Confidence VS Arrogance

Just a smidge.

Last year, I wrote a short blog about why I think arrogance is an absolutely stupid trait (as well as a hideously ugly one).  If you've not read it, please do give it a look, because it's only short and it was written whilst I was determined to poke fun at something I loathe, so it's kind of amusing, too.  Honest.

The thing is, arrogance really is - along with manipulative tendencies - my most hated characteristic in a person.  It's ultimately a really selfish way of being, because arrogance is a trait that relies on a person believing that they're better than everyone else.  And I surely don't have to explain why thinking you're above everyone else is a massively selfish dick move.

All of this has come to the fore again, recently, because of my love of a television show called First Dates.  If you're unfamiliar with the concept, I'll briefly explain:  There's a restaurant in London and everyone who goes there is on a real-life blind date.  You apply to the show, give them a list of what you're looking for in a partner, what you're like and what kind of relationship you want and they match you with another applicant.  You go for dinner together, the date is filmed and at the end, you go into a room together and you have to say - on camera - whether you want to see each other again.  It's a show that can veer wildly between being unashamedly heartwarming and utterly, utterly brutal.

Oh, and just as a warning: if, like me, you're single, you should be aware that quotes like this happen a LOT.  Thanks, Fred.

Anyway, despite the fact that my terminal singledom is rubbed in my face by the sparkly-eyed French dude on the show, week in, week out, I can't help but love tuning in.  Sometimes, I see a couple and I just know they're going to get together.  Other times, I watch someone put up massive barriers and effectively push away their companion before they've even reached dessert.

This week, I saw a woman who I started out rooting for, before literally wanting to scream "GET OUT OF MY TELLY BOX AND RETURN TO THE PITS OF HELL!"

Why?  Because of her arrogance.  I wasn't lying when I said I hate it...

Preach, River, you utter Goddess.

So, this woman was 47.  She didn't look it.  In fact, she barely looked a day over 35.  She was sure of herself, confident and open in her demeanour.  She made an impassioned speech about how women should be allowed to be confident, without being put down for it and I swear, guys, I was with her.  I was with her so hard, I could have whipped out a flag and given it a good old wave.  I wasn't even entirely thrown off when she said she did topless modelling for a scummy newspaper, because hey, she made that choice through her own free-will (regardless of how little I think of the papers who reduce women to tits on page three every day in place of actual news, I don't criticise women who choose to show off their bodies or be proud of them, as long as it's their choice to do so).

But then... Oh God, but then... Then this woman just reduced her own speech to dust and left me wanting to bury myself with it so I didn't have to look at her anymore.  She managed to make everything - everything - about herself and how wonderful she was.  At one point, she asked the guy she was on the date with whether he was having a good time and before he could even answer, she added: "Of course you are, you're with me."   When she picked up her coat from the cloakroom at the end, her date told her that it suited her and she responded: "Well yeah, obviously it does, I look good in everything."

Literally the entire time she was on screen, she was bigging herself up, making every conversation about her and, as it turned out, leading her date on (she'd flirted throughout, even suggesting they snuck off "to the loo for a snog," only to tell him at the end that she didn't like him and wouldn't want to see him again).

And you know what?  I was so disappointed.

I was disappointed because she was bloody right in the first place.  Why shouldn't women recognise their good points and be proud of themselves?  We should build one another up, rather than tear each other down!  But we can do that without our confidence spilling over into arrogance.  We can be proud of who we are, without making everything about us, or putting ourselves in a self-proclaimed position of superiority over everyone else around us.  We can think we're fantastic - and vocalise that - without it stopping us from seeing the good in others, too.

If that woman had exuded confidence, rather than arrogance, I would have stayed on her side.

If I'd thought she was being ironic with her comments - bigging herself up in an almost mocking "bitch, please, I'm FABULOUS" sort of way - I would have stayed on her side.

If she'd dropped the act (and frankly, when someone feels the need to self-validate THAT often, then ironically, there's probably a major lack of confidence that's occurred somewhere along the line) for a few minutes and shown herself to be genuinely interested in other people, or complimentary to someone other than herself, I would have stayed on her side.

Instead, she responded to every compliment the guy paid her with: "I know."

"You've got beautiful eyes."

"I know."

"Your smile is really lovely."

"I know."

"You're becoming a total caricature of a so-called confident person, now."

"I know."

I may have made that last one up.

Look, we should be able to stand up and say "hey, I'm good at X, Y and Z.  I'm proud of my body and I like who I am."  That kind of confidence is important.  And we should be saying those things about other people, too.  

That's where arrogance is a problem.

Because when you arrogantly believe yourself to be so worthy of praise that you're constantly giving it to yourself, when are you looking outside at those around you?  When are you telling someone else that they look good, or that they've achieved something really great?  When you put yourself on the highest pedestal of all, how can anyone around you hope to feel like your equal?

It would have been so easy for that woman - whose side I was so firmly on in the beginning - to have been confident, rather than arrogant.  But the second you place yourself higher than everyone else around you - the second you start banging on about how bloody brilliant you are, rather than listen to someone who's trying to tell you about themselves - that's when you lose me.  And it's when you lose a whole lot of other people, too.  Because, since that episode aired, I've heard a lot of people talking about that woman and being exceptionally negative about her.

I don't want to live in a society where we don't allow anyone to be confident.  I don't want to rip people to shreds, just because they have the audacity to like themselves.  But I don't want arrogance lumped in with confidence, either.  

Confident people are not only able to see their own good points, but the good in others, too.  And they're unafraid to highlight them.  Arrogant people see their own good points and decide that they are, therefore, better than everyone else.

The irony is that not only are most arrogant people not really very confident at all, but they're certainly no better than anyone else, either.  In fact, they're usually the people with the most to learn.

I'd like to see that woman return to the First Dates restaurant.  But I'd like to see her listen to her date, show just a touch of humility and lower her barriers enough for us to see who she really is, beneath the arrogant outbursts.  Because the sad thing is, there's probably someone very nice underneath all that brash exterior.  

Someone worth having confidence in.

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.

Bedtime Story (6/4/2016)

This week's bedtime story is dedicated to all the siblings out there.

To listen to this story as a podcast, just visit this page!

Bryony's Baby

Everyone kept telling Bryony how lucky she was.  "Ooh, you're going to be a big sister," they would coo.  But Bryony didn't feel very lucky.

For the last few months, her mum had been getting tired and she couldn't play all the games they used to play together.  Her dad was fretting and fussing and he didn't seem to have as much time for fun as he used to, either.  And to make things worse, soon there would be a screaming baby to put up with, keeping them all awake half the night and stinking the whole house out with its dirty nappies.  Bryony was going to have to share her toys, as well as her mum and dad and somehow, it didn't really feel very fair.

It wasn't that Bryony didn't like babies.  She loved her friend Becky's baby sister, Lola.  She was cute and funny and she was just learning to crawl.  It was fun to play with her, but Bryony didn't have to live with her.  Bryony could still go home to her own room and keep all of her toys safe from being chewed or thrown around.  Goodness knows what was going to happen to her stuff when her little baby brother came along.  What if he ate her special bracelets and choked on the beads?  What if he stuck his fingers in her paint pots and made a mess of her bedroom walls?!

Bryony just wasn't sure how she felt.  She thought it would be nice to have a little brother, once he got old enough to play with her properly.  But whilst he was really small, he was going to need a lot of looking after.  Bryony knew that meant that her parents would probably have even less time to play with her.  And that made her sad.

Then, it happened one night.  Bryony woke up to strange, muffled noises.  She crept out of bed, just as her dad appeared in the doorway of her room.  "Granny's on the way round to look after you," he whispered.  "Your mum and I have to go to the hospital.  Your little brother's on his way!"

Bryony didn't get much sleep after that.  She lay awake, listening for the sound of the front door opening, followed by hushed voices in the hallway downstairs and finally, the door creaking shut again.

When the morning came, Bryony was glad it was the weekend.  She was too tired to go to pre-school.  Granny told her that they'd be going to the hospital as soon as they'd had breakfast, but on the way, they were going to call in at a shop so that Bryony could get the baby a present.

At the shop, Bryony chose a teddy bear.  She already knew the baby's name, because she'd helped her mum and dad choose it, so Granny helped her to write "Happy birthday Toby" in a special card.  As they climbed back into the car to go to the hospital, Bryony almost felt nervous.  What if Toby didn't like her?  What if Mum and Dad were only interested in him, now?

The hospital was really big and it smelt a bit funny.  As Bryony clung to her Granny's hand, she heard strange machines beeping and lots of people talking in quiet voices.  People walked down corridors carrying balloons and flowers.  Bryony held tightly to the little bag, containing the bear, a present from Granny and the card for Toby.

Finally, they arrived in a big room with lots of beds.  Each bed had a little cot next to it, with a newborn baby inside.  Bryony looked around the room, searching for her mum and dad.  Eventually, she spotted them right at the end of the room, by a big window.  Mum was in bed, holding a bundle in her arms, wrapped in a white blanket.  Dad was sitting on the edge of the bed, with his arm around Mum's shoulders.  They both smiled when they saw Bryony and Granny walking into the room.

Mum pulled the blanket down a little and held the bundle out to Bryony.  "Hello, sweetie," she smiled at Bryony.  "This is Toby!"

Toby's face was all scrunched up and his eyes were closed.  Bryony couldn't believe how small he was.  She lifted up the bag in her hand.  "Granny and I got you some presents," she explained.  "The bear is from me."

Toby just stayed asleep, so Mum took the bag and gave Bryony a kiss on the head, like she did every night at bedtime.  "He's going to love that," she grinned.  "I tell you what else he's going to love, too.  We're all going home in an hour or so!"

"Already?!"  Bryony exclaimed.  She'd thought she might have longer to get used to the idea, first.

"Yep," Dad continued.  "Toby was born just before eleven o'clock last night and he and your mum are doing really well.  We're just waiting for one last check from the doctor and then we'll head home."

Bryony opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, her mum asked her a question: "Do you want to hold your little brother?"

Bryony bit her lip.  She was scared she might drop him.  She managed a little nod and her Granny helped her climb up into a chair next to Mum's bed.  Dad took Toby out of Mum's arms and carried him over to Bryony.  Very slowly, he lowered the baby into Bryony's arms.  "Hold his head really gently," he told her.  Bryony did as he said and suddenly her breath caught in her throat.  Toby's big eyes - almost too big for his tiny face - blinked open and he looked right at her.  His mouth opened and for a second, Bryony thought he might be about to cry, but he didn't.  Instead, he reached out with one hand and Bryony instinctively held out a finger.  Toby grabbed onto it and something inside Bryony's chest seemed to swell.  He was so small.  And so cute.  And hers.  Bryony's face began to crack into a smile.

"I think he already loves his big sister," Granny said with a nod.

"I think I love him, too," Bryony beamed.  "But can you take him back now, Dad?  I need to go to the loo."

Dad picked Toby back up and Granny took Bryony off to the toilet.  They didn't seem to be gone long, but when they got back, something didn't look right.  Dad was standing by the window, with his coat on.  Mum had her coat on, too, but there was something missing... Where was Toby?!

Bryony broke into a jog.  She rushed to the bed and peered into the empty cot.  Where was her brother?  Who had taken him?!

"Where's Toby?!"  Bryony wailed.  Suddenly, the thought of not seeing his scrunched up little face, or feeling his tiny hands reaching for her finger made Bryony want to cry.  He was her baby brother!  She wanted to look after him, play with him and teach him things as he got bigger.  She didn't want him to go away!

"Don't worry," her dad smiled, giving Bryony a cuddle.  "He's just having one last cuddle with the midwives!"

Sure enough, seconds later, a friendly looking lady came walking towards them, holding that familiar bundle in her arms.  "You must be Bryony," she said, with a big, warm smile.

Bryony nodded, waiting for her heart to calm down.  

"So, you're a big sister, now!" The lady went on.  "You're very lucky."

Toby let out a little cry and Bryony smiled with relief to have him back again.  "Yes," she agreed.  "I'm very lucky."

Bryony helped Mum and Dad to strap Toby into his new baby carrier and, together with Granny, they all walked back out of the big room, down the long corridor and out into the car park, again.  Bryony watched Dad strap the baby carrier to the back seat.  Granny gave Bryony a big hug and said she'd follow them home in her own car.  Once everyone was strapped in, Bryony reached out and gently let Toby hold onto her finger again.  Now that he was here, suddenly all the worries she'd had seemed very small.  She was sure he would cry in the night and chew her toys and make a mess and do smelly nappies.  But she was also sure that she was going to love having him around, just the same.

Toby softly snoozed as the car began to head for home.  Bryony smiled at him and kept hold of his hand.  "We're going to have so much fun together," she promised him, in a whisper.  Then, Bryony gave a sleepy yawn and let herself close her eyes.  All the way home, she dreamt about the adventures she was going to have with her new baby brother.  

She couldn't wait to get started.

THE END

In Praise of "Part-Time Fans."

Hello, everyone.  Today I would like to share what might be an unpopular opinion.  I would like to sing the praises of the part-time fan.  At this point, every obsessive (possibly teen) person reading this is in the process of throwing their phone/laptop/iPad out of the window in disgust, so I'm not likely to reach the people who need to read this blog, but here goes, anyway...

Look, I'm an unashamed fangirl.  I belong to many different fandoms, but for the purpose of this blog, we'll use the Manics as my main example.  I've been a Manic Street Preachers fan for over half my life.  I've seen them so many times it runs into double digits (I think it's 13 or 14 times, but I've lost count), I've met them (at least, I've met Nicky and James; Sean is elusive and Richey's... well, that's a whole other blog) and I own every album they've ever released, plus books about them, signed postcards, signed setlists, badges and goodness knows what else.  I even have their lyrics tattooed on me.  It's fair to say I'm a big fan.

I had this poster on my wall for years, until I kissed Richey's face off.  Literally.

Now, in every fandom, you get the hardcore group who own everything the artist has ever produced, go to multiple tour dates, hang around outside TV/radio studios to catch a glimpse of their idols etc.  I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, necessarily (although I've talked about when fandom crosses a line before), but there's an ugly sense of superiority that can creep into the situation when you talk to some of those hardcore fans.  I've been queuing for a Manics gig before and had fans sneer: "Oh, so you never saw them with Richey?  Not really a fan then, are you?"  Um, Richey disappeared when I was twelve.  My bedroom walls were plastered with Take That posters at that age.  Does that mean I'm not a "proper" fan, now?  Of course not.  

I can usually prove that I'm a "proper" fan, by showing off my lyric tattoo, talking in detail about my favourite album tracks, or reminiscing over past tours.  But the point is, I shouldn't have to.

Recently, I've seen a few bands who've been under the radar for a while come back into the limelight.  As is to be expected, people start talking excitedly about new music, or tours etc.  But then they spoil it with the ugly superiority again.  "I bet loads of people will pretend they like them, now.  I bet all the part-time fans who weren't around when the band weren't doing anything will come creeping out of the woodwork when new stuff is released."

Here's the thing:  I'm a part-time fan of loads of bands. There are plenty of bands that I go through phases of listening to every now and then, rather than obsessively.  There are bands I like, who I only own one or two singles from.  Or I'll like a band, but only to the point where I own the Greatest Hits.  None of those things makes me unworthy of listening to that music.  None of it means that I'm not allowed to go to a gig, if I choose to.

For example, I like Muse a lot, but I've not got their two most recent albums and I've never seen them live.  I own all their music up until a certain point and then, whilst I never went off them, I just stopped being quite as in love with them as I had previously been.  The other day, a Muse album track came on in the car (I had my iPad on shuffle) and it was quite literally the first time I'd heard it in a couple of years.  I did the biggest grin and indulged in some quite serious in-car dancing and some Bellamy-esque dramatic singing.  It was fabulous.  But you can bet your ass that if I went to see Muse live, there'd be that hardcore group in the queue that thought I didn't have as much right to be there, because I don't own everything they've ever recorded and I can't tell you Matt Bellamy's birth date.  And that, my friends, is utter rubbish.

You see, fandom isn't a competitive sport.  There's not supposed to be a hierarchy, with the people who've met the band the most often and who own that limited edition CD sitting at the top.  This isn't YouNow and you can't just buy your way to being "top fan" (don't get me started on my love/hate relationship with YouNow, because that's a whole other blog).  Music - or films, TV shows, YouTubers, musical theatre or anything else that a culture of fandom builds up around - is there for everyone.  That's the brilliant thing about it.  You don't have to obsessively collect everything an artist has ever created in order to say you like them.  You can dip in and out of music, choosing to listen to something because you like the sound of it, without feeling an urge to rush out and buy every album the band has ever made.  You can go to a see a band live, based on the fact that you know "a lot of their singles," rather than because you're hoping that that hidden song between tracks six and seven on their debut album might get played.  Being a "part-time" fan of any band just simply means liking them, but not devoting yourself to them.  And that's fine.  You don't have to listen to the same stuff religiously.  And if a band you've decided you quite like takes a break, you don't have to keep listening to them for the whole time they're gone.  You're allowed to find other stuff to sing along to and you're still allowed to be intrigued or even excited when the band returns from their hiatus.  IT'S FINE.

SAVE YOUR HATE FOR TICKET TOUTS.

Seriously.  Screw those guys.

The thing is, even if you truly, desperately believe that you somehow are a superior fan, because you own every album and you've seen the band ninety six times and you've met the drummer's dad, there is still literally no excuse to hate on those people who casually like the group that you obsess over.  Sure, it's annoying when someone goes "oh my GOD, I love them, their debut single is so awesome" and then they namecheck a song that was released years after the band formed (as a Manics fan, if I had a pound for every time someone referred to Design For Life as the band's debut single, I'd own a freaking mansion by now), but it's not impacting you in any way.  It's irritating to hear someone make out like your favourite band is also their favourite band, when they seem to know much less about them and they haven't appeared interested in them for ages.  But that's all it is; a bit irritating.  It's not stopping you from buying their singles, or from going to a concert.  It's something that should be easy to ignore.

What shouldn't be so easily ignored is the fact that, whether you like it or not, without the "part-time fans," the band you love so much might not even exist at all.

Think about it: if only the most hardcore fans bought singles, then those singles wouldn't chart as highly.  I know I've bought plenty of singles on iTunes, not because I'm a massive, obsessive fan of the artists who released them, but because the songs were good.  Simple as that.  That's what happens - people buy singles based on what they like at that moment.  That's how songs get to number one; if enough people think "ooh, I like that" and buy the single, it rises up the charts.  Those people doing the buying might never even have heard of the band before they made that purchase, but that one song got under their skin and they figured "it's only 99p, why not?"

And if only the hardcore fans bought albums, sales would drop.  Because, like it or lump it, some of the sales that bands achieve come from people who buy music on a whim, just because it makes their ears happy.  Some of those sales come from people who've heard one single, liked it and fancied checking out the band's other stuff.  So, if those casual listeners, or part-time fans all unanimously stopped buying albums, sales would drop.  A drop in sales could lead to another form of drop; the band being dropped by their record label.  The music biz is a cruel world.

It's the same deal with concert tickets.  Those part-time fans, who own maybe one album and mainly like the singles from it, might choose to go to a concert for a fun night out.  So, they fork out for a couple of tickets.

what I'm trying to say here, is that the revenue created by casual listeners, or part-time fans, contributes towards keeping the band or artist you obsess over going.  Without them, you might not have a band to obsess over at all.

Most of us are pretty well-rounded people.  We don't just like one band, or one TV show, or one genre of film.  We have multiple likes and dislikes and that's what makes life interesting.  Essentially, we're probably all part-time fans of someone or something and that's okay. And, though we may not realise it at the time, when we download a single on a whim, or buy a ticket for a tour just because we think it'll be fun, we're helping to keep a band, artist or celebrity afloat for the people who adore them.

Part-time fans and casual listeners aren't people to be mocked.  They're people to be thanked.

Bringing this back to me and my Manics-love, I can put my hand on my heart and say I love to see casual fans at Manics gigs.  Because so often, their reaction is to smile and jump around and say "wow, this band are brilliant."  

Maybe they'll go home and buy the whole back catalogue and the next time the band tour, they'll be down at the front, singing along to every word.

Maybe they'll go home and go back to dipping in and out of the band's music and never love them the way I do.

It really doesn't matter.  

What matters is that they stuck their hands in their pockets and bought tour tickets.  They might have bought an album.  And in doing so they're helping to keep the band going.  That is what matters to me.  

So, next time you decide to hate on part-time fans, remind yourself that you are probably a part-time fan of someone or something, too.  And remember that without those casual fans, the very thing you love wouldn't necessarily stay around for as long as you'd like.  

Let the hate go.  

Two of The Most Annoying Words in The World: "Lighten Up!"

Regular readers of my blog will know that there are certain words and phrases that I just can't stand.  In fact, I wrote a whole entry about it, which you can read here.  But there were phrases I didn't add to that list, because they're worthy of a blog all of their own.  Those phrases, my friends, are the following:

• "Cheer up, it might never happen."
• "Lighten up!"

So, what is it about them that sets my teeth on edge and incurs my general wrath?  Well...

In the case of "lighten up," there's a particular time when it's used - badly - and that's usually in some kind of argument.  It's a knee-jerk reaction to being told that what you've said isn't funny or fair.  The problem is that by just saying "oh, lighten up," you're not listening to the other person's point of view.  Like... at all.

Take a case in point.  On April Fool's Day, Gwen Stefani decided to post a picture of an ultrasound scan, with the words "it's a girl!" on Twitter.  Whether or not you think fake pregnancy announcements are funny is beside the point, when it comes to what happened next...

A woman responded to the minor news story that broke when it turned out that the post was merely a prank, by saying that, as someone who had miscarried and was trying to get pregnant again, she felt that a fake pregnancy announcement wasn't actually very funny.  That's literally all she said.

ENTER THE TROLL.

Straight away, that woman (and anyone else who shared her view) received a response basically saying: "Lighten up."  I mean, those words were used amongst several profanities, because we all know trolls don't have the intellectual capacity to conduct any kind of real debate, but "lighten up" was most definitely present, as were a whole heap of personal insults, because... Well, reasons.

I watched this little Twitter drama unfolding for a while, as the woman responded to the troll by reminding her that just as the troll was entitled to her view that Gwen's joke was hilarious, she was entitled to her view that it was a bit insensitive.  She went on to remind her of the reason why she found it insensitive.

And the troll just came straight back with: "Oh FFS, get a sense of humour!  You're pathetic.  Lighten up!"

Or, to put it another way:  This troll was telling a woman with a legitimate reason to have found something upsetting (a recent miscarriage), that she was pathetic for not laughing along with the joke.  Like I said, regardless of whether you personally find fake pregnancy announcements funny or not, most of us should be switched on enough to know that not everyone will feel the same and that those who don't, probably have a reason for the way they react.  Here, a person was trying to explain why she didn't find the joke funny and all she got back was a dismissal.

THAT is why I have no time for the phrase "lighten up."  Too often, it's used as a way of completely avoiding having to take anyone else's opinions or feelings into consideration.  A person will use it when they've said or done something that someone else has a negative reaction to and rather than think about why they're reacting that way, the person just decides "well, I think it's funny, so they just need to lighten up."

Nope.

I'm not going to lie.  I have a bit of a weird sense of humour and I know for a fact that over the years, I've laughed at something deemed inappropriate and been called on it by someone who doesn't share my strangeness.  Never have I ever rolled my eyes and told that someone to "lighten up."  Why?  Because humour is subjective.  What I think is hilarious, isn't going to necessarily tickle everyone's funny bone.  Equally, I've been around people laughing at something I don't find funny (either because it's just not appealing to my sense of humour, or because it actually does offend me) and thankfully, most of my friends and family get that it's fine to have a different view of what's hilarious and what's not (to be fair, it helps that I laugh at most things...).

Everyone is free to laugh at whatever they like.  But if someone doesn't laugh, that's okay.  And if they try to explain why they're not laughing, the very last thing we should be doing is shutting them down and ignoring what they're trying to say.  "Lighten up" is an expression that can do just that.  I know, because I've been on the receiving end of it many a time.  

Someone close to me once made a "joke" about how I'll probably never have kids.  I know, hahahahahahaaaaaaa.  The one thing I want more than anything in the world, but I'm single and poor and it's not happening any time soon.  For fairly obvious reasons, I didn't laugh.  At all.  But when I expressed how hurt I was at the joke, guess what I was told?  "Lighten up!"

Seriously, do as she says.

And no, it's not about wrapping people up in cotton wool and protecting them at all costs.  The irony is that I make jokes at my own expense all the time.  So, I'm not averse to jokes about me - even jokes that might seem a bit harsh - as long as they're funny, and as long as I'm not the butt of every personal joke you make over the course of an evening.  

It's about listening to another person's point of view and showing a little respect for it, even if you vehemently disagree.  It's about admitting when you've crossed a line, rather than dismissing the person you've upset.  It's about, to quote Adam Hills, not being a dick.

In the end, I waded into the argument on Twitter.  I told the troll that the woman had given a legitimate reason for being upset at the original joke and that it was insensitive to dismiss her.  And guess what they sent me back?

"Lighten up or get off social media!"

Funnily enough, it turns out that trolls are sensitive little kittens, because when I responded that I most certainly wouldn't be getting off social media, because I had no intention of being told what to do by someone so pig-headed that they couldn't - or wouldn't - look beyond themselves to consider another person's feelings, the troll blocked me.  Which frankly, I saw as a result.

There's something intrinsically arrogant about someone who never pauses to listen to someone else, or who assumes that everyone either thinks the same way they do, or are just wrong.  

And that leads me nicely to the other phrase I can't stand.

"Cheer up, it might never happen," is one of those things that gets shouted at people - usually women, it has to be said - by total strangers, in the street.  That, along with "smile, love," desperately needs to be wiped off the face of the Earth as soon as possible.

Essentially, it has nothing to do with human compassion and everything to do with "your face isn't appealing to me at the moment, so you need to do something to make it look nicer."

UM, NO, YOU ARE A LITTLE UMBRELLA MONKEY-FACED QUACK SACK.

I don't know about you guys, but this is not how I walk down streets:

It's a sidewalk, not a catwalk.  Except I'm English, so it's a pavement.

I mean, how do you know I didn't just get told I have three months to live?  Telling me to "cheer up," when you're a total stranger to me just marks you out as a douche canoe, because you're not going to follow it up with "hey, are you okay?  Want to talk about it?"  You don't actually care about my feelings, oh gobby stranger, you just want me to grin so that my face is slightly more acceptable to you.

Besides which, how do you know that the idea that "it" might never happen isn't actually the reason I'm not smirking like a loon in the first place?!  I might be thinking about the fact that I may never make it as a writer.  Telling me "cheer up, it might never happen" would therefore be the worst thing you could possibly say - and the last thing that would make me feel cheery.

And who goes around grinning like a Cheshire cat all the time, anyway?!  If we all did that, the world wouldn't be a brighter place, it would be utterly terrifying.

Imagine a world where everyone just grinned ALL THE TIME.  Tell me you're not horrified.

For all you know, I might not be sad at all.  I might be wandering around, trying to remember a song lyric that's been in my head.  I could be thinking about what I fancy for lunch.  I might just be daydreaming about Phil Lester and his general loveliness.

Actually, it's usually that last one.

But whatever is going on in my mind, the fact is that deep down, I hate "cheer up, it might never happen" for the same reason as "lighten up."  When you get to the bare bones of it, it's just hugely dismissive.

When a stranger yells it at you in the street, they're not actually bothered about why you might not be smiling.  They don't want to know.  It doesn't interest them.  They just expect you to be smiling, because they want you to.  Just like people who snap "oh, lighten up," expect you to be laughing, because they are, regardless of how hard you try to explain why you don't find something funny.

Having "smile, love" etc shouted at you in the street doesn't make you want to flash a gorgeous grin.  It makes you want to do this:

But then they'll just tell you to "lighten up" and the circle of Hell continues.

As is so often the case with my rants, this whole thing basically boils down to our need to listen to each other and understand that we're all coming from different places.  If someone doesn't get our jokes, fine.  That's just their sense of humour.  And if someone doesn't walk around grinning all the time, fine.  That's just their... Well, face.

Let's not casually dismiss people's views just because they don't match up with ours.  Maybe the next time you make a joke and someone says they find it offensive, shrug your shoulders and if an apology is necessary, be a big enough person to make one.  Then move on.  No "lighten up" required.

Oh, and just don't tell a stranger to cheer up.  Ever.

You're damn right, Buffy.

On that note, it's about time I gorged myself on leftover Easter egg, whilst watching TV.  And the only lightening up I'll be doing is messing with the screen brightness.