So,you think you’re a sl**

So,you think you’re a sl**

At this age, lots of us like to sit with our friends and rip into each other for all the times someone has been a liiiittle questionable when it comes to their romantic relationships – whether those relationships be purely sexual, on the road to something stronger, or somewhere in between. Maybe you’re the prolific dater, maybe you’re the type to get with someone then change your mind the second they start to like you, maybe you really enjoy flirting with people but you’re too picky (*cough* scared *cough*) to commit to something serious. Or, maybe you’re like me and you’re a combination of a few… 🙂 ! Well, whatever you are, as long as you’re not being awful to people, then I don’t see much harm in it. And, the chaos does make for a good drinking game.

I’ve posted enough blogs by now for you to know that I’ve never been in a relationship, and that the lads I attract tend to be a whole lot of talk and very little walk…HoWeVeR, I have been the third wheel for enough relationships (and been involved in enough situationships) by now to be able to say something about how we’re treating each other. And the main thing that I’ve noticed is that people are so terrified of being on their own, that they stay or get themselves into situations simply because it’s comfortable, and/or because out here in the single world most people are screwing each over left right and centre. I mean, the sheer lack of respect I’ve heard (and seen) demonstrated by some single people when they’re talking to or getting with someone on a night out is ridiculous. And there’s just no need for it!

I’m not saying that we can all come out of every experience looking like the good guy, because no matter how hard each of us might try, there’s always going to be a few moments when we’ve messed up and we just have to swallow that. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t at least try to not be a d*ck, though. Yes, this age is probably the best and most convenient age to get with as many different types of people, in as many different situations as your heart desires because it’s a time when we’re free to put effort into figuring out who we are and what we want, but be aware of what you’re doing as you do it pls.

I’m a big believer in the power of surrounding yourself with sex-positive people who don’t feel the need to apologise for their sexualities because as much as I’m also very sex-positive, there are times when I can fall victim to the voice in my head that likes to give me a cheeky slut shame when I’m hungover. And it’s never about how many people you get with because I know lasses who feel rubbish about the 1 or 2 people they’ve slept with or texted again when they shouldn’t have. It’s about the fact that lots of us aren’t allowing ourselves and others to just have a little bit of fun.

Personally, I’ve not been hurt by a lad in quite a long time now but that’s just because I got bored of being disappointed and making all the moves, so I’m leaving it up to the lads to have the balls from now on. But me having that perspective right now, doesn’t make it inevitable that I’m going to start being rude to a lad who I kiss in a bar by ignoring his texts or playing with his emotions. It also doesn’t mean that I wake up the next day and tell myself off for kissing someone I don’t intend to date. And finally, it most certainly does NOT give me an excuse to judge and shame my friends for having a different approach to romance than me.

So if you’re going to take anything from this week’s ramblings, let it be the acknowledgement that even though it’d be impossible to never be the bad guy in relationships, that isn’t an invitation to always forget about respect. Ask out who you want to ask out, kiss them if you’re both into it, try and be nice about it if you’re not, and go on, have a bit of a FLIRT!

Something’s wrong with my face today

Something’s wrong with my face today

Do you ever have those days where for some reason none of your clothes seem to fit you the way they did the last time you tried them on? You’re getting ready for the day, or for a night out, and your face just doesn’t face the way it should, you’re clothes don’t look right, your hair won’t do what it’s told, and the time is starting to run away; you’re going to be late to whatever you’re supposed to get to, so you start to get a bit hysterical and self-critical until you just wish you could crawl back into bed, hit a reset button, and try again tomorrow when everything hopefully does what it’s supposed to.

Just me?..

I’ve written before about how people shouldn’t let their insecurities control them, and I wondered whether I should write about this topic again when I could just reshare an entry I’d written a couple of years ago. Except, my body, and a whole lot of other stuff, has changed since then and I don’t really see this as a problem that can be fixed by a few hundred words.

So I’m going to give you a few hundred more! Yay!

We each know the power which comes with feeling confident, but like many other feelings, confidence is unfortunately very brittle. Just the other day, I’d woken up feeling pretty good about myself but it only took a few silly things happening throughout the day to leave me with a mind full of self-criticism by the time I was getting into bed for the night. And the frustrating thing is, that the moments which chipped away at my confidence were so minor it was stupid: I saw my reflection in a full-length mirror and I didn’t like the way my legs in my callipers looked, then a friend took a photograph of me and another friend and I thought my arms looked fat, and finally, the hot weather made me tired and subsequently self-conscious about how obvious my Spina Bifida was whilst walking through town.

Not one of these things is important, nor are they anything anyone else would take any notice of, let alone care about. But that’s what insecurity is: getting stuck inside your head about silly things which in the grand scheme of things, do not matter. Only, they matter to you and sometimes they matter so much that you torture yourself over thinking about them.

I’m lucky enough to be able to keep my insecurities at bay most of the time. But the times when I can’t – which do tend to be either when I’m drunk drunk, or experiencing the boozer’s blues the day after drinking – in those moments, I can’t do much except let myself just sit in it. I eat loads of snacks, or I cry to my friend, or I watch a film, or I stare at the wall whilst listening to my sad playlist. And I know that if a psychologist were to read those coping mechanisms, they’d probably say that they’re all really unhealthy – disclaimer: I’m definitely not about to make a case for you to do exactly what I do. However, I do think that my generation tries to psycho-analyse themselves far too much and that we need to just feel whatever it is we’re feeling for a second, without self-diagnosing. Obviously, there are limits and lines where a person needs help but it’s also okay to feel naff for an afternoon. In fact, surely it’d be worrying if we didn’t feel like rubbish once in a while?

I’m not going to patronise you now by listing all the reasons why we should be kinder to ourselves because I’m not a motivational speaker (shocking, I know), but also because we all know this already and knowing that I shouldn’t criticise myself, unfortunately, doesn’t mean that I won’t from time to time. It’s about being able to strike that balance where you allow yourself to feel what you need to, whilst also making moves to pick yourself up out of any ruts you encounter – it’s not always easy, and I’m not a pro, but we do our best.

So if you do wake up and your face isn’t facing, or your body isn’t bodying, and although you know it’s just in your head you’re still feeling meh, then that’s alright! As our lord and saviour Hannah Montana once said: everybody has those days.

Be my Valentine

Be my Valentine

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve thought long and hard about how I want to address that. Earlier in the week, I’d toyed with not mentioning it at all and just posting something else I’d written; I thought about how I don’t want the only two themes of my posts to be relationships or my disability, even though I know that those are the topics my readers gravitate towards. But Valentine’s Day is a big deal for lots of people (whether they want it to be or not), since everyone is so aggressively brainwashed to believe that we each need a romantic relationship to experience true happiness or success and that this is the time when we get to show off that happiness and success. Or, we get to not, and then have it implied that we should be sad about that.

I remember when I was about 18, talking to my mum about boyzz, and saying that I thought the reason I’d had disappointing experiences was because I trust people too easily. She scoffed at that, asked what I meant, and said ‘you don’t trust anyone’. That makes her sound really brutal – she’s not brutal, but she is honest, and she made me realise that I like to tell myself that just because I’m extroverted and kind, that that equates to me being super trusting of others. Except, what she said to me when I was 18 remains true as I type this as a 22-year-old: romantically, I don’t trust lads as far as I could throw them.

This lack of trust isn’t founded in some intense trauma; I might have had some bad luck in romance so far, but I’m fortunate to have never suffered that badly from it. Honestly, the worst thing that’s happened to me in that arena is that the very few lads I was really interested in have hidden me. The first boy I ever really liked actively kept me a secret, by asking me to do things like turn my Snapchat maps off if I went to his house so nobody knew I was there, he’d never post me on his story like he would when he was seeing other girls, and he’d only be out in public with me if it suited him. Then there were the other couple of crushes who preferred a kiss behind closed doors and us to never mention it again.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: all of that’s awful and I don’t seem like someone to stand for that ridiculously toxic behaviour with the things I say in these blogs. You’re right about both of those things. I tolerated all of that sh*t when I was younger because it was subtle, I was desperate to be a part of the romantic relationship world, and we don’t always practice what we preach when we’re in the situation.

If I were to describe how I’d feel about being in a relationship now though, I honestly think that my main feeling would be terror. (I laughed when I typed that though, so don’t read this as if I’m crying about it.) I guess I’m scared of being with someone because I have absolutely no idea what that’d look like in my life: I’ve seen others do it, but I don’t know who I’d be in that context. So, the prospect of that degree of new experiences and emotions is ridiculously exciting, yet I can’t help but be scared of it as well.

I think that Valentine’s Day is a funny one because it’s nauseatingly commercialised, and it’s one day of the year when people seem to be obnoxiously happy or obnoxiously bitter or ambivalent about the whole thing. We all know that in the grand scheme of things it matters very little if you get a bit of cardboard through the door saying ‘be my Valentine’ or not, but at the same time, many of us can end up feeling pretty low when the 14th February is like any other day. That’s just because we’re human, and we want to experience love.

So, even though we know Valentine’s Day is pretty pointless, be as obnoxiously happy or sad or anything in between as you want. Plus, it’s Pancake Day soon!

Why’d you text him again?

Why’d you text him again?

Why’d you do it then, eh? Why bother texting him again when you know he’s a dick? When you know he’ll leave it a few hours (even though he’s always on his phone, and definitely knows that it’s there). When you know he’s not that interested – YOU’RE not even that interested. So if you don’t really like him that much then why bother with putting yourself through the annoyance of it? Why’d you text him, if all you’re going to do is avoid your social media, waiting for his name to disappear from your notifications screen? What’s the point? Just ignore him, and forget about it. Yes, good idea. Delete the message thread, forget about it, move it along. Until the next one that is…

Hands up if you felt personally attacked by that first paragraph!

Well, if it’s any consolation, I just read myself to absolute filth and those were all questions my friends have asked me plenty of times, though I’ve undoubtedly asked myself them more. So, why do we text him – or her ! – over and over, when we’re the first ones to admit how tedious it all is? Where’s the logic?

For me, I think it’s a combination of lots of things. For example, the being constantly exposed to media and culture where romantic relationships seem to be necessary for overall happiness, the desperately wanting to feel known by someone (and to know them), the hormones, and the heavy, heavy boredom. I think it’s defo the hormones and the boredom which override the logic on a consistent basis, though. Which is fun.

On a less personal note, however, I think that what’s keeping us shushing the logical parts of ourselves is that romantic relationships are all we ever seem to talk about. Whether it’s a discussion of someone you just walked past and found attractive, your favourite celebrity, someone you had sex with last week, someone you might ask out on a date, or even the more abstract discussion of ‘who, out of our mates, would you date if you HAD to?’, sex and relationships are just constantly on the mind. In fact, the only people I know who don’t discuss these topics as regularly, are the ones in relationships – but even they get excited by their single friends’ tales of romance.

I’ve no clue why all of us are so hung up on this aspect of life, and I’m well aware that I’m as bad as anyone for it. But it’s the New Year, and I hAvE a rEsOLuTion people !! I’d sincerely like to stop wasting my time just for the sake of it.

I love people, I love a flirt, and I love a bit of drama, so I’ve had my fair share of situations with boys since the age of about fifteen. Still, I could honestly only count on one hand the lads that I was genuinely interested in; everyone else, I either fancied but knew it’d never work, or didn’t even fancy them that much, I just liked the attention. Oh god that sounds awful, doesn’t it? But we’ve all done it! In fact, I’m 100% sure that there have been plenty of occasions when boys have been thinking this way about me; it’s not a reflection on you (though it can certainly feel like that sometimes), it’s just how it is.

A few months ago, I was sitting on my friend’s bed, having a bit of a it’s-winter-I’m-tired-I-don’t-want-to-write-any-more-essays-can-it-be-Christmas-now sob, and in the middle of it I said the words ‘I’m just so tired of feeling this lonely’. I know, tragic. And I’ve written many blogs about how I’ve not wanted to be single for years; how I’ve felt left out because the only romantic experiences I’ve had so far have been a headache. Though, other reasons have also exacerbated these thoughts, like how much easier dealing with shit like my feet would be if I just had someone there who’s interested enough to care. Or even the fact that doing things would be nicer if there was someone there to do them with. But as bored as I am of being lonely, I’m more bored of saying how bored and lonely I am. So I’m not going to do it anymore.

Famous last words…

I’m seriously going to give it a go this time though!! I know I’ll probably stumble, because it’s surprisingly difficult to avoid all drama at a university where that seems to be all anyone talks about; not to mention the fact that I’m a total sucker for the will-they-won’t-they first stages. But I’m unbelievably picky, and stuff doesn’t work out; I end up getting upset, feeling like a failure, and we’re back to square one. SO, I’m going to start asking myself if I really will benefit from texting him again, when I know that we wouldn’t work and I don’t like him as much as I like the attention. I’m going to wait and see if he’s got the balls to show me that he likes me, before I try to control everything. And last on the list of New Years’ Resolutions: I’m going to acknowledge that there’s no time for pointless drama when there’s a degree to get, and a life after university to figure out. No more drunk-texting: only fun, easy, stress-free situations.

Come on 2022, you can give me that, can’t you?

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

Sometimes when I’m at a house party, people come up to me and ask me about my blog, often interested in how I decide what to write about. The only way I can describe the process is that a topic will pop into my head, and I’ll feel a compulsion to type something about it: I guess it’s like a diary in that sense. Unlike a diary though, I know that these words will be read by others so I edit them and I rationalise them in an attempt to not sound like a prat. I can’t promise that I manage it every time, but we do our best. Although today, I’m not going to edit and I’m not going to rationalise: we’re just gunna go with it.

To make an extremely long, and tumultuous story short, in the past couple of weeks I’ve come to realise that I’ve never really been in a romantic situation with a lad where he’s tried as hard to get to know and understand me as much as I have him. I’ve consistently been the one who’s been actively interested in a bigger way than the physical sense; asking all of the questions, noticing the small things, and making an effort to work out what’s important to the person I’m interested in. And this realisation came to me when I was cleaning my room, sorting my shoes out, listening to music. I was feeling so relaxed and so honestly myself, and it made me think that there are so many parts of who I am that I’ve never shared with someone because I’ve been too busy trying to get to know them, and they’ve never asked.

That feeling was of course, kind of sad, but at the same time, it made me realise just how stressful ‘dating’ can be. How people have spent so much time and energy messing with my head, telling me yes then telling me no then telling me they would if they could but they can’t so they won’t; making it seem like I’m involved in the situation when really it’s just about them. I’m involved by name, but I’m never particularly relevant. Yawn.

So I went upstairs to my housemate the other day when I was feeling a little low, and I mentioned all of these feelings to her, and after listening to me she thought over all of the romantic relationships she’s had with boys and she completely empathised with me. Then without even bringing up how I’ve been feeling, multiple girls just this week have told me how they’re tired of being wanted physically; being told they’re hot by a drooling drunken boy at 2am, but never being given the time of day once the sun comes up.

Fortunately, I’m pretty emotionally robust so I can deal with the rejection. However, just because a person’s self-esteem is in decent condition, that doesn’t make it indestructible. And being told by someone that they’re really into you, or they really fancy you, is lovely for 2 seconds but it very quickly becomes hurtful if all it is is words. What I mean by that, is that the words become less believable if you don’t do anything about them. I’m flattered in the moment, but I’ve been in so many situations like this where boys have put my hopes up so far, then at best ignored me, that at this point I don’t trust words.

I don’t really understand why this is a thing, and I don’t know why I seem to attract it, but god almighty it’s a headache. Not least does messing with someone’s head like this fuck with their feelings, but it made me feel completely objectified at points. After the excitement of the moment had faded, I’d wake up and wonder if what’d actually happened there was a young lad only saying what he’d thought I wanted to hear because he wanted to sleep with me. Making that dramatic confession untrue, and all the emotional turmoil completely unnecessary.

All of this isn’t to say that I hate every lad I’ve had a situationship with; I’m still quite fond of a few of them, but I have to say my piece because I’m tired. Not to mention the fact that a healthy level of self-esteem doesn’t just happen; it’s incredibly fragile and takes a lot of work to maintain. So I refuse to allow the yeah-but-no-but treatment I’ve had from lads this year, to morph into self-criticism and thus take a toll on my self-esteem. Naturally, this is always easier said than done but once again, we do our best.

Thus, I want to finish with a request for all my readers (no matter your gender): please think before you speak. Decide whether what you’re about to tell a person is beneficial to them, or do you just want to say it to help yourself? Go into things with the correct intentions, and try not to fuck with someone’s head in the process. You might not always manage it, but it’s always worth a try. Because personally, I don’t need or want to hear it anymore, if you’re not going to do anything about it.

London: it’s a love-hate relationship

London: it’s a love-hate relationship

Whenever I’ve travelled to a different country or have met people from around the world, in the first moments of us getting to know one another, they hear I’m English and they inevitably ask me if I’m from London. I tend to laugh in response, and then we begin the charade of me saying a city they’ve no idea about, and then I try to help them place me by talking about football teams – most of the time we settle on Manchester. Which, of course, if anyone knows anything about the war of the roses and the subsequent beef between Yorkshire and Lancashire, they’ll know that there’s a whole lot of difference between the two areas. Not least in accent.

I don’t mind at all that people from different countries have never heard of Bradford: why should they care? What cuts a little though, is the amount of times I’ve had to have this exact conversation with people from the south of England. Some of them don’t even know what I’m talking about when I mention Leeds! Leeds is a big city!!! And it’s not just that many people don’t know where cities in the north are, it’s the bitter pill that the only place which seems to be of any significance to them is London.

But why care so much?

Well, I care because of the huge economic differences between the north and south of England, and the consequences this has on the lives of the people in the two areas.

I’d never really had much to do with London and the south growing up, other than seeing the London schools on CBBC getting the random celebrity visitors, or knowing that London was where the Queen lived, and that it was really far away from Bradford – in more ways than just distance. But this isn’t the part where I say I grew up in an impoverished household, where my parents had to work 3 jobs for us to eat , because my ability to see the wealth-gap between the north and south isn’t reliant on my family’s economic situation. My parents know what it is to be on the dole, and they have never had any savings, but I’ve never been poor. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it looks like, though.

Poverty isn’t just about the money you have, but a secure financial situation gifts people and communities so much more than you might first think. If a family is wealthy, and thus money isn’t something they have to worry about, then they have so much more time, energy and resources to do other things. For example, they can buy books, or go to a different city or country, or buy a membership to a gym. They have the ability to see value in investing in cultural capital: learning to play an instrument, or reading a book is no longer deemed as a ‘waste’, and so many more things like going to university or moving to a bigger city to do an internship seem attainable. Money gives people time and opportunity, and economic stability allows people the freedom to think further than what they need to survive.

So no wonder when I drove into central London last week, the majority of people I saw looked healthier and wealthier than those I’d seen in Shipley earlier that morning. You could see economic stability in the fact that their skin colour didn’t look tired and yellow; fewer people were overweight; more were nicely dressed, in clothes they’d carefully picked out to suit their bodies; all of the shops were open, and around every corner there was a museum or a gallery or a theatre. You can literally see the differences, if you’re bothered to look.

Unfortunately, the last time I spoke about a north-south class divide, was when I wrote a description of my experience as a northerner at a Russell Group University. I did my best to not be overly critical of people, but still that blog was reported by at least 100 members of my university’s Facebook group, and it helped to get me blocked from the page for over a year. So, it would seem that this desire to ignore and neglect the uncomfortable parts of our society we blamed on older generations, persists into psyche of the ‘progressive’ millennials.

It gets very tiring very quickly to be stereotyped as a stupid northerner, from the middle of nowhere, when you know that those stereotypes are rooted in blatant economic inequality. So no, I don’t find it very funny when I sit on a delayed tube and make a joke saying ‘none of this in Bradford’, and a super healthy, well-dressed, young girl with a southern accent says ‘is there anything in Bradford?’. Because regardless of how she intended it, or whether she’s a nice girl or not, it just doesn’t sound very funny coming from a stranger with that accent.

I’d like to finish this blog with clarifying that the north of England doesn’t need pity or to be patronised, and that obviously I’m aware that the south isn’t full of only privileged people. There’s plenty of culture, history and privilege up here, and there’s plenty of poverty down there. But it would be helpful for everyone if individuals started to take more notice of the disparities and the inevitable effects those disparities have on communities. After all, government and institutions will only start to spread the wealth out more, if people (especially those from the side with more) are seen to actively want that to happen.

Economics and equality are complex topics, and there’s no way I can put the world to rights with one blog entry. Nonetheless, I know that there will be many of you reading this who had never considered why a southerner taking the piss out of a northerner might sting a little more. And maybe my northern peers don’t feel irritated by it in the same way I do, but I felt like I needed to say it – especially in the divisive political climate of the last 10 years. I don’t hate London; in fact, I love it because it’s exciting, and the buildings are beautiful, and everything’s there, but then again, why does everything have to only be there?

What I can’t see can’t hurt me

What I can’t see can’t hurt me

I’ve always thought I was fortunate to have not suffered from intense anxieties and insecurities in my teens. Granted, there have been times where I thought I looked fat or any of the other standard moments of self-criticism, but generally speaking, I was happy with who I was and what I looked like. The only thing I ignored in order to continue being comfortable in my own skin was how I look when I walk. I didn’t look when I walked past shop windows or any reflective surfaces, and I asked friends to delete videos where you could see me walking; I just didn’t need to know what that image looked like.

So naturally, when my university friends were like ‘do you want to do the college fashion show and walk on a stage in front of hundreds of people and have the whole process videoed and posted on social media for even more people to see?’, my reaction was ‘uhhh no, not really’. But the second I told them why I didn’t fancy doing that, I got bombarded with accusations of hypocrisy because as they quite rightly pointed out, I can’t be on here sporting for diversity and inclusion if I’m not going to practice what I preach. Thus, I took my disabled arse up onto a pretty big stage and I stomped along it in front of hundreds of people. And I even did a walk in my underwear lol, since if you’re gunna do it, you may as well go all-out, right?

I’ve said many times before that I don’t know if I’m proud to be disabled, and that a lot of what society encourages me to do is to blend in; I’m told by the abstract powers that be that I should shut up and get on with it, and try my utmost to pass as able-bodied to get by. I know that I don’t love being physically disabled – it’s a bit of a pain – but I am disabled, and I don’t want to change that because god knows what I’d be like if I wasn’t. However, the way I feel about myself doesn’t change the fact that society rarely gives me examples of a disabled body being deemed as beautiful without there being some subtext of pity. And even though I’ve got an ego, I can’t say I’ve got a burning desire to use my body to change the way people understand disability. But I would like to trust that strangers could find me interesting, and clever, and sexy, knowing full well that I’m physically disabled; that they won’t go from respecting me to patronising me the second they hear my medical history.

What I’ve recognised though, is that I can’t keep blaming the abstract idea of what ‘society’ thinks for my insecurities. Yes, disabled people might not be plastered all over billboards and well-represented in films and TV, and yes, disability might be something the world wants to hide away and forget about. But when it comes to individual people, I’ve met so many people of all ages and backgrounds who accept me as interesting, clever, and sexy partly because I’m disabled. So maybe it’s a me problem; maybe I’m the only one who’s judging the way I walk and the shoes I wear.

Discrimination is surprising

Discrimination is surprising

The response to last week’s blog has been amazing: people were completely outraged! And this was so weird (lovely !!, but weird) to me, because my getting blocked by students at my University didn’t even make me that angry: it wasn’t an unprecedented event. But you were all so shocked and furious! So, I realise, that you have no idea of just how poorly your disabled community is treated…

So let’s actually talk about disability and society, and let’s first take the idea of ‘looking’ disabled. Well, I don’t ‘look’ disabled. But the fact that I don’t has had serious consequences on the way society treats me.

There are two instances from Secondary School relating to this which particularly stand out for me. The first was when I was in Year 7: I was 11 years old and I’d recently developed a blister on my foot from walking too much, or having a fold in my sock, or something else tedious. (Yes, folds in socks can shove me in a wheelchair for months: it’s that stupid.) So in an attempt to avoid going into my wheelchair, I started to use the lift for disabled students to cut down my walking.

I was outside the lift one afternoon on the way to my next lesson with my best friend when my Deputy Headteacher came over and asked me what I was doing. I politely explained how I had a note from my parents, that I had a blister and that I had to use the lift. She didn’t look at my note, and she wasn’t interested when I started to lift my trousers so she could see my shoes. Instead, she yelled at me saying ‘a blister?! I’ve never heard such a thing! You’re stopping disabled students from using this lift!’. So I went to lesson in floods of tears: completely humiliated.

In this moment I didn’t ‘look disabled’ to my Deputy Headteacher: I didn’t have a noticeable body deformity, sound disabled, nor was I in a wheelchair. Flash-forward 2 weeks however, and I was in a wheelchair…no challenges as to why I was using the lift then…

The other memory I have is from being in Year 10 – the 3rd time I was in a wheelchair at Secondary School. My friends were pushing me through the halls to our lesson, and a student I didn’t know saw us. He shouted ‘piss off! I saw you walking last week, get out of that thing!’ at me across the hallway. I was stunned but my friends shouted back at him and we kept moving. Clearly, to this boy I was a liar; I was the person the media and government demonise as ‘abusing disability services and benefits’, and he took this moment to publicly expose my lie.

The world is constantly fed this finite version of what it is to be disabled: what it looks like, what it sounds like and what it feels like. But nobody ever takes the time to work out whether this stereotype is true. So just think about how many people you know without a disability: are they all the same? Do they all have the same bodies and personalities and emotions and ideas? Now think about applying that to disabled people. Do we all have the same disabilities? Do people who even fall under the same type of disability, have the same variation of that disability? Do we all look the same? Sound the same? Feel the same?

The answer is clearly ‘no’. Still, we’re grouped into one blob and are treated poorly by people and institutions who take very little time to try and actually understand us.

I’ve never been bullied directly because I’ve always had people standing up for me, and I’ve always had the confidence to stand up for myself. But I’ll always be vulnerable to discrimination by institutions and the general public because of an unwillingness of people to sit down and actually learn about things they know nothing about.

If you’re outraged by my experiences then start learning about other people’s, because I’m such a privileged white girl and my exposure to discrimination is nowhere near as bad as it gets. Trust me, you know more disabled people than you think, and you have more preconceptions about disability than you recognise.

Not feeling it

Not feeling it

Until yesterday, I wasn’t going to write a mid-week blog. Mostly because I’ve spent so much time with myself these past 52 days. 52 days man: I’ve not been outside in almost 2 months. (!) In fact, I have absolutely no clue what the country I’ve been living in for that time even looks like. If it’s past the view from the windows, then I’ve never seen it.

So the routine of my week kind of revolves around writing blogs now. But I’m only any good at this when I’ve got something to say, and how can I have anything to say when I don’t do anything? I’m trying to write down the things I talk about in my head, but I’m soooooo bored of hearing that little voice blabbering on all the time. I’d kinda like to hear someone else for a bit.

Lol didn’t manage it though, did I? Here we are, reading another instalment of that little voice’s monologue… ah well.

Quarantine has been a serious strain on the mental well-being of my parents and I. We never argue and we get along uncharacteristically well, so generally speaking we’re totally fine. We have a laugh and our issues are never with each other. But human beings aren’t built to be locked inside for months on end; it doesn’t matter how much they like each other.

Thankfully, me, my mum and my dad have somehow managed to alternate our breakdowns so none of us have been miserable at the same time so far. It’s not every day but every now and then, it just hits you. And whoever isn’t feeling like jumping out of the window on that day, gets the job of comforting whoever does. Lots of hugs, loud music, drunken dancing on the balcony, crisps and chocolate, Blue Planet, Judy Garland, sarcastic jokes. You know, usual family stuff.

But what I’m trying to get at in this blog, is that if you’re waking up some days feeling absolutely miserable then that’s a totally valid feeling to have right now. It’s a completely mad, upsetting time. It doesn’t matter how lovely your house is, or how amazing the people you’re locked in with are, sometimes you just can’t face another day doing the same thing, in the same rooms, surrounded by the same people, with no idea of when you’ll all be able to do something else.

I could end this with ‘hey, it’s mostly not that bad, let’s not dwell’ – a very true point. But there’s a lot to be said for allowing yourself a minute to just listen to some maungy music and bask in how crap you feel. You don’t always have to rationalise things; sometimes you just feel rubbish. And we’ve been stuck in the house for weeks with no prospect of an end date, in a world where the only news story seems to be how many people are dying. So if that isn’t an excuse to feel sad for a day, then I don’t know what is.

Xx

Does being masculine mean you shouldn’t slut-drop?

Does being masculine mean you shouldn’t slut-drop?

I wanted to know whether these young men feel like they need to act/look/talk/think a certain way when they like someone, and whether they think there’s a generally accepted version of ‘attractive’ for the male sex.

My favourite response was: ‘I’m not saying I go around crushing beers against my forehead but I do maybe try and avoid slutdropping for hashtag bant’. I mean, that first part is just a really funny mental-image.

But overall, the answers were interesting because they were all pretty 50/50 on ‘yes’ and ‘no’, with equally passionate viewpoints on both sides. However, the ‘no’ answers had quite a lot of contradictions, with boys saying ‘no, not really’ or ‘definitely not’, but following it with ‘I try to be the most appealing version of myself’. Noting that it’s ‘pointless’ to be something they’re not in the first stages of getting to know a person, but still wanting to make themselves ‘more likeable’ to ‘not put girls off’.

I did completely understand what they meant: we all try to temper or alter ourselves when we first meet someone because we want them to like us. But, I can’t help feeling sad at how much pressure we put on ourselves just because we want the approval of a stranger…

Regardless of how many of these lads said ‘I just kinda do me’, there were a lot of mentions of the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ trope. The ‘v-line’ and the ‘older look’; the ‘jawline’ and the ‘muscular look’; the ‘confidence’ that always almost crosses over into ‘arrogance’. Oh, and ‘that typical white boy look’: I’m learning that for both men and women, other races have a lot more trouble with fetishisation than us Caucasians. But that’s a whole other blog.

Overall, the boys were saying a lot of things which equate to the experiences girls have our age. We all overthink how we should be when we’re trying to impress someone. We try not to change in front of strangers we fancy, but often we do it anyway. We have social standards we kind of want to live up to – no matter how impossible they might be. Our upbringing and our social class influence what version of ourselves we think is preferable to whoever we’re talking to. We’re all just kind of insecure and unsure at this age.

However these boys made a point that deserves a specific mention: not enough time is given to how much these pressures to look a certain way damage the mental health of young men. My friends were so right to tell me that ‘body image amongst men isn’t taken as seriously’ as it should be, because according to the National Centre for Eating Disorders in the UK, men are thought to make up around 50% of all cases. And I don’t know about you, but that statistic came as a surprise to me…

I think we’re doing pretty well in diversifying what it means to be ‘masculine’ in the modern world. But we’re moving so slowly. We still need to fully recognise that sexism is a huge problem for both men and women now: in 2020. If we sorted it out for women, then men would definitely feel the benefits too. Maybe we’d even realise that if someone likes us, then they probably couldn’t give less of a sh** about our hair colour or our height. Imagine it! A world without gender rules.

So, does being masculine mean you shouldn’t slut-drop? Well I certainly hope not. And FYI lads, if you want to play with gender expectations, then a little bit of eyeliner can go a long way too…I’m just saying.