Let's Talk About Projecting...

It's been something of a weird week.

You know how every now and then (daily, if you're really "lucky"), you encounter someone on social media, who is clearly intent on doing nothing of note with their lives, beyond attacking anyone whose views differ to theirs and who takes their trolling to weird, obsessive levels?  Well, I "met" one of those people, this week.

I had read - with horror - someone calling themselves a "Christian" on Twitter, thanking Kevin Spacey for conflating his coming out as gay with his being accused of preying on a minor.  The "Christian" was thanking Spacey because, in their words, he had "proved that all gays are paedos."

Now, I had quite a visceral reaction to that tweet.  So, I wrote about it, reminding anyone who might read my response that equating gayness with a predilection for assaulting the under-aged is enormously harmful and is nothing more than an outdated, homophobic stereotype.

When you use social media to try to make a serious point about something that polarises people (and, sadly, we still live in a world in which there are plenty of vile, homophobic people around, who genuinely view anything that even comes close to equality for the LGBT+ community as some kind of personal attack on them), it's no surprise that you'll end up with pretty drastically different responses from both sides of the argument.  And so it came to be that the following morning, I awoke to various tweets of agreement with what I'd said, as well as several angry "religious" people, telling me that being gay is unnatural and that therefore I shouldn't be defending "people who are often child molesters."

It was your average case of "like" the supporters, "block" the haters.

And then I encountered someone else.  This was a person who'd set themselves up as Kevin Spacey's chief cheerleader.  Their profile was littered with "TEAMSPACEY" nonsense and their tweets were largely attacks on Anthony Rapp's version of events, combined with effusive praise for Kevin Spacey's acting abilities (which have no real bearing on his personality outside of film sets, but hey, those straws are just too pretty not to clutch at, right?!).  I entered into a very brief debate with this person, but quickly realised that this was either a troll who'd set up a fan page purely to annoy or upset anyone who believes Anthony Rapp's story (truly pathetic, if so), or a genuinely obsessive fan who either can't or won't listen to both sides of the matter (truly sad, if so).

I thought I'd blocked them, but I guess I didn't, because a couple of days later, when I retweeted someone else's comment regarding the enormous problem Hollywood seems to have with sexual harassment and abusive behaviour, the weird fan/troll reappeared in my mentions.

I'm going to cut a very long story short here and just say: After I blocked the account, this freak decided to set up a Twitter page pretending to be me, fill it with homophobia and racism and tried to discredit me as a children's author.  It took several days and multiple reports to Twitter as well as a conversation with the police to finally get it taken down.  All that palava, simply because one seriously messed up person was angry that I had spoken out against Kevin Spacey's "I don't remember assaulting a minor, oh and by the way, I now choose to live as a gay man" pathetic excuse for an "apology."

The thing is, the freakish troll/obsessive fan did get me thinking about something.  They got me thinking about the way we project ourselves and our flaws onto other people when we're feeling cornered.  The way too often, people can't acknowledge their own mistakes, so apply them to someone else, instead.

See, there were multiple other fake accounts this troll was using to attempt to harass and attack me (giving her/him/itself away in the process, because we all know trolls are incredibly stupid).  One such account accused me of writing vile homophobic things and said they were going to report me for it.  But by this point, having done some digging and discovered that the homophobic and racist tweets this weirdo was trying to attribute to me on the Twitter page they'd set up in my name, were actually written years ago under a different name, possibly by the troll themselves, I realised that all they were really doing was projecting their own grossness onto me.  And as one of my lovely friends put it, anyone from Twitter HQ could scroll through my tweets right back to the very first one I ever posted and they would never, ever find a single instance of homophobia or racism, because that's the exact opposite of what I am.  But if they checked that troll's various fake persona accounts?  They'd find it in spades. 

In short, they couldn't attack me with anything, because I was talking sense and I hadn't done anything wrong.  They only thing they could use against me was their own vile opinions, rewritten as though I had said them.  They had to take their own inner ugliness and try to force it onto me, to make me the bad guy in the situation.

It's exceptionally common to come across someone who does this in an argument.  Sometimes, it's someone who doesn't know you (like the freak from Twitter), who believes they can drag down your character by projecting their own vile opinions onto you, despite those views being the polar opposite of your own.  In fact, that form of projection happens a lot on social media, when strangers who are losing a debate suddenly decide that attack is the best form of defence (never works, when what you're trying to defend is indefensible, but it's the last measly weapon they have, so they sling it your way, just the same).

But sometimes, it's people who do know you.  People who know what your weak spots are and can therefore hit that little bit harder (or at least try to).

From the friend who is always late, who might moan at you for arranging get-togethers at awkward times (thus making their tardiness somehow your fault), to the person who has dropped you like a stone and yet claims it's the other way around, most of us have experienced some form of projection at least once in our lives.

Prior to Kevin Spacey's most deluded fan, the last time someone projected themselves onto me was actually right here on this blog.  I received a comment from someone telling me that I "have never once acknowledged (my) own behaviour" in the argument I had with a friend, almost exactly a year ago.  I copied that line and sent it to various family members and friends, because it was honestly hilarious, as were the responses from said family and friends when they read it.  It was hilarious because not only was it not true of me (I've opened up about the mistakes I made so many times, it would be pointless to rehash all that again, now), it would definitely be fair to say that the person leaving the comment had never really considered the consequences of their own behaviour. 

So, yes.  Projecting is something that most of us have encountered and to be honest, it's probably something that most of us have also done, whether we want to admit it or not.  And since my encounter on Twitter this week, I've been thinking about it a lot.

The thing about projecting is that it's very easy.  It's much, much harder to look at our own behaviour critically than it is to just shrug our shoulders and paint someone else as the baddie.  

And obviously, I know I'm not innocent.  I've had moments when I've thought "pah, that person is being really selfish/lazy/obsessive" or whatever else, when in fact it's me that's in the wrong and doing the exact thing I'm accusing them of, but I've not been able to see it, either because I've been too angry or upset to recognise it, or because I've refused to look at all.

Analysing our own behaviour isn't always pleasant.  It leads us to realise that we're sometimes guilty of things we know we shouldn't have done.  Accepting that is hard.  But it's vital that we do, otherwise we don't learn anything.  

Looking at a situation from another person's viewpoint isn't always easy, either.  We live in our own heads - we are the lead character in our own life stories.  It's hard to place yourself in someone else's shoes, especially when you're angry or hurt with them.  But it's important to try.  People's words and actions often make far more sense when you've tried to analyse what they must have been feeling at the time and why.  I can remember being really mad about something someone said to me for ages, until I thought about the emotional place she was in at the time and the way she was probably perceiving things and I realised that her words had come from a place of hurt, rather than vindictiveness.  Once I'd acknowledged that, the words that had hurt me so much, just didn't seem to sting like they had, before.  

At the end of the day, projecting is lazy.  It's a way of absolving ourselves of any guilt we carry in a situation.  It's a way of avoiding looking at ourselves, for fear of finding something we don't like.  Rather than tell ourselves "wow, I was really dishonest in that situation," why not call someone else a liar?  Instead of admitting "I'm being so selfish right now," we can just throw that out at someone else and never look inwardly.  

But when we project, all we're doing is throwing objects at a rubber wall.  And deep down, we know they'll all eventually come back and hit us in the face.

So, I'm making a vow to look inward, however much I might dislike some of the things I see about myself.  I'm making a promise to continue to acknowledge my mistakes and try to learn from them.  And to that troll on Twitter: I suggest you do, too.  Because the mirror you're holding up and trying to imply shows me, is actually just a big reflection of yourself.  And if you don't like what it shows, only you can change it.  Trying to cast that reflection onto other people is like trying to squeeze someone into clothes that don't fit.

They fit you.  And that makes you uncomfortable, maybe it's time to think about your own behaviour and stop projecting it onto other people.

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 AM Still Alive...

I don't think any of my New Year's resolutions were to blog more.  Which is a relief, because... Well, aside from the bedtime stories that go up every week (and which are often written a month or more in advance), I'm not doing so great at the old mass communication, thing...

I don't need to do the whole "life has been tough" schtick.  You've heard it.  You know about it (in sketchy details, because duh, I don't want everything in my life to be online).  So, I'm not about to talk about my woes, don't panic.

But I am going to say that those woes are very much affecting my ability to write.

The trouble with having one major life event that has caused enormous emotional upset is that you can relate literally everything to that life event.  You sit down to write a blog about something and then realise it's something you used to do with someone who you can no longer have anything to do with and you just think "THIS SUBJECT IS RUINED, NOW."  

Either that, or you decide that you want to write an honest blog post about your feelings and the pain you're going through.  And then you open up your blog and realise that your last three or four posts have been you doing exactly that.  Which sucks, because writing is a terrific outlet, but nobody wants to be that person who just pours their misery out onto the page over and over again, so you end up saying nothing, instead.

Or, you decide that you'll try to make a helpful post on the subject of the type of trauma you're going through, in the hope of helping others in the same boat.  Only to realise, a paragraph or two in, that you're nowhere near over it enough to be helping anyone.  If anything, you should be seeking out help from someone else.

So, that's what I'm doing.  In a week and a half's time, I'll be starting counselling.  Because, if the random, sudden onslaught of snotty crying I indulged in at gone midnight last night is anything to go by, this one, emotionally battering life event, is not something I'm going to be able to get over without a bit of assistance.  And I don't feel any shame in admitting that.  Sometimes we need help.  And that's okay.

Perhaps I will end up blogging about the counselling process and what it (hopefully) teaches me.  Perhaps I will rediscover my ability to write about other things and I'll suddenly be posting far more often.  Perhaps this is a road that will take a while to walk, and my writing will have to take a bit of a back seat, whilst I throw myself into building my YouTube channel (which you should totally check out, because I can't be all mopey on camera, so it's generally a fun place to spend your time).

Whatever happens, if there are any regular readers out there, wondering where my lists of weird things, or my rants about the world have gone, just be reassured that they'll be back.  I'm still here.  I'm just putting myself back together.

There is nothing I want to do more - besides making YouTube videos - than write.  I have so many blog ideas, so many subjects I want to get my teeth into...  But right now, there's stuff in my brain that cancels out all of that and makes it hard to do.  One of the most depressing - and ironic - things about being a writer, is that when life is hard, all you want to do is write about it, and that writing often comes really easily.  But, when you've poured your heart out onto the page (or the screen), it's done.  You can't keep doing it, despite it being the only thing you have to say - or the only thing you feel able to say.

So, I will be back to my usual blog-y self in time.  But first, I have to get back in touch with who I was before this all happened.  

I'll let you know when I find her.

My Abuse Hangover

There's a phrase I use quite a bit - I've even used it in this blog, over the years - and today, I want to explain a bit more about what it means.  That phrase is "abuse hangover."

Emotional abuse is in the spotlight at the moment, thanks to the current storyline in BBC Radio 4's The Archers.  If you're unfamiliar with The Archers, or don't know what storyline I'm talking about, you can read about it here.

I've talked frequently and openly about my own experience of an emotionally abusive relationship, right here on this very blog.  Emotional abuse and me was one of my first big pieces about what I went through, but I've spoken about it in various other posts and I've even written a semi-autobiographical novel about emotional and psychological abuse (which has had 5* reviews, so please do check it out).

What not many people talk about, however, is what happens months and even years after you leave an abusive relationship and you piece your life back together.  Does what you experienced just disappear over time, leaving no trace?  Do you pop right back to being the person you were before you were abused, or are you changed forever?  Obviously, the experience will be different for everyone.  In the years since I left my abuser, I've spoken to many other survivors and everyone's case is unique.  So, the reason I'm writing this isn't to provide a sweeping reference that covers absolutely every person who has experienced abuse.  It's just not possible to do that.  The reason I'm writing this is to talk about my own "abuse hangover" - what it means for me and what it could mean for other people.

Probably not what you think, Mr Schneebly.

For me, "abuse hangover" is the catch-all term for the little ways in which I'm permanently changed, as a result of what I experienced.  Because no, I'm not the same person I was before I met my ex.  But no, that's not necessarily a bad thing.  First and foremost, let me just say that whilst we generally accept that having a hangover is a negative situation, when I use the word in this context, I'm meaning something less like feeling sick and wishing your brain would stop threatening to explode, and more like "leftovers."  But "abuse leftovers" sounds like the worst dinner in the freaking world, so "abuse hangover" it is...

Like I said, my "hangover" won't necessarily be the same as someone else's.  But by sharing mine, I hope that people will realise that sometimes, a person's past really does affect their present - and future - in strange little ways that you might never have guessed.  It's not an excuse, should that person start behaving in a lousy way, but it can stand as an explanation for some of the things a person does that previously seemed baffling.

So, what weird things make up my "hangover?"

1. I AM OBSESSED WITH THE IDEA THAT MY FEET ARE CONSTANTLY SMELLY AND DISGUSTING.

You'll be hard pressed to find a more wonderful gif, today.

Okay, Trigger warning time.  I'm about to tell you guys a true story and it's not a nice one, so if you're likely to be upset by reading about an abusive dude being pretty appallingly horrible to me, please skip ahead.  I'll write the story in red, so you can see where it ends and it's safe to start reading again:

So, towards the end of my relationship with my abuser, he kind of stopped trying to hide his vile streak and almost revelled in what he could get away with.  One particular day, in the height of Summer, I arrived at his house, wearing sandals and a skirt.  We went up to his room and I kicked off my shoes and sat on his bed.  He stared at me with the kind of look I had long realised wasn't going to lead to anything good, then said: "Your feet smell disgusting."  Now, like I said, it was a very hot day and I'd driven for an hour to get to him, so you know what?  They probably did.  So, I apologised and put my feet on the floor.  That wasn't enough for him, though.  He proceeded to go into a full-on rant about how utterly revolting my feet were, asking me over and over whether I had even bothered to wash, that morning.  No matter how many times I told him that of course I had, he just kept telling me that I was dirty and disgusting.  Then, something in his tone changed.  He looked me straight in the eye and told me to go and wash my feet.  I laughed - probably out of shock and embarrasment - and he raised his voice just enough to be mildly threatening and repeated the order.  Now, usually I did whatever he said, because I'd long since learned that arguing with him got me nowhere.  But I was upset and angry that he was making such a big deal about something I couldn't really help (and they didn't smell anywhere near as bad as he was making out), so I refused.  He grabbed me by the arm, marched me down the corridor to the bathroom, turned the shower on and then stood with his back to the door, blocking my escape.  "Wash.  Your.  Feet."  I did what I was told, all the while feeling utterly humiliated, whilst he watched and laughed.  Only when he was satisfied that I was "clean," was I allowed out of the bathroom and back into his room, again.

I left my abuser five years ago, this Summer.  But, to this day, I am completely and utterly paranoid about my feet.  I will apologise in advance, if I take my shoes off in any situation, even though 99% of the time, my feet don't smell (or if they do, they're no worse than anyone else's).  I live in genuine fear of hot weather making them stinky and I'm constantly scared that someone will comment on it  and I'll be humiliated all over again.  I've been known to visit friends in the Summer and I'll say I'm going to the toilet, but will actually scrub my feet with soap, in the desperate hope that nobody will be disgusted by them.  I am genuinely convinced that a small part of my intense love for Irregular Choice shoes, is actually down to the fact that I'm subconsciously convinced that if my feet look amazing, people are less likely to comment on what they smell like.  Or perhaps I'm trying to reclaim my feet as things to be proud of, rather than ashamed of.  Who knows.  All I do know, is that this isn't something that hasn't really ever gone away.  Nearly five years on and I'm still terrified of being barefoot around people, in case the same thing ever happens again.

2. I'M NOT ENTIRELY CONVINCED THAT ALL MALE-FEMALE FRIENDS AREN'T SECRETLY SLEEPING TOGETHER.

REALLY?!

So, in case the above foot-washing story didn't let you know what kind of a charming, delightful fellow my ex was, let me fill you in a little further.  He basically believed that every woman was, essentially, a "goal."  

Thanks to the fact that he'd thoroughly manipulated and confused me with for more than a year and a half, by swinging from "we're just friends who happen to sleep together," to "I love you, I'll always be with you," by the time I left, I was utterly confused as to what the heck had happened.  What had we even been to each other?!  Consequently, for a long time, I joined that awful group of people who believe that men and women can't be friends without sex getting in the way.  Now, I have male friends who I've literally never been sexually interested in and who have never been sexually interested in me, so I know that that argument is utter rubbish.  But, thanks to having had it drummed into me so often that I was just my ex's "friend," I wasn't sure I could believe my own experience, anymore.  Add to that the fact that my ex was also sleeping with several other "friends," during the course of our relationship, and it might become clear why seeing a guy and girl hanging out immediately made me think "THEY'RE DOING IT."

Now, several years after walking away, I'm back firmly in the "of course men and women can be 'just friends'" camp, but there's an irritating caveat: if I like a guy and he has female friends, my brain is going to torture me with the idea that he's sleeping with literally all of them.  

Last year, I was head over heels for this guy who, briefly, I thought might have a mutual crush on me.  One evening, we were out for drinks (not technically together, but both at the same place and chatting away by the bar), when a girl came over to say hi to him.  She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek.  And I swear to God, I nearly threw up.  Because my brain immediately started needling me: "Why are you even bothering to talk to him?  He's clearly sleeping with her, you moron!"  

I'm not really a clingy person.  I believe that having friends and interests outside of a relationship is healthy and right.  When I'm eventually in a relationship again, if my boyfriend happens to have female friends that he hangs out with, I can say with my hand on my heart that I know that I won't badger him about it, or accuse him of doing anything, because I'm just not that sort of person.  Trust is vital in a relationship and I wouldn't be with anyone I didn't trust.  But whilst I'm single, I kind of get the feeling that any time I see a guy I like, chatting to a girl, I'm just going to assume that they're sleeping together and it's going to stop me from being brave enough to be flirty or from trying to make it obvious that I like him in any way.  It's like my brain's way of reminding me that my ex was sleeping with pretty much every female friend he ever mentioned.  Thanks for that, brain.

3. I HAVE AN OBSESSION WITH DEFENDING MYSELF AND OTHERS AND MAINTAINING SOME KIND OF MORAL JUSTICE.

Like some sort of caped crusader...

Basically, this isn't just an "abuse hangover."  It's also a reaction to being bullied really badly (like... REALLY badly) at secondary school.

When you're bullied, you're often told to "ignore them and they'll get bored."  The fact is, that doesn't work.  At all.  If you ignore a bully, all they learn from it is that you won't fight back, so you're a convenient target to continue picking on.  I'm not advocating smacking a bully around the face with your school bag or anything, but sitting in silence and willing them to go away isn't going to do the trick, either.

Fast forward to my relationship with my abuser and he had me so manipulated that I was convinced that he "couldn't help" the way he was treating me.  The poor thing had been abused as a child and didn't know any better.  He was scared, because nobody had ever shown him love before and he just didn't know how to react to it.  He needed me to put up, shut up and support him.

I'm using this gif a LOT lately, but that's because it's SO APPROPRIATE.

Cut to the day I finally snapped and walked away from him, and my ex said something that has haunted me ever since: "I know exactly how I've treated you and I don't feel guilty, because you let me do it."

Of course, what I took from that was that I had been to "blame" for what had happened to me.  I let him abuse me.  And all because I was trying to quietly support him, rather than judge him, which was the very thing he'd told me over and over again that he needed.

Counselling with an amazing abuse charity helped me to realise that I wasn't to blame and that the way he treated me was a choice he made, rather than something he couldn't help.  But I've never quite been able to shake off the belief that my silence worsened the situation - both with my school bullies and my abusive ex.

And that's why these days, I will leap to my own defence in a heartbeat.  I will leap to the defence of others in a heartbeat.  I am physically unable to stop myself from responding to someone who has wronged me, or whose behaviour has hurt or upset me or another person.  If you snap at me without reason, I will call you on it.  If you say something about me that isn't true, I will demand that you listen to the facts before spouting rubbish.  If you're picking on someone else, I am going to come to their defence.

In a way, this is the "hangover" I'm almost glad I have.  Yes, in the first few years after I left my ex, it made me slightly too reactionary.  I would defend myself too vocally, when it wasn't entirely necessary.  I was desperate not to be taken advantage of, or be seen as "weak" (one of my ex's favourite words to sling at me).  But, nowadays, I've learned to judge situations better.  I know when to walk away from an argument and I know when I've simply taken something harmless the wrong way (and therefore don't need to say anything).  These days, I'm not going to jump down your throat over nothing, but I'm also not going to meekly sit back, whilst you insult me, shout at someone I love, or treat another person badly.  I'm going to stand up for myself.  I'm going to stand up for my loved ones.  I'm going to go to bat for someone I've never even met before, who's being trolled online.  Why?  Because I'm determined never to be mistreated ever again.  I'm determined to stop anyone else ever being mistreated.  If I was a superhero, I'd be Anti-Abuse Girl.  Although that's a rubbish title, pretend I didn't say that...

Maybe I'll form a club.

I'm not trying to make out that I go around, starting arguments for the sake of proving a point.  Nope, nope, big bag of nope.  I actually don't like arguments; too often, they descend into downright nastiness.  So, where there's a person trying to start one, you'll find me ending it.

That's not to say that I'm big and brave about it.  Most of the time, if I'm standing up to someone mean, I'm like a swan - on the surface, I'm gliding to victory, but underneath, my legs are thrashing wildly.

Or, to put it another way, I'm Rachel from Friends:

My words are strong, but my hands are all shaky.

Still, I have a kind of "feel the fear and do it anyway," attitude when it comes to vocally sticking up for what's right.

Recently, I was told by someone: "Nobody ever needs to come to your defence, because you do such an incredible of job of politely but firmly defending yourself, when necessary."  For a girl who spent her entire adolescence silently pretending that she couldn't hear the vile things bullies were yelling at her, and who rarely ever defended herself when the man she loved took it upon himself to verbally abuse her, I took that as a pretty damn good compliment.

Basically, I am "very sweet" (another recent compliment, this time from my best friend), kind and thoughtful.  But I'm a terrier.  Pet me and I'll roll over and show you my tummy.  But you try to start on me - or anyone I love - and I'll bite you in the most polite, grammatically correct manner you've ever been bitten.

4. I RECOGNISE ABUSE AND I WILL CALL IT OUT WHEN I SEE IT.

And I'm totally a nun, too, did I mention that?

Not all "hangovers" are bad and this is a classic example of a good one (as is the one above, really - defending yourself and the people you love is hardly a bad thing, after all).  In fact, last month, I wrote about this particular "hangover" and called it my "super power."  So, I won't go into loads of detail again, because regular readers know what I'm going to say, already.  Suffice to say that if you're capable of recognising when someone is being manipulative, controlling or trying to gaslight you, it becomes much easier to cut ties, or to begin to distance yourself from them.  At the very least, if you recognise that someone is displaying abusive behaviour, you can consider yourself forewarned and can work out a way of dealing with that person, if they're someone you can't avoid.  Knowing what the red flags of abuse are is genuinely life-saving knowledge, so having it is something to be proud of and to hold onto.

5. I WILL NOT TOLERATE MANIPULATIVE PEOPLE.

Again, this is largely a positive hangover, although it makes me super duper sensitive to this stuff.  Basically, it goes hand-in-hand with the point above.  If you so much as try to manipulate me, I can see it coming a mile off.  And it will make me want to smack you in the face with a wet fish.

There were many ways in which my ex abused me, but the key throughout the entire thing was manipulation.  It's why I am utterly disgusted by manipulative people now, because I know the enormous damage that their behaviour can cause.  

The trouble with manipulation is that it's - usually - subtle.  The whole point of it is that it messes with a person's mind, so that they make choices that they otherwise wouldn't make, or they start thinking about things that had never entered their head, before.  So, whilst I can see manipulative people as though they have a big, flashing sign above them, with "MANIPULATOR" written on it, other people might not be able to.  And that means that sometimes, I will take an instant dislike to someone, for reasons that others can't understand.

There are people in my life - not close, thank God, but in my life, just the same - who are vile, manipulative pieces of poo.  And there are other people in my life who think that those poo-folk are the best thing since sliced bread.  Unfortunately, that can lead to arguments, or accusations that I'm being oversensitive.  I've lost friends in the past, because I've been able to see through someone and they haven't.  And hey, interesting fact: I've been proved right, long after the friendship was dead in the water.

Please, just trust me on this.  I know manipulation when I see it.  If I tell you that someone is deliberately trying to wind you (or me) up, or seeking to cause trouble, give me the benefit of the doubt. 

And even if you don't want to believe that someone you like and trust might actually be a manipulative swine, accept that I see them as such and don't try to force me to make nice with them.  If I see even the slightest similarity between your friend and my ex, you can bet your ass that I'd rather stick my face in a wasp nest than spend any more time with that person than I absolutely have to.  

And I'm terrified of wasps.

6. I'M EVEN MORE SENSITIVE THAN I USED TO BE...

You and me both, Chan-Chan Man.

Look, I'm going to level with you: I'm going to be sensitive.  I'm going to bristle at odd things, worry about trivial matters and brood over stuff.  Not always.  Not even on a daily basis, but every now and then.  Because, once in a while, something will trigger a memory and I'll react to what you think is nothing in a way that you think is flipping weird.

Just please talk to me, when I do that.  Ask me what's up.  Because - as strange as this sounds - I might not even realise why I've reacted oddly, until I'm forced to think about it and I remember something from my relationship that I've buried nice and deep in my subconscious.  Something which has been nudged awake by a seemingly trivial word or action.

I'm 99.9% over what I went through (I don't really think you're ever 100% over something like that; I think you carry a small part of it with you forever, because as I said earlier, abuse is fairly life-changing).  But that doesn't mean that I won't sometimes want to talk about something that I went through.  And when I do that, I might cry.  That's okay.  If you're there, just listen and give me a cuddle.  Reassure me that I'm doing really well.  Because I am.  Almost five years after walking away from abuse, I know how it's changed me.  I know what most of my biggest triggers are.  I know how to look after myself.  But that doesn't mean that I don't need a hug and some reassurance, now and then.

And if you can organise me a cuddle from this guy, PLEASE DO.

If you know someone who has experienced abuse, their "hangover" might be completely different to mine.  But they probably have one, even if they've never stopped to work out what it is.  The best advice I could give anyone reading this, who knows or loves someone who lived through abuse in their past, is to never expect them not to be coloured by their experience.  Let them talk about it when they need to, but don't push them to, if they're not ready.  Let them figure out how their experience changed them, in their own time and be there to support them when they do.

Oh, and let them have a nice long lie in.  It is a hangover, after all.

Let Me Tell You About My Super Power...

SUPER EM!  My powers don't extend to photo manipulation, sadly.

I've been using a phrase for a really long time and it's only recently that I've realised that it's the wrong one.

Four and a half years ago, I found the strength to walk away from an abusive relationship.  I don't use the term "found the strength" lightly, because believe me, walking away and putting myself back together again was the hardest thing I have ever done.

Since then, as with most survivors, I've learnt that some things trigger memories of what I experienced and I will therefore be more sensitive to them.  Generally, once you know what your triggers are, you can either avoid them, or work on ways to protect yourself, should you encounter them.  Another thing you learn, as you're rebuilding yourself, is that certain things you say and do are likely to be influenced by what you went through.  I might react strangely to something that seems harmless and I have to be able to recognise that and understand where my reaction comes from.  I call those reactions and triggers my "abuse hangover."

"Abuse hangover" is, for me at least, a good umbrella term for all those funny little reactions I have to what seem like minor issues, or for the (thankfully ever-decreasing) list of things that can be triggering.  But there's one thing that shouldn't be lumped into that catch-all term and that is my ability to spot abusive tendencies in people.

In the first months and even years after I walked away, got help and put myself back together again, I  would sometimes see someone behaving in a snide, manipulative manner and feel that I had to have a bit of a word with myself before I inwardly judged them for it.  "Oh, Emma.  It's your 'abuse hangover' talking," I'd tell myself.  And sometimes, it really was just that; the person was having an off day, or I was only seeing half of the situation and it wasn't fair to make an assumption without all of the facts.  It's true to say that when you're fresh out of an abusive situation, you're often highly attuned to the signs you need to be looking out for, because even if you're receiving counselling, or support from an abuse charity (as I was), you're often still in that place where you can't believe you missed all the red flags when they were dangled right in front of your nose for so long.  Your senses are heightened and any behaviour that you perceive as bad is going to be magnified in your mind.

But there comes a point where it's not just the "hangover" from what you experienced that's colouring your judgement.  There comes a point - perhaps, as in my case, long after you've finished having support and you've left the abuse well behind in your past - when you realise that recognising abusive behaviour when you see it isn't a "hangover."  It's a gift.  More than that, it's a freaking SUPER POWER.

Being able to spot when a person is being manipulative, coercive, controlling or purposefully intimidating is a skill that, in a perfect world, we would all have.  If we did, perhaps abuse would happen far less.  Sadly, the fact is that abusers are clever.  Manipulative people know which strings to pull, to ensure they remain sympathetic and blameless.  Coercive people know how to make you feel as though you made the choice that they wanted you to make.  Control can be so subtle that you don't even realise you're being controlled until it's much too late.

People often pride themselves on believing that abuse - in any form - could never happen to them, but the fact is that abuse is insidious and we often don't even realise that it's happening to us.  I certainly didn't.  

But now, four and a half years after I left my abuser, I've put myself back together, learnt a whole heap about abuse, moved forwards with my life and, crucially, I know the signs, now.  I'd never be arrogant or foolish enough to suggest that I could never possibly succumb to any form of abuse again; as I said earlier, abusers are clever and manipulative.  But it would be harder.  These days, I recognise when someone is trying to manipulate me or others.  I can tell when someone is behaving in a coercive manner.  I know when someone is gaslighting.

Those are skills to be proud of.  They were hard "won" and they will protect me as I continue to move forward through life.  That's why I refuse to call them a "hangover," anymore.  They're my super powers and I'm lucky to have them, even if I did come by them in a particularly awful manner.

Abusive people: I SEE YOU.

Now, I don't claim to have all the answers.  Being able to tell when someone has abusive tendencies is one thing, but knowing how to deal with the situation (if avoiding that person forevermore isn't an option) is a puzzle I have yet to solve.  Knowing what your triggers are is a good starting point and being able to have coping methods in place is always wise.  Even if you simply go to your metaphorical "happy place" if you encounter an abusive person, that's a helpful step towards not letting them get under your skin.  Remember you're free, now.  That ability to spot abusive behaviour in the first place is testament to what you went through to get to where you are, today.  So, there's no shame in going to your mental happy place, if you can't avoid an abusive person.

For the record, my happy place looks like this:

Oh, so happy.  So very, very happy.

In summary, there's absolutely no way I intend to write off my ability to spot abusive behaviour in a person as a mere "hangover" from what I experienced.  It's a skill.  It's a gift.  It's a super power.  

If anyone needs me, I'll be over here, wearing my pants over my jeans.

Reasons I Fail vs Reasons I Am EPIC

I REGRET NOTHING.

So, I have this thing, where I sometimes feel compelled to list the reasons why I am an epic, epic fail.  The trouble is, all too often, we're more likely to self-deprecate than we are to build ourselves up.  And the fact is, almost nobody is made entirely of flaws.  We're all made up of reasons why we're stupid and reasons why we're actually awesome.  Those reasons fuse together to make a fully rounded person and that's actually pretty cool.  So, you see, I am a total failure as a writer, because I just used "actually" twice in quick succession, but I'm a total epic win as a writer, because I'm attempting to use my blog to make you - yes, YOU - realise that your flaws are just human and that being human and having flaws is OKAY.

With all of that in mind, I've decided to have a look at some of my biggest reasons for failure and contradict them all with some of the reasons I actually think I'm doing okay at being a human.  Although someone needs to take the word "actually" away from me, before I use it again and am forced to add "ACTUALLY ADDICTION" to the list of fails...

FAIL: I am extraordinarily sensitive.

You know how some people are really tough and nothing ever seems to affect them, emotionally?  I am not one of those people.  In fact, I am the polar opposite of those people.  I cry at adverts.  I have been known to lie awake until the early hours of the morning, regretting a casual sentence I may have uttered once ten years ago, because I'm suddenly concerned that someone might have taken it the wrong way and been upset about it and now it's too late to take it back.  I've been known to lie awake at night analysing things other people have said to me, brooding over whether or not I've taken it the wrong way.  Literally everything I do and say is tempered with a desperate need to not upset anyone, combined with a constant fear that I'm not a nice enough person.  Add to that the fact that I have the total opposite to "thick skin" and you have someone who bruises like a peach in the emotional sense, given the slightest metaphorical knock.  It's annoying and I hate it and I want to be all tough and strong and ROAR, FEAR ME, WORLD!  But that's not me and it never will be.

WIN: I am extraordinarily sensitive.  SEE WHAT I DID THERE?!

Sometimes, your flaw doesn't always have to be a flaw.  I am massively sensitive and in a strange way, it's like a bizarre superpower.  I can tell when someone is upset, even when they're doing a highly convincing job of being all "I'm fine."  I know how to talk to someone who needs a bit of emotional support.  I am tactful, because I know what it's like to accidentally take someone's words the wrong way and be awake until 3am internally beating myself up because I can't stop replaying them over and over.  Someone once told me that I'd be one of the first people they'd go to if they were upset about something, because they could guarantee that I would be sensitive enough to handle it in the way they needed.  I'm taking that as quite the compliment, frankly.  Epic fail done good.

FAIL: I have really bizarre fears.

I am scared of having my blood taken.  Like, actually terrified to the point that when someone has to take my blood, I freeze and they often can't get any out.  Weirdly, I don't have a phobia of needles in the slightest (I have tattoos and I get an annual flu jab because of my asthma) and blood in general doesn't freak me out all that much.  But somehow, the idea of having it deliberately taken from me makes me literally shake with fear.

I also suffer with emetophobia - the fear of vomit.  If someone is ill around me, I will obsessively wash my hands until the skin peels, because I am so terrified of catching a bug and being sick.  I can't handle seeing anyone throw up (to the point that when I watched a YouTube video with my best friend recently, she had to pre-warn me that the guy was sick in it, in order to give me adequate time to look away in horror).  When suffering from a stomach bug, I have genuinely been known to pace around my bedroom, repeating: "I will not be sick, I will not be sick, I will not be sick..." like some gruesome mantra, until the very last minute, when I inevitably panic and am forced to quite literally face my phobia head-on (or rather, head down).  I work in childcare and it's an in-joke amongst my colleagues that if a kid is sick, I will rush out of the room on "urgent business."  The "urgent business" generally being "I MUST GET AWAY FROM THIS DESPICABLE HORROR BEFORE I EMPTY THE CONTENTS OF MY STOMACH IN RESPONSE."  It's a genuine problem.  The thought of someone being ill around me prompts a massive fight or flight response, in which my heart goes crazy, I get breathless and I shake.  I'm a terrible, terrible friend to be around if you're unwell and I'm sorry.

I am also scared of spiders to the point that I will leave a room if I see one, depending on its size (if it's little, it can stay, as long as I know where it is at all times).  And wasps... Don't get me started on those evil little bastards.  I got stung on my ear once and the whole thing swelled up to twice the size.  They're vile.  I need to be warned of their presence immediately, so that I can exit the situation as quickly as possible.

Thanks, Dan and Phil.  Especially Phil, because reasons. Such strong reasons.

WIN: I am SO much tougher than I ever realised.

I'm a survivor.  Insert Destiny's Child gif here, because I'm still too busy looking at the one above.

I got bullied to the point of feeling genuinely suicidal when I was only twelve years old.  I lived through being told I was ugly and unlovable on a daily basis.  Being spat at, tripped up, reduced to "it" rather than "Emma" or even "her."  But I never stopped believing that one day, life would get better.  And once I was older, I trained in being a "listener" and gave up my lunchtimes at Sixth Form to help run a counselling service for lower school kids who were being bullied and needed someone to open up to.

Then, years later, I fell in love with a man who abused me psychologically, emotionally and sexually.  I became a total and utter shell of who I was before.  I was so manipulated and confused that I believed I deserved everything he said and did.  But, somehow (and believe me when I say it was the hardest thing I ever did), I found the strength to walk away.  I sought help and rebuilt my life.  Then, when I was in a much better place, I used my experiences to become an anti-abuse advocate online and to write my debut adult novel, which aims to raise awareness of psychological abuse and the damage it can cause.

What I'm saying is: I lived through some awful things.  Things that led me to the lowest point in my whole life.  But it got better.  I fought to turn those horrific experiences into something positive, so I could try to help other people.  Turning a negative into a positive isn't easy and I'm proud that I've never stopped trying.  I might be a bit of an oversensitive twerp, but it turns out that you can't keep an oversensitive twerp down.

FAIL: I am SO clumsy.

Oh, this could so easily be me...

Literally in the time it took to upload that gif to my blog, I have attempted to pick up the drink that's on the table beside me, got the coaster stuck to the bottom of the glass, shook said glass and sprayed my face with the contents, whilst sending the coaster flying across the room.  

If someone is going to fall over, it's almost always going to be me.  If someone is going to knock something down, it will definitely be me.  I frequently break things and have no idea how I've done it and today at work, I trod in playdough and trailed it all down the brand new carpet in the corridor, before I even noticed something was amiss.

Somehow - and I really don't know how - I have never broken any bones.  Also, for reasons I will never fully understand, I'm quite good at ice skating (seriously, me on ice with blades attached to my feet should not be a situation that ends well).  But for the most part, my life is one incident of utter clumsiness after the next.  My legs are covered in bruises and I have no idea how I even got most of them.  

Seriously, if you need something broken, dropped or spilt, I am your woman.

WIN: I write books that people seem to like!

I went onto Amazon earlier, to get the link to my novel (pictured above), because I figured it would be handy to put it in this blog, seeing as I was talking about my experience of living through abuse, earlier.  When I searched for it on Amazon, it came up as having four 5* reviews.  Last time I looked, it only had two, so obviously I was very keen to read the new ones!  

Nothing - and I genuinely mean that - makes me feel as proud and thrilled as when someone compliments my writing.  I don't do it because I want to be rich and famous (although I wouldn't turn down a million pound movie deal, if anyone's reading this...).  I do it because I love it.  There is nothing in the world that I want to do more, in terms of career goals.  Writing, be it creating a blog post like this, crafting a fun and entertaining children's story or the process of actually writing a whole novel, is my greatest passion.  To think that anyone reckons I'm any good at it is incredibly humbling and completely exhilarating all at the same time.

If you'd asked me this time five years ago what my biggest dream was, I'd tell you that it was to have a book published.  Now, I've had three traditionally published and two self published and I think that's something to be pretty damn proud of.

FAIL: I am utterly and completely hopeless when it comes to approaching someone I am romantically interested in.

I have actually written about my personal Five Stages of Having a Crush, before.  Suffice to say, if I like someone, I am more likely to stick pins in my own eyes than face having to tell them, such is my massive fear of rejection (issues, so many issues).  

I can vividly recall one night in September last year, being out for the evening and being graced with the presence of my then real-life crush.  At one point in the proceedings, his friends all went off to the loo/the bar/to discuss the weird short girl eyeing up their mate and my friend disappeared to get a drink.  He was all by himself.  I was standing mere feet away.  So, I wandered over, uttered an entirely awkward line of conversation, he smiled, I panicked and then I pretty much ran away.  I mean, I made the excuse of going to get a drink, but the fact is, I had a drink in my hand.  I was just terrified.  I'm talking "someone has a syringe in their hand and they're tapping my arm to find a vein" kind of terrified.  What if he knew I liked him?  What if he threw up at the mere thought?!  That would be traumatic on two levels.

The trouble is, I'm not sixteen.  I'm thirty bloody three and entirely capable of holding a conversation with almost anyone.  I'm generally fairly comfortable in myself and I reckon I'm a pretty decent human.  Yet, you put me in front of someone I like in THAT way and I turn into the most epic of epic fails you could possibly wish to meet.  Specialities include:

• Spilling my drink on myself.
• Going all giggly and shy.
• Becoming mute OR talking endless nonsense (there is no middle ground).
• Mumbling, because I'm not confident in the utter rubbish I am spouting.
• Turning a delightful shade of puce.

Bizarrely, if someone I like initiates the conversation, I'm generally fine (albeit hugely nervous), but if I have to initiate it?  Good lord, no.  Nine times out of ten, I will sit and think about initiating it, until the chance has passed.  At which point I will go home and cry over not having taken the opportunity because I am an idiot.

WIN: I am, despite all my flaws, happy in myself.

Awkward pose on the dance floor - wooooo!

One good thing about getting older is that you become more attuned to who you are and who you want to be.  You start to realise that you're actually okay with being you and if there are things you still don't like, you learn to either accept them or change them.

I may be an oversensitive, clumsy loser in love with a particularly weird set of phobias, but I'm me.  I'm the only me in the world and that's pretty cool.  All my strange little ways are just what make me unique and anyway, weirdness is good, right?  

For all my flaws, I know that I've got a kind heart, a sensitive soul and a creative brain.  So, I over-analyse stuff and I dance like my Nan, but who cares?!  I cook a bloody decent risotto, so that more than makes up for it.

It's the same for everyone - for all your flaws, there are positive personality traits.  Everyone has a list of negative qualities - it's impossible not to, because nobody can ever be perfect - but we've all got a list of positive attributes, too.  Our goal in life should just be to ensure that the good outweighs the bad and that we don't let ourselves dwell on the negatives for too long.

So, embrace everything that makes you who you are.  You're a big jumble of things, all mixed together to create a whole.  And that's just the way it should be.