Tag: friendships

Be my Valentine

Be my Valentine

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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!

She loves me, she loves me not

She loves me, she loves me not

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Recently, I’ve noticed a change in myself when it comes to how I approach friendships with other young women. As some of you may know, I grew up alongside three older brothers, and have always had a close relationship with my dad. This isn’t to say that my mum and I aren’t close, because she’s undoubtedly one of my best friends, still, I’ve always felt more comfortable in the company of men.

All four of us were raised as feminists and were encouraged to show appreciation and love for the successes of individuals regardless of their gender. Yet, my parents could only do so much when it came to raising children in a society built on thousands of years’ worth of patriarchal ideas. So the fact is, that when I went to school and I socialised with kids outside of my home environment, I found myself experiencing way more grief when it came to my friendships with girls compared to those I experienced with boys. For instance, I could type page after page of stories of when I’d been friends with a girl for a long time then all of a sudden she had decided she didn’t like me for some reason or another, and boom: the bitching starts, everyone’s crying, friendship over.

Hence, I find myself walking into rooms full of all types of people, and the ones I feel the most intimidated by – without a shadow of a doubt – are the cis heterosexual women. Especially ones in a big group. But a lot of the time, I’m not intimidated because I don’t think that I would like them, it’s because I figure that the second I open my mouth and show myself as confident, self-assured, articulate, or (god forbid) comfortable around cis heterosexual men, these women won’t like me. I just can’t be arsed with the judgemental stares.

Only, I fucking LOVE women. I am one ffs. But society and its patriarchy are so unbelievably divisive that the second we’re away from those we love, and even occasionally whilst we’re with those we love, women are taught to rip each other to absolute shreds. We’re taught to judge, and distrust, and hate each other so much that sometimes we can’t help but subconsciously give in to the misogyny. As much as we raise our friends up for being confident and loving themselves, it’s not always easy to carry that approach into every situation. Plus, women can and are really awful to each other sometimes, so it’s not always easy to like every one.

However, the main point I want to make in this week’s blog, is that all women should stop being so distrusting of one another just because of the fact that we’re female; doing so doesn’t help anyone. My friendships with the women in my life now are some of the closest, most colourful, joyful relationships I will ever have, and I think it a shame that sometimes I might have accidentally stopped others from developing because I’ve assumed things before I’ve asked any questions.

So, the moral of this story is: you’re not going to like everyone, but don’t let the reason you don’t like someone be because of their gender.

A day in the disabled life

A day in the disabled life

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The other week someone asked me what a normal day with my disability is like, and I laughed.

Like many, this person was looking for me to recount a complicated series of events that measure up to the stereotype of an arduous, pitiful day of living with Spina Bifida. Only, life isn’t like that, and my answer to this strangely-worded question will always be the same: it depends on the day. I will say however, that by having my first blister in 3 years a couple of weeks ago, and living more on my own than I ever have before, I’ve started to think about and recognise the number of things I do, and things I know how to do, which simply don’t go through the minds of many of my peers.

I look at my feet religiously every morning and every night: I check for tiny little differences from what it looked like the last time I looked, and I press on my scar tissue to feel if it’s weakening because god knows it can decide to weaken at any given time, for absolutely no reason. With my blister – which I thought had healed, but it hasn’t completely – I have to constantly apply this gel my doctor gave me which dehydrates the wound to constrict the blood vessels and hopefully heal the blister more quickly. Just a few days ago some old blood from when the blister had been active came out whilst I had my shoe on, and as always, I only noticed this once I took my shoe off and saw the blood on my sock. I was at my friend’s house at the time and asked her for some antiseptic, she said she didn’t have any, I made her laugh by saying ‘that’s privilege’, and then I asked her to boil some water and put some salt in it because I know that that’s the next best thing to sanitise a wound. Then amongst all of the practical things I do, at the minute I’m having to weigh up which social events I can go to, whilst also factoring in the amount of walking I’ll need to do for lectures, whilst also wanting to continue to have fun with my friends like I was before my foot decided to be a dick.

And regardless of whether I have a problem or not, there are always days when I put my shoes on and my legs feel weak: I’m tired, I trip more often, I’m self-conscious of the possibly exacerbated limp to my walk. If the pair of shoes I’m wearing are new, I can tell that all of the structure is in the right place because as I walk my feet try their very best to revert back to their naturally deformed position, but the hard leather pushes them to where they should be, making walking both easier and stiffer than before.

I know how to make a perfectly flat bandage for any tricky angle or curve on my feet, and how to spot it when an infection is tracking towards my ankle. I could tell you exactly the type of medication I need if I get an infection, and I could tell you a million tales of when I’ve had to take it. In recent years, I’ve learnt that Spina Bifida also means that I can occasionally experience bladder retention when I’ve had too much to drink, meaning that I temporarily lose the ability to empty my bladder on my own and I have to catheterise myself before the pain starts and I have to go to A&E. It’s not a nice thing to have to do, and it hurts the next day.

Knowing all of these things (and more) is second nature to me because I have to know them, and I’ve always been taught to acknowledge that it could be so much worse. But by just getting on with it, I’m not sure that I ever take the time to consider how tiring it can be to have all of this in my head and nobody to acknowledge that I’m having to think about it.

When I was a little girl, I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know or care that I walked funny or that my feet were different to everyone else’s. I started to clock it when I was having operations; when there were times that nurses came to the house every day to dress my foot, and I missed out on things my friends could do because I was in a wheelchair. Then I became a teenager, and I got angry about it, or I ignored it, and I didn’t look after my feet the way I could’ve. Now we’re here, I’m an adult, and I know how to do it better than anyone else. But the one thing – my biggest crutch – that I don’t have as much as I did when I was younger, is the ability to just look at my parents when I’m weary from it all and see that they know. So I miss that look sometimes.

I had an extremely happy childhood, a wonderful adolescence, and so far so good when it comes to adulthood. But every now and then I step away from the monotony of everything I know I have to do, to realise that Jesus Christ it’s a lot. It could be worse, and everyone has things they cope with in life, however, that doesn’t mean that I won’t have moments when I’m a little tired by it.

Thus, I’m afraid that I don’t have a neat or interesting ‘day in the life’ for you because that’s not how this disability thing works. Or how anyone’s life works for that matter. And let me clarify that I didn’t type this searching for pity, or for a little moan. In my head, I think that by writing this down and publishing it I’m trying to give myself that look of acknowledgement that I can only get from my parents because no matter how they try, my friends here can’t do it yet. They’ve simply not known me long enough. And away from all of the clumsy self-psychoanalysis, this blog is another attempt to show you as much of my disability as I can communicate through words.

So there you go, now you know that if you’ve ever got a nasty cut or blister that needs nursing then I’m your girl. I’ve got the personal first aid kit of your dreams mate.

The stress of the sesh

The stress of the sesh

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

If we’re going to be honest about it, then realistically, most university students do not have a very healthy relationship with alcohol.

Or do we? Because, what do we mean when we say ‘a healthy relationship’? And does whatever definition we’ve concocted to answer that question change according to context? These questions can be rhetorical, or not, depending on your opinion and your own situation but for me, life as a university student is its own unique beast, and going back to a ‘proper’ university experience after quarantine has made me reassess my own relationship with drink.

Every student will know that one of the best parts of the university experience is the partying: the thrill of meeting new people and deciding whether you’re going to sacrifice tomorrow’s seminar for the sesh. Whether it’s the middle of the night conversations, the drunken silliness, the dancing, or the escape, alcohol and nights out afford university students freedom and liberation from not knowing who they are or what they want to do yet. (They also offer us an obscene amount of fun.) But our youth and our energy can cloud our judgement so much that sometimes we don’t realise that we’re regularly ingesting a really harmful drug. Saying that, I’m not about to bitch about drinking culture nor am I here to announce a ‘new, sober me’ because my love for the sesh and a vodka lemonade are too much to allow me to commit to that. However, after going out more this year and seeing familiar faces I’ve become a little paranoid about people’s perception of me after they’ve seen me drunk.

Unfortunately, we’ve all embarrassed ourselves when under the influence: we’ve said something we shouldn’t have, we’ve tumbled on the dance floor (although for me, that’s not particularly embarrassing lol), we’ve flirted with someone we shouldn’t have, and we’ve puked on someone’s floor. But what makes these things okay, is that most of us do our best to get drunk with and around our friends: with people we can trust. Having that security blanket of no judgement can mean that whatever mistake you make after that second tequila doesn’t have to define you for longer than you’d like it to. Although, if it was ridiculous and funny enough then you can count on someone having filmed it or made a mental note to never forget it and periodically remind you of it. Oh, the delights of friendship.

Occasionally however, in this university bubble you may find yourself with a group of people who have only ever seen you whilst drunk. And whilst that might not bother others, it doesn’t sit right with me because my next-day boozer anxiety makes me feel like I gave too much of myself to strangers. I don’t like the idea that there are people who only know me as whatever slurred words I said one night because I don’t know them enough to trust that there won’t be any judgement. I’ve never said anything that bad, or that deep, but still, I don’t know, I prefer to know people properly before we see each other drunk.

I think it’s also important to mention here that another layer of trust needed when drinking with people, is that you’re physically safe. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few weeks then you’ve seen that there’s been a huge and frightening problem with university students – mostly young women – being spiked whilst on nights out. Thankfully, it’s not something that has ever happened to me (touch wood), but if it did then the first thing that I would need in that moment is the support and help of those I’d gone on the night-out with. My friends and I aren’t always perfect when it comes to watching out for everyone on a night out because we’re young, we can get silly, and sometimes we can definitely get distracted by the fact that we’re horny, but I’m happy in the knowledge that if I were ever in trouble or if I ever felt like something was wrong then they’d sort me out in a matter of minutes. It might take a few minutes if they’ve been on the VKs, but it’d happen nonetheless.

So this week I mostly just want to encourage you to be aware of who you’re allowing yourself to be vulnerable around; drinking is fun, but only if you’re safe whilst you’re doing it. Watch how much of yourself you give to people – both physically and emotionally – and look out for your friends. Obviously, this would be the perfect time for me to say ‘drink responsibly’ but I don’t think many of us adhere to what the government describes as ‘responsible’ at this age…so I’ll leave you instead with this request: be careful.

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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.

It gets a little too loud

It gets a little too loud

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

A few days ago, I lay down to go to sleep but couldn’t because all I could hear was talking. I tossed and turned and I tossed and turned, but the whole time I felt like I was trying to go to sleep in a crowded room full of people talking, laughing, and arguing with each other. Then I realised that all of that noise was in my head. So I breathed, and I calmed it, and I went to sleep.

Now before anyone refers me onto a psychiatrist, I don’t suffer from any mental health problems which would mean that I hear voices; the only thing I suffer from is trying to constantly keep myself busy. I fill my days with activities to avoid being bored or feeling like I’m squandering my time (or that I’m alone), then in my head I plan, organise, and evaluate everything. Once I’ve thought about all the things I’ve done, or need to do, the next brainwave is all of the internal conversations about my friendships or boy tediums, and if I’ve exhausted all of that (and am nearing the days of my period), some cheeky insecurities will pop up to say hello.

It gets pretty noisy.

All of this isn’t to say that I’m unhappy, though; coming back to a more normal version of a university life this year has been something that so many of us really needed, and I’m glad to say that I’m pretty content at the minute. I no longer need to worry about the stress of a year abroad, or the fact that my degree makes me feel stupid. I’m able to get out of the house, go to lectures I enjoy, and socialise with people without breaking the law or having to cover half of my face. I’ve had insanely exciting news which has made me feel like I’m actually going to be able to have a career doing something I love – and I’m not going to go into details about it in case I jinx it. I get to see and laugh with my friends all of the time, and I feel like I’m getting pretty good at this whole adult-ing thing. But even the good times are mentally trying, and it pays to recognise this before something happens and your brain goes bang and you end up crying on the floor eating ice cream.

As is the case with many things, I’m not an expert in how to help yourself calm down and relax because I’m constantly trying to find something to fill my time. However, yesterday when I was doing my eye make up, I realised that I’d forgotten to breathe because I was trying to make my eyeliner perfect, whilst also thinking about an argument I wanted to (but never would) have with a lad. Needless to say, (once I’d remembered to exhale), it was clear that I need to work out how to slow down a little.

When I was younger, my granddad used to take me and my brother camping in the Yorkshire Dales a lot. I think of those times with an immense amount of fondness, but possibly the most influential part of those trips was the fact that when I get overwhelmed, I feel an intense need to go to those hills because of the silence. It’s so quiet up there that it kind of hurts your ears. But as much as I want to, I can’t be driving an hour to the middle of nowhere every time I feel a little claustrophobic: I’ve got a dissertation to write. Thus, I drive half an hour to the beach to look at the sea, I go home to sit with my parents and watch TV, or I read a book I want to read (not one that’s been assigned to me); I play guitar, I listen to music, or sometimes I just sit and stare at the wall for a bit. Although, that last one does sound like something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest…again, I don’t need a psychiatrist, I promise.

Whatever it is, and whatever age you are, all I can say is that you should probably find something that gives you a moment of respite not just from other people, but from yourself too. Otherwise eventually, as everyone’s mum used to say: it’ll all end in tears.

See you later!

See you later!

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

As I write this, it’s 30th June 2021, and it’s the last day of mine and my housemate’s tenancy for our second year of University. When we first moved in, it came at the end of an intense 5 months for the entire world; we’d been robbed of our third term of first year by the coronavirus pandemic, and we were moving in not really knowing what our second year would look like. Some of us came straight away, but it took until September/October for us to have pretty much a full house. First term was absolutely riddled with lockdowns and being ill with coronavirus, though we still managed to have some hectic nights-out before everything shut and make our university house start to feel like our home. We even cooked a Christmas dinner and got all dressed up to feel some semblance of normality – shout out to Rish’s brief stint as a mixologist. Then second term came and we had to STUDY. There were countless library trips, hours spent staring at laptops, withering attention-spans, and a whole lot of delirious laughter in between some snowball fights and getting lost in the woods as we searched for some alpacas. Obviously, we also had plenty of seshes, but that’s standard Lavender House activity.

Finally, we got our first summer term at university together. The exam period was exhausting, but it came and went pretty quickly overall, and I must say that sitting next to each other as we all attempted completely different exams was surprisingly enjoyable…Though not as enjoyable as when we finished and were able to just relax and spend time with each other.

Completing a year of university during a pandemic has been a real struggle for my friends and I at points. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know that I’ve felt moments of intense physical and emotional exhaustion, boredom, despondency, and isolation. But through all of that, we managed to laugh together every single day.

I was speaking to one of my housemates the other day about it, and we were saying just how strange it is that we come to university and we meet all of these people, and make all of these memories, then we all go off into the world and it’s unlikely that we’ll ever see each other again. Here, I probably sound super dramatic, and you’re probably wondering why I’m getting so sentimental when I haven’t even graduated, but next year is my year abroad so a lot of my friends will graduate before I come back, and also a little sentimentality wouldn’t hurt the English once in a while. After all, as much as we shy away from deep or intense emotion, it is true that we may never know what becomes of these people we’ve come to really care for in the past couple of years.

For me, if it weren’t for my university friends, then I don’t know how much I would’ve kept up with these blogs, or how confident I would’ve felt in making a podcast or being on the radio, and I most definitely would NOT have walked on a stage in front of everyone at our college fashion show. They’ve helped me to stop slut-shaming myself if I get drunk and feel like sleeping my with someone. They’ve let me cry to them about how difficult my degree is more times then they probably could’ve been bothered with, and they’ve forgiven my occasional tendencies towards passive aggression. But most of all, they’ve made me feel safe and loved, and they’ve made me laugh until my stomach hurt.

So whilst I know I will see many of you again, I wanted to take a second to give you some love as we all move out and go on to the next bit – whether that be a final year at university, a year abroad, a placement year, a masters degree, or the start to life as a university graduate. Regardless of how often we see each other again though, I’m going to steal the words of a friend I met and said goodbye to in Ukraine two years ago, and say that in the moments when I miss seeing you all the time, it’ll cheer me up to know that you exist somewhere.

See you later my loves x

Love letters

Love letters

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

You know, it’s come to my attention that sometimes I’m not very kind to myself. And I’ve also just realised that that was a really deep way to start a blog… 🙂

Over the last decade or so, it’s become very fashionable for people to recognise when they’re being really hard on themselves and to rectify those moments. We start to do yoga, we meditate, we go on holiday (lol, imagine), we buy an adult colouring book, we have a good cry, we talk to each other. But still, no matter how self-aware we are, and no matter how many affirmations we say to ourselves in the mirror – although, I’ll be honest and say that I’ve never personally tried the talking to yourself method…seems a bit intense to me, but anyway – humans still don’t seem able to escape from those self-criticism shackles.

I was speaking recently with one of my housemates about this and we both noted that for each of us, part of growing up has been coming to terms with who we are: the good and the bad. Generally, I’m very comfortable in who I am and I like to think that I’m a pretty decent human being, but I know that every trait I really like about myself does have a side effect. For example, when I care about things I really care about them: I work really hard for it, I’ll spend hours on it, I’ll do everything I can to make it work – whether that be a friendship or my degree. However, the flip-side of that is that if I can’t control it and if something goes wrong, I lose my shit. I pin part of my self-worth on the success of that one thing, and if it fails then I get angry and I’ll probably end up sobbing until my eyes swell-up and the colour of my skin resembles Clifford the Big Red Dog. It’s intense.

Another thing I like about myself is that I’m pretty good at rationalising situations: I can be objective, and am decent at understanding why I’m feeling the way I do. Still, my overactive brain is very skilled in ignoring and doubting my own rationalisations, so I’m also pretty bad at practicing what I preach. Therefore, sometimes when I write a blog and I’m able to give what I hope is decent, pragmatic advice, that’s me writing a love letter to myself. Obviously, I’d love to always be as calm and measured as I can make myself out to be, but these words are carefully considered and they’re not always a reflection of my actions. But then, do any of us always follow the advice we give to our friends? Probably not. Do we know that we should? Yep. So why don’t we? Fuck knows.

I suppose I’m saying this because the more blogs I write, and the more advice I inadvertently give, the more I realise that I’m setting myself up for a fall when my friends see what I do and say ‘do I have to send you your own blog?’. (Which, though cutting, is always kind of hilarious when it happens.)

These blogs are the times when the rational part of my brain is able to take over and make sense of everything; to try and keep my anxieties and insecurities at bay. But, in this age of crafted opinions and convenient omissions, I’d like to make the disclaimer that I’m 21 years old and whilst I may know something is the right thing to do, that unfortunately doesn’t mean that I’ll always do it. What’s important, is that we each at least try to take care of ourselves as much as we can, and that we identify when we’re not doing such a great job of it. But as Hannah Montana wisely said: everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days.

Enjoy the sunshine! Xx

Let’s talk about sex, bby

Let’s talk about sex, bby

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Talking about sex in a super honest way is rarely done, because if you bring it up, a lot of the time people start to feel nervous, uncomfortable, anxious, self-conscious, etc, etc. And these reactions make perfect sense: sex is one of the most intimate things you can do with another person. However, it’s also nothing to be afraid of, so we should probably start getting more aware of how sex-positive we really are.

Sex-positivity, in the way I understand it, is the recognition and acceptance that sex is a totally normal part of a person’s life. It’s something most of us do, and society should normalise talking about it; especially in the sense that it should be enjoyable for everyone involved.

That sounds pretty simple, right? If you’re sexually active, then you should be enjoying it, and comfortable enough around your friends/family/sexual partner/s to talk about it. But unfortunately, sex-positivity isn’t practised by society as much as it should be.

For women, the idea of sex is both empowering and oppressive. We can take our sexuality into our own hands and decide who we want to sleep with and when, but whilst we’re empowering ourselves and our female friends, there always comes a point when you wonder whether doing this is making you seem like a bit of a slut to the wider world. And nobody wants to be a slut: that kind of reputation rarely ends well.

So we use the word with each other. And by trying to reclaim the term, women are somewhat able to fight against society telling us how much sex we should be having, because after all, my sex life is nobody’s business but my own.

This attitude, however, doesn’t mean that sex-positive women aren’t self-conscious, nervous or conflicted when it comes to sex. You might be totally fine with the concept of a one night stand, but then when you have one, thousands of years of female sexual oppression might start creeping into your head to tell you that you’re a slut and you’re making a fool of yourself. It happens; sexism’s a bitch.

Generally speaking though, sex should never be a thing that’s only appropriate for each gender to speak about amongst themselves. At school, I never saw how it made sense to separate the boys and the girls for the sex education talks. I obviously need to know the details of what’s going to happen with my body, but there’s a whole other half of the population that I’m actively not being told about. So when I develop relationships with that gender, there’s this huge barrier between us already, and I don’t see how that’s helpful.

Sex encompasses so many ideas and emotions that are vital to our relationships with ourselves and each other – regardless of gender. Politics, history, science, philosophy, psychology, anthropology: you name it, talking about sex would probably make parts of it make more sense. But aside from all that nerdy stuff, sex is fun, so why not talk about it in the same way you talk about all the other things you enjoy? That way, when it isn’t fun, you’ll feel comfortable enough around someone to tell them why.

Lockdown blues

Lockdown blues

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

A few days ago I was feeling really low: I wrote a blog all about my experience of coronavirus, my opinions on the way the government has handled it, and how depressing quarantining is. I didn’t publish it though, mostly because I’m super bored of talking about our shambles of a government…

Everybody hates being ill, and now more than ever we’re made to feel like we should fear illness. Obviously the pandemic has caused suffering on a huge scale to many people, but as we approach the winter, we need to give as much attention to our mental health as we’ve been giving to our physical. It’s been very easy to focus on coronavirus as the only relevant illness for the year, but a dangerous consequence of that has been that we’re kind of neglecting everything else.

As you might’ve read in my posts from back in the summer, I found quarantining in Peru really intense and exhausting at times. So on the 26th October when I realised that I wouldn’t be able to leave the house until at least the 8th November, I was thrown back into all of the emotions I remembered from the first lockdown. And I really don’t think that anyone has been talking enough about how awful it is to be on house arrest for weeks. Yes, it helps with slowing down the spread of the virus, but it also does some serious things to your state of mind.

Thus, the point I want to make this week is that we have to push the drama of the government’s restrictions to one side. Whether you agree with what they’re doing or not, when you catch this virus you’re going to have to stay inside for a couple of weeks. That experience can feel overwhelmingly bleak – especially when you know that you won’t be able to go out for food or for a drink at the end of it. You might wake up some mornings and not see the point of getting changed. Then when you check your phone and see text after text from NHS track and trace instructing you to stay inside, you might start to feel really suffocated. We’re all feeling the same things, and it’s sh**.

But you have to make the effort to get changed; to cook something interesting; to have fun with those you live with; to call the ones you don’t. Do your best to surround yourself with good vibes, and try your utmost to address how you’re feeling.

I’m not always the best at looking after myself, but as I get older, it gets clearer that my own happiness is my responsibility. So just keep reminding yourself of the positive things, because this lockdown world can so easily push you down.