.  I'd rather bash the keys furiously and post an angry blog on a subject that gets my blood boiling, than find myself on edge and becoming snappy with the people around me, because I've been unable to have a damn good vent.

Now THIS is a damn good vent...

And then there are the personal blog posts.

Yes, I talk about my life on this blog.  My ups and downs, my crushes and heartbreaks, my best days and lowest points are all frequently found here, in one way or another.  And it's for the exact same reason as I write about anything else: to declutter my brain and try to straighten out my thoughts.  By writing stuff down, I often find that I understand a situation better.  Sometimes, I understand myself better.

I have always worn my heart on my sleeve.  It's no secret that if you ask me how I'm feeling,  if you're close enough to me, then you'll get the honest answer, warts and all.  I don't hide my feelings very well.  This weekend, for example, I tried very hard to mutter a casual greeting to my mum as I wandered past where she was sitting.  However, moments earlier, I'd had a ridiculous sobbing session in my room, over something that actually, I should have brushed off like sand from a beach towel.  Still, my skin has never been particularly thick and so I was upset by this thing and, despite my desperate efforts to hide it, my mum saw through me right away.  That's just how I am.  If I'm soppy over someone, you'll know it (they probably will, too).  If I'm angry, I'll rant to whoever's listening.  And if nobody's listening, then I'll blog about it, safe in the knowledge that even if nobody reads what I've written, at least the words aren't pumping furiously through my veins, anymore.

And when my heart feels battered and bruised, the only thing that helps is to talk my feelings through.  Whether it's to a friend or family member, to myself (shut up and don't judge me) or on this blog, I have to release my emotions into the wild.  Keeping them inside feels like swallowing poison; I can feel my emotions churning in my guts.  Vomiting words onto a screen helps to ease that sensation.

I feel no guilt about any of that.  No shame, whatsoever.

One thing I love doing is looking back at old blog posts to see where my mind was, when I wrote it.  Was I happy?  Sad?  Angry?  Hungry?!  

Okay, I'm always hungry, so that's just a given...

But old blog posts tell a story when you read them consecutively.  In the last year, regular readers all know there's been a bit of a storm in my life, involving people I was exceptionally close to.  And yep, I blogged about it.  I shared a lot of the details.  Not to be vulgar or to publicly shame anyone.  But because, throughout all of it, I felt I wasn't being listened to, and I needed people to hear me.  The only outlet I had was this blog.  I felt like I was constantly screaming, internally.  When I wrote a blog entry, the screaming went down a notch or two.  Writing about what was happening became cathartic.  It stopped that churning in my guts, even if only for the hour or two I was writing.  If I could make myself laugh with an appropriate gif, all the better.

And yes, a lot of those posts were angry.  But if you read those angry, hurt-filled posts in succession, you'll notice something.  You'll see a person going through - and I say this with no irony - the stages of grieving and coming out the other side.

From furious rage, to sadness that took my breath away, I poured my heart out because I needed to.  And I make no apology for it, besides understanding that those two people I loved and missed from my life may have found it uncomfortable reading, had they ever stumbled upon those posts.  But, as time went on, the posts were written by a person who no longer had the red mist of anger swirling around her.  They were written by a woman analysing her own behaviour.  A former friend, accepting that her pain had been caused by someone else who was also hurting and that I had made plenty of mistakes, too.  It was talking about things - and writing all of it down, too -  that helped me reach that place of understanding.  So when I look back at those posts, whilst some of the anger makes me blanch, I understand the process I went through.  I appreciate how I came out the other side.

I have written about a great deal of enormously personal things on this blog.  Bullying, my childless status and my experience of abuse, just to name a few.  The abuse posts have been just as cathartic as anything else.  I've written furiously about what I went through, sobbing over my laptop as I remembered things I'd tried to bury, but equally, there are posts in which I talk about using what I went through to help others.  

Grief of any kind is a process and writing things down - getting it all off my chest - has always been one of my most trusted ways of moving through that process.  Without having the capacity to write things down, I would find it all too difficult to cope with.

And sure, I could write a diary (actually, I do).  But writing things openly and honestly gives me the benefit of knowing that I might inadvertently help someone else who happens to be going through something similar, be it abuse, dealing with weird personality quirks or fallouts.  It also forces me to write better than I would if I were merely jotting everything down in my diary.  I can practise the hobby that I love so much and exorcise a few demons in the process.  Seems like a pretty good deal, to me.

Without this blog, many of the thoughts I've had in my head over the past 11 months would have been too heavy to handle.  

Without this blog, my rage at injustices I see in the world, would have no decent, safe outlet; it would be internalised and my body would writhe with it.

Without this blog, I would have taken far longer to have discovered the joy of poking fun at myself for the amusement of others on a much grander scale than I have chance to do in "real life."

This blog is me and my life.  Why write it?  Because it's a part of me.

And I don't intend to stop.

I Need A Little Time...

I'm not very good at taking time for myself.  It's funny, because I really thought I was.  I'm good at binge-watching TV shows on Netflix, with a scented candle lit and a big bowl of popcorn on my lap.  It's just, I've recently discovered that that's not entirely the same thing.

Because often, whilst I'm watching TV, I'm also checking my phone, to see if anyone has texted.  If someone has, I feel the need to reply right away, because I know how much I hate it when you message someone and they either never respond at all, or they take days to do so.  I feel that need to reply even more if the person texting has some kind of problem they need to talk through, or if they might be feeling lonely, angry or just fed up.  

And, whilst I'm half-watching TV and checking my phone to see if there are texts I need to reply to, I'm also checking Twitter, to ensure that the abuse-awareness account I run isn't being forgotten about.  

Before I know it, my "Me Time" has turned into "Me, You, Them And Whoever Else Time."

Normally, that's actually pretty fine.  I'm a people-person.  I like to have other people around me.  I like being in touch with people.  But my problem is, I have a habit of putting other people first.

Yes, I know.  That sounds like a humblebrag.  "Oooh, I'm just soooo selfless.  I put myself second aaaaall the tiiiiime."

But, I promise you, I'm not trying to sound like that.

I just mean that if someone's need seems to be greater than mine, I will put my own needs second, in order to accommodate theirs.  I tell myself that it's a nice, compassionate and mature way to be.  But, in reality, it's not always helpful.

Because, in deciding that my feelings are less important than everyone else's, I end up doing a disservice to myself.  I end up feeling guilty if I tell someone that they've made me feel hurt or angry (and, sadly, recent experience in that area has made me feel like I should never voice those feelings again).  Indeed, sometimes I end up swallowing those feelings entirely, rather than risk a negative response to them.

I end up pushing myself to be there for everyone else, whilst ignoring my own feelings.  My gut reaction to seeing someone I barely know on Twitter saying that they feel sad or lonely, for example, is to offer them my inbox as a place to rant.  To offer my metaphorical shoulders to cry on.  But too often, what I really need, is someone to talk to, myself.

What happens when you bury your own needs and feelings?  They start coming out, elsewhere.  You get short-tempered with people who have done nothing wrong.  You feel absolutely furious with people who have (anger just starts gnawing at you like a dog with a bone).  You start feeling the physical symptoms of stress.  For me, in the last 4 weeks, that's meant a worsening of my asthma, a return of the griping stomach pains I'm on medication to prevent, lack of decent sleep leading to exhaustion and a desperate wish to escape.  To literally anywhere.

Thankfully - and it seems bizarre to use that word in this context, but go with it - I'm having counselling, as a result of the grief I'm still going through because of losing two of my closest friends in the world.   So, I was able to talk these feelings through with my therapist, this week.  Her advice?

Go off the radar, a little.  Stop trying to be there for absolutely everyone but yourself.  Put Emma first, for a while.

It's alien and weird.  All week long, I haven't sent a single text to anyone, asking "how are you?"  Not because I don't care about any of the people I usually get in touch with to ask that question.  But, because I recognise how thinly I was spreading myself.  How much I was ignoring my feelings in order to try to put everyone else first.  

Because if anyone had texted me that question, had I been brave enough to answer it honestly, I would have had to say: "I'm not okay."

The fact of the matter is, you can't be all things to all people.  And you can't be anything to anyone, if you're not looking after yourself.

It's not selfish to say "I can't do X," or "I don't want to do Y."  It's perfectly reasonable to feel a negative response to something and to express it.  And it's not a character flaw to step back from the world and concentrate on fixing yourself, first and foremost.  Because nobody else can: you have to recognise what your needs are, what your problems are and what you can do to sort them out.  Nobody else can do it for you.  And, in realising that, I finally realised that I can't fix everyone else's problems, either.  Offering a stranger the chance to "DM me, if you ever need to talk" is kind and thoughtful, but there is no pressure on me to cure anyone's woes, because I can't.  

I'll always be someone who likes to please people.  I'll still be someone who offers her shoulder for strangers and friends alike to cry on and who tries to go along with what others want to do, because I don't like letting anyone down, or making people feel like I don't care.  

But I can't do it, right now.  I need to fix my own stress.  I need to concentrate on what I want and what I need.  I need to fall off the radar, just a little, and fill my life with things that make me feel happy.

I need a little time to put me first.  

And that's okay.

Be Silly, Be Honest, Be Kind

Sooooo.  Life, eh?  It's been weird, of late. I've lost count of the number of people who've contacted me to say they've had messages from a very much ex-friend asking about me recently, simply because I'm such a hot topic.

I don't watch the news.  I AM THE NEWS.  Albeit against my will.

Aaaanyway.

I made a resolution that in 2017, I would walk away from negativity, rather than stick around and dwell on it.  I told myself that I need more positivity in my life and that is exactly what I endeavour to find.

Now, I am a big believer in inspiration coming from strange places.  I'm a pretty creative person and I know from my own experiences that I've been inspired by somewhat odd things, in the past.  Even so, I was unprepared for just how much inspiration I would be able to draw from a gift I gave to myself, last week...

You see, I like big candles and I cannot lie (Baby Got Wax).  Seriously, if you want to give me a gift (and please feel free; I've been rather down lately and I bloody love presents...), you literally can't go wrong with a scented, ideally decorative candle.  Or several.  Or wax melts.

OKAY, I HAVE AN ADDICTION.

Pictured: MY ROOM.

I recently acquired a set of three scented candles, which came in little glass jars with cute mottos on them.  They are very me and I couldn't resist them.  But the more I look at them, the more I realise that these three scented candles hold the key to my happiness in 2017.  

Okay, not directly.  My life isn't suddenly going to become all kittens and rainbows, just because my room happens to smell like mango, coconut or passionfruit (although damnit, that's a hell of a good start).  It's more about what the little jars have written on them.  I've realised that if I stick to the advice they give, positive changes will happen in my life.  And maybe yours, too, if you decide, like me, to let a scented candle become your senpai...

So, what do these candles say, exactly?!  Good question.  Thanks for asking, because this blog would be really weird if I didn't explain further...

BE SILLY!

YES.

Recently, life has had way too much stress.  Regular readers of this blog will know roughly why, so I'm not going to repeat myself (you know, because of the whole "don't dwell on negativity" vibe I've got going on), but suffice to say that silliness has not played nearly a big enough role as it should.

Life is short, guys.  Way too short to worry about what crap anyone is saying behind your back, or whether you're wearing an outfit that's "in," or what random strangers you'll literally never meet again think of you.

So, you know what?  Dress however you like.  Dance, even if, like me, you have all the style and rhythm of a punctured spacehopper.  Go to conventions and do cosplay.  Stay up all night talking rubbish with your friends.  Sing karaoke and do that dramatic clenched fist of emotion, even if you know you sound like a strangled frog.  JUST STOP WORRYING SO MUCH.

Who cares if you're "cool"or not?  What does it matter if you're 34 and you worship a pair of YouTubers more commonly adored by twelve year olds?!

That's Emma-speak for "I am SOPHISTICATED Phan Trash."

Be more silly.  Laugh more.  Have more days out with friends.  Take your shoes off and run along a beach.  And... Do other things that don't resemble tampon commercials.  Look, I'm just saying HAVE FUN.

Or rather, the candle is telling you to do that.  And who are you to turn down life advice from a candle?!

BE HONEST!

This candle was the reason I bought the set in the first place.  Because honesty is my middle name.

Okay, so... It's actually Jane, but... Sshh.

Look, so many problems in life can be solved by just being honest with each other.  You don't have to be tactless, rude or cruel.  I'm not advocating you going around being all "ew, you like that skirt?  It makes your ass look fat and the colour makes me want to dry heave."  Believe it or not, there is a way to be honest without being needlessly brutal.  You just have to be truthful and open, whilst maintaining your tact.  You also don't have to give your negative opinions if you're not asked for them.  It's not dishonest to decide not to say that you hate someone's outfit, or that their new perfume smells like wet dog, for example.

But when honesty is required, you should always give it.  For example, if you don't want to do something that a friend thinks you're excited to do, you should tell that person - without them having to drag the truth out of you.  Because keeping it to yourself and then blurting out at the last moment that you never wanted to do it in the first place?  SUCKS.  It hurts.  And if you can't see that it hurts, even if a person is saying "hey, I wish you'd been honest, because now I'm hurt," might I suggest some kind of empathy eye-test?!  

Be honest with the people around you - with tact and compassion taken into consideration - and they will respect you a whole lot more than they will if you keep everything to yourself, lie to them or purposefully withold select information.    Even if you choose not to be entirely honest in order to protect someone's feelings, when they find out you've not told them the truth, they're quite possibly going to be angry and upset.  And that's because nobody likes to feel as though people aren't being honest with them.  

So, suck it up and just be truthful.

But, you know, feel free to sugar-coat your honesty a little more than this.

BE KIND!

We all have bad days.  We all get frustrated and angry.  We can all be selfish.  We all behave in ways we're not proud of when we're hungry.  Okay, that last one might just be me...

But seriously, would it be so hard to take a little extra time to consider the people we share our lives - and the wider world - with?  

Let's think a little harder about how our words and actions affect others.  

Let's hold doors open for people.

Let's offer up our seats for someone else on a busy bus or train.

Let's genuinely put other people before ourselves, now and then.

I can remember, way back in the mists of time, attending a school assembly on the subject of "Small Acts of Kindness."  I was about fifteen at the time, and my Head of Year was talking about how seemingly insignificant things we do for someone else can really make an impact on that person's day.  As you can imagine, in a school full of teenagers, several of the audience members were more interested in whispering amongst themselves, or messing with their hair, or imagining a future in which they'd have mobile phones that didn't look like bricks and which featured a wider selection of games than just Snake...

But I remember really listening to that assembly and it having a massive impact on me.  Partly because I was a largely friendless nerd who had nothing better to do but listen, but also because, even at that young age, I'd already experienced just how true the message my Head of Year was conveying actually was.

Just a couple of years earlier, when I was being horrifically bullied on the school bus (at a different school), there had been a day when, despite the phlegm-missiles being spat in my direction, or the words that cut like machetes that were whispered into my ears - and by extension, the ears of anyone close by - a boy I didn't know all that well had come and sat next to me on that bus.  And, upon seeing and hearing what was going on, he had turned and snapped: "Why don't you leave her alone?!"

They didn't, of course, and he ended up being bullied as well, as a result.  But that little act of kindness made me feel less alone.  It made me smile, at a time when I had nothing to smile about.  He went on to become a friend and, even though we lost touch many, many years ago (when we were both still in our teens), I've never forgotten him, or the kindness he showed.

The kids in that assembly hall with me all those years ago, laughed when our Head of Year told us that just giving someone a smile, or opening a door for them, could make a difference to their day.  But I knew it was true back then and I know it to be true now.  In the last three months, regular readers of this blog will know that I've struggled with depression.  And truly, just having a stranger smile and hold a door, or a check-out operator make chit-chat with me, has genuinely made the difference between me thinking the world is a dark, nasty, friendless place, and thinking that actually, there is goodness to be found.  Sounds crazy, but it's true.

So, be kind.  Help someone out, without any expectation of reward.  Consider how your actions affect others.  Tell the people that you care about that they are amazing.

I've been binge-watching Crazy Ex Girlfriend a LOT lately and I have zero regrets.

I never expected, as I unwrapped this unassuming box of three scented candles, that the contents would have the power to give me a new perspective on life.  But somehow, they have.  I needed something to make me focus on the positive, instead of the negative.  I needed a new motto to kick-start my 2017.

And now I have one: Be silly.  Be Honest.  Be kind.

I'm going to give it a try.  Feel free to join me.

Do Not Listen To A Word I Say (Just Listen To What I Can Keep Silent)...

"Do not listen to a word I say," the Manic Street Preachers sang, on a track taken from their 1994 masterpiece, The Holy Bible.  "Just listen to what I can keep silent."

I've recently realised that I'm much too good at keeping things to myself.  

It sounds like a positive thing; I can be trusted with secrets, I don't upset my friends by telling them I don't like their outfits, for example and I am not someone who's going to criticise your life choices (unless they're, you know, really bad).  

But it's not all positive.  In fact, there are times when keeping things to myself is a wholly bad thing.  Because, I'm not likely to tell you if you've upset me.  I'm much more likely to brood on it, internalising my feelings until it starts to feel like my stomach is trying to eat itself and I forget what sleep actually feels like.  And that, my friends, is not good.  In fact, doing that to myself is, I've realised, a very bad idea indeed.

The fact is, we're all capable of phrasing things so that they don't upset the people who need to hear them any more than is absolutely unavoidable.  Unless we're genuinely terrible people, we know that if we don't like a dinner someone has prepared for us, we say "I'm afraid I'm not keen on this" or words to that effect, rather than: "This is vile, you clearly don't have a clue how to cook."  So, why is it so much harder to make a tactfully phrased comment when someone has upset us?!

I need to learn that when someone says or does something that causes me emotional pain, it's absolutely my right to say so.  I don't have to scream and shout, but there's nothing wrong with saying: "I didn't like the way you spoke to me/treated me and I'd appreciate it if it didn't happen again."  After all, if someone is a real friend, the last thing they'll want to have done is upset me, surely?!  They won't overreact by my telling them I was hurt by them?!

I guess the problem is, people have overreacted, before.  Massively.

Too often, we live in a world in which people feel they can speak or do as they please, but when they're called out on it, they take offence.  Just look at Donald Trump, for crying out loud; he's a man used to getting away with whatever he likes, but when his disgusting behaviour is rightly highlighted as being wrong, he goes on the defensive.

Other times, people take perfectly valid comments on their behaviour as massive personal insults and they play the victim.  This has happened to me, where I've been well within my rights to say "can you not speak/behave that way towards me, please?  I find it really hurtful," and the other person has responded by making out that I've deeply wounded them and I should apologise.

Gaslighting, much?!

One thing I've always tried to do is accept criticism.  If someone tells me I've hurt them unintentionally, my response is always to apologise and try to ensure I don't do it again.  But I've encountered so many people in my life whose go-to response is either to get angry and defensive, or to wail and cry and make themselves the victim in the situation, that now I'm stuck in a place where I all-too-often feel that I genuinely can't say anything to people who've upset me, especially if it's obvious that they've done it without meaning to.

And sure, in some ways, that doesn't have to be a problem, particularly if it's not a big upset.  If you're aware that a person has perhaps just chosen their words unwisely in a face-to-face conversation, where you don't always have the time to consider your responses before they come hurtling out of your mouth, then it's fair enough to write it off.  We don't always have to say something, because sometimes we can rationalise that there was no malice meant.

But there are times when someone will say or do something and, even if it wasn't done with any cruel intentions, it hits a vulnerable spot within us and we know we're going to take it to heart.  And, of course, there are times when people do things and it's not entirely unintentional, too.

In those instances, we shouldn't feel as though we can't speak out.  We shouldn't be surrounding ourselves with anyone we can't be open and honest, with.  Honesty is a key requirement for any kind of relationship, be it friendly, romantic or family-based.  

If we're feeling hurt or angry and we internalise those feelings, it's only going to lead to further negativity down the line.  Whether that's because we make ourselves stressed and ill by bottling things up, or whether it's because we eventually can't keep it in any longer and snap at someone long after the event, the end result is still the same.  We're going to feel worse.  They are probably going to feel worse.  Trust me on this, because I've been on that side of it, too.  

So. I'm making myself a promise.  If someone has hurt me, or made me mad enough that I brood on it and can't just write it off, I'm going to try harder to speak out.  Not to yell at them, or cut them out of my life, or anything drastic like that, but just to tell them: "Hey, that upset me."  

It's got to be better than keeping everything bottled up, right?!