Tag: growingup

Fake friends sounds boring

Fake friends sounds boring

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 2 Comments

I was scrolling on TikTok, and I saw a video of a woman doing some crazy acrobatic yoga moves whilst listing things she wished she’d known in her 20s. In all honesty, I was concentrating more on the poses she was able to strike – passively imagining myself giving them a go and ending up in A&E for an afternoon – but when I did listen to what she was saying, I noticed that the running theme was she wished she hadn’t wasted so much time with people who didn’t really care about her, and who she never actually trusted.

And I’ve spoken about this quite a lot recently because the first four years of my 20s have included some failed friendships, as well as management of insecurities that came out of them. I’ve never struggled making friends – in fact, when I was little my (then) teenage brothers used to complain to our parents about me having loads of friends because occasionally I’d come home with a head full of knits, which I’d very generously then pass onto their 15-year-old heads. Sorry for that one lads; wasn’t on purpose.

Anyways, throughout school, I always had big groups of friends. But regardless of the group, eventually, one of the girls would end up waking up one morning and deciding that she hated me, make snide comments, criticise me for things I couldn’t change, and ultimately turn the other way. Friendship over. My efforts to avoid it or work it out never seemed to achieve much either. Every time it happened it stung, but as I got older this pattern started to become duller because often I was sure that I’d not done anything wrong to make her feel that way because if I had, I would’ve been the first to start crying and apologise because the guilt would’ve made me feel physically sick. Plus, in these moments when I’d asked the young girl in question why there was now a problem, she’d get all vague and heavily imply (or say) that she just didn’t like me. You can’t do much with that. Except get paranoid about when within the years-long friendship that became true.

Obviously, I’m not a perfect person, I’ve not always been the best friend to people but when I’ve made mistakes before I’ve been able to genuinely apologise, then move on from whatever it was I did. Plus, given that these times when I did make mistakes it was with my friends, who I love and care about, I never meant to upset them, so of course I said sorry – and meant it. But when I think of all of the friendships I’ve had since I was about 11, it becomes clear that some of those friends ended up making me feel pretty insecure. With certain people, I privileged avoiding conflict and ensuring that everyone liked me so much, that I ignored the snide comments, and told myself I was okay with always being the one to text, or call, or drive to wherever the other person wanted to be.

When your friends take the mick out of you, a lot of the time it’s harmless, genuine fun. They make a dig at you, you make a dig at them, everyone laughs, nobody is offended, everything is fine. However, you also have to be careful to notice when something actually stings you in a way that wasn’t intended by the person who threw the joke. Or maybe they did kind of mean for it to hurt. And maybe you’ve heard that joke that suggests they don’t actually like you a fair few times now, so it doesn’t feel very ‘jokey’ anymore.

No matter how long you’ve been friends with someone, or where or how that friendship started, you’re not entitled to their time, nor are you to theirs. Like everything, friendships require you to both put effort into them and if that balance becomes so off that the friendship ultimately breaks down, it can really hurt. Way more than when you stopped texting that lad you liked for a month. To try to avoid this pain now, I’ve noticed myself approaching friendships with people differently than before.

If someone is terrible with their phone then that’s (sort of) fine, but I can’t rely on them the way I might want to, so I place some distance there. Whereas, if they make slightly mean comments about me or what I do, or if they only ever message me when they want something from me, then that’s not friendship to me. So I don’t need it. But ultimately, it boils down to this: if you wouldn’t take it from someone you’re dating, then why are you taking it from someone you call a friend? Those I keep close to me now only make me feel good, and I wholeheartedly trust that every single one of them actually likes me. It sounds so silly, but I don’t think it’s something I’ve ever felt able to say with such certainty.

*Cue one of them thinking they’re funny and texting me ‘haha I actually hate you xo’ after reading this.

You don’t look like you did

You don’t look like you did

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 1 Comment

I’ve been writing these blogs now for 4 years, and I think that throughout that time, the way I’ve approached the pages and what they’ve meant for me has constantly changed. To begin with, I didn’t think that anyone would read them and I had a level of embarrassment at the thought that someone ever would, and now that I know that a lot of people do, there have been times when I’ve felt more cautious about writing so honestly. However, these online pages have become a way for me to express myself in a raw, simplified manner, and I feel like if you read them, then you come into this expecting honesty, so whilst I might not give you every detail, I can’t help but continue to overshare.

However, lately, it’d felt like the only topics I could write about that would be of any interest to you – my anonymous reader – would have to center around either my dating life or my disability. If I wrote about anything else, I couldn’t quite settle with myself that anyone would be bothered. But (ironically), only writing about these subjects didn’t feel honest.

As far as dating goes, frankly, I’ve become tired of writing the same thing – or feeling like I am. I’ve tried different approaches when it comes to dating, I’ve had many an exciting tale to tell (and have enjoyed telling them), but ultimately those stories have ended with me staying single when I’d probably rather not be. Except, I’m not sure if that conclusion is true for me anymore. For years I’ve defined myself in some way as being the one with the chaotic love life, keeping my friends entertained, and each time it’s ended with me not in a relationship, I’ve told myself that in some way I failed. Even though every ‘thing’ I’ve had wouldn’t have worked anyway (clearly); in many of them I was more invested in the story than the person, and in some, the circumstances meant that it was simply out of my control. At no point did I fail, and I’m bored of leaning into that narrative.

Also, I’m far too confused about what I want and who I am at the minute to even go near the stress and effort of the dating world. You’ve got to grit your teeth and put up with a lot for dating in the current climate, so for now, I choose to not.

Last week I drove myself around Wales for a few days because I wanted to address the feeling of confusion that had been lingering in the back of my mind for months. For the very first time, I’d been unsure of what I was doing, why I was doing it, why I wanted to do it, and who I even was in my head. I was trying to reconcile having to speak about my disability far more often than I ever have before in order to ‘represent’, whilst still having conflicting views about my own body and how I want the world to perceive it. I also miss my family, because in the last year many of those who I’m closest to emotionally, are no longer that near physically. And although I’ve made it happen for myself, my career trajectory so far has been quick, and I’ve given myself very little time to keep up with it. But still, somehow I was confused as to why I kept waking up and feeling exhausted. So I took myself to my happy place, the middle of nowhere, where I drove for hours, sang at full pelt, breathed cleaner air, thought about nothing for stretches of time, and then tried to work out what I feel.

I concluded, that so much has changed in my life in a very short space of time that somewhere along the way I got a bit lost. I turned 24 and now there are things I used to tolerate, accept, or love that I don’t feel the same way about anymore. For example, I’ve only ever tolerated my disability: now I want to like it. I used to love to be able to tell my friends a story about some complicated romantic situation I found myself in: now I only want simple. I used to accept that if I wanted to have fun, then I would always have to be around other people to do that: now I want to find the same joy in moments when I’m by myself.

Rather than be frightened by my mid-20s confusion – as I was for a couple of months back there – I’ve decided that I just need to sit in it and see what happens. Within all the change and the rush of progressing my career, I need to get to know myself as a 24-year-old, because I no longer look or feel like I ever have before. Obviously, the core parts are still there – my eyes are still green, my hair is still curly, and my intentions are still always good – there are just a few extra, or slightly different, things that I need to figure out.

I was a Christmas Presenter on BBC Radio 1!

I was a Christmas Presenter on BBC Radio 1!

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Before my foot decided to throw one of the most dramatic tantrums I’ve ever seen and land me in the hospital, I had the absolute joy of presenting not one, but TWO live shows on BBC Radio 1, as part of the Christmas presenter takeover. But what I realise, is that for those who don’t want to be radio presenters – so, the majority of the population – it was a bit of a shock to see me graduate from Durham University in June, move to London in August, and then end up presenting on BBC Radio 1 by the end of December. So, let me explain a little of how that happened – although, even with the explanation, the fact that it happened is still pretty ludicrous, but I’ll give you the context anyway! 🙂

I’m not one of those people who has always known exactly what they wanted to do. As a child, I went through the motions of wanting to be a Disney princess one day, an architect or archaeologist the next, a singer on X-Factor some mornings, and then there was that time when I really wanted to be a waitress. Even though I can’t stand for long or walk long distances. We can put that one down to wishful thinking. More than anything, my priority was always to end up in a job that I enjoyed; I didn’t want my disability to force me into something boring, simply because it’d mean that I could sit down all the time. Even when I was at university and I was telling people that I wanted to be a translator working within the music industry, I didn’t really know that that was what I wanted to do, nor did I have any clue whether that job existed in the first place – I just thought the idea sounded pretty cool, and I guess it gave me something to say whenever a relative posed the question.

Whilst studying at Durham University, I took up student radio. I had my own show in my first year, where I sat for an hour and played my favourite songs whilst some of my mates back at college would occasionally tune in. I interviewed a few student artists and then got involved with a group of students who were trying to organise a music festival – though the festival, unfortunately, was one of the many casualties of COVID: R.I.P.

I loved having these little projects, but they definitely weren’t my priority; it was only in my second year that I started to think of maybe pursuing a career in radio. During the third (?), maybe second (?), lockdown, one of the only things that I was able to do was student radio because we could all broadcast our shows from our bedrooms. So, I took it upon myself to start emailing some of my favourite musicians and ask them whether they fancied doing a zoom interview for the radio. Naturally, I talked the station up in the hopes of getting some responses, but I didn’t expect to talk my way into interviews with musicians from across the UK, the USA, Australia, and that random lad I spoke to who’s from Sweden. (He was stunning by the way; it took me a hot minute to recover from that Facetime). And so it was these interviews, as well as my spontaneous attendance at the Student Radio Conference in April of last year, which led me to decide that I actually might give this radio presenter thing a go.

Since making that decision less than 12 months ago, I’ve worked incredibly hard to get into the radio and broadcasting industry, but if I’m honest with you, the graft really hasn’t felt like work to me. Of course, there have been moments over the past five months since I moved to London when I’ve been totally burnt out and exhausted (*cough* ended up in hospital needing an operation *cough*), but that’s been because getting into an industry like this one rarely happens overnight, so I have to work a million jobs and be in a million places all the time so I can make my rent, and also say yes to as many opportunities as possible in order to get myself where I want to be. Therefore, the part-time jobs definitely felt like work, but every time I did a shift at a radio station or made a demo, it was so much fun that I would’ve sat and done it for hours. In fact, there have been plenty of times when I’ve done exactly that.

Everything I’ve said so far has hopefully shown you that I am totally in love with this profession, but I’d be lying if I said that I don’t have to take my disability into consideration when thinking about a career. So, I can’t tell you how much of a relief it’s been to me (and probably my parents) that I’ve managed to fall in love with a job that allows me to take care of my feet, without being made to feel like I’ve compromised myself to put my disability first – especially given that the working world is so disgustingly inaccessible, that it was never inevitable that I was going to be able to get the best of both worlds like that. But hey, I managed it! (Coincidentally!)

And yet, just because I secured my place in the BBC Christmas takeover, this doesn’t mean that I’m now definitely going to be a radio presenter full-time; there’s still plenty of grafting and networking and emailing still to be done. Nonetheless, I’m very aware of how lucky I am to only be 23 and to have found a profession that I can and want to pursue, and I’d like to think that it’s only a matter of time before I get to have my name permanently on a schedule.

It can be tricky to choose the thing that you love over the simplest route; a lot of the time there’s no guarantee that it’ll work out, and there are a lot of people in this world who don’t have (or think that they don’t have) the ability to take that kind of risk. But if you have the space to try, then I’m going to go all motivational speaker now and tell you that you shouldn’t let fear stop you. I don’t know if this radio career thing is going to work out for me any time soon, or at all, but if it doesn’t, then at least I know that it wasn’t for lack of effort.

Maybe don’t answer EVERY question…

Maybe don’t answer EVERY question…

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I realised the other day that in the five years since I left school, I’ve spent a hefty amount of my time meeting and developing new relationships with people. I’ve travelled to lots of different places – both abroad and in Britain – and everywhere I’ve been I’ve come across people who I didn’t like, but more often than not, every new place brought me loads of new friends. In some cases, I even did a complete 180 in my opinion of someone as I acknowledged that your first impression of a person might not always be the best representation of what they’re actually like.

I’ve always been somebody who actively enjoys spending time with other people, however, even with this love for a ‘getting to know you’ conversation, I’ve noticed that in the past couple of years I’ve become far more cagey with a new group of people than I ever have been before. But to ensure that we’re all on the same page here, when I say ‘cagey’ I don’t mean that I’m rude or standoffish with people, it’s just that I’ve learned that it’s not always the best move to go into social situations as an entirely open book because by doing that, you don’t leave very much room to protect yourself.

When I was at school, I was the type of person who would tell anyone whatever they wanted to know about me: they could ask about my disability, my family, my fears, my aspirations, who I fancied, or literally anything else they could think of and I’d probably tell them the tale. In fact, I’d love telling the tale. This tendency towards openness and honesty isn’t something that I want to completely get rid of because without it we’d have no blog, and I also wouldn’t be myself, but there have been moments over the past few years when I realised just how exhausting it is to meet new people and answer all of these questions, only for many of those relationships to fizzle at some point. After all, once we’re out of school or university, most of us don’t have the time to maintain loads of friendships in between working and general living. So sometimes, it’s better to conserve your energy and not offload everything about yourself to whatever stranger you get along with for twenty minutes at a party, because repeatedly doing that in environments such as school, university, or a new job, really does take it out of you.

However, this newfound cageyness I’m talking about doesn’t just stem from the fact that it’s tired me out to be so honest, it’s also because I’ve sometimes been a little naive about who I can trust with the more vulnerable aspects of my personality. The fact is, that in order for any relationship to be fulfilling – be it platonic or romantic – there’s got to be an equal amount of effort put in by both sides, but if you’re like me then you might have had a few situations where you’ve realised that you’ve gotten upset because somebody hasn’t given you the same energy you were giving them, and even though that can be painful, were you maybe giving a little too much too quickly?..Then on the other side of this, have you potentially been the person in romantic relationships or friendships who has had somebody open up to you, and you haven’t respected their choice to do that in the way you should’ve?

I’ve probably done both, to be honest: I’ve definitely overshared and then been burnt by someone not caring as much as I thought they would, and I’m human, so I’ve undoubtedly been thought of as not being there for a person in the way they wanted me to be. Therefore, I’m not writing this blog because I think that there’s a perfect level of openness when forming relationships with new people – obvs, it’d be ideal for each of us to look into a crystal ball and know how much we can trust or rely on a person before we invest time into them, but that’d also take all the fun out of meeting and getting to know new people. So, I guess it’s about realising what works well for you in these situations.

For me, I was doing and giving way too much too quickly because I like knowing people really well (because I’m a freak and I find people very interesting), and I kind of figured that if I open up to someone then they’ll open up to me too, without respecting myself enough to acknowledge how exhausting it is to be that way. So, we’re not going to be a totally closed book, because human connection is one of the joys of everyone’s lives, we’re just going to be a liiiittle more selective about it to conserve energy and emotions. It’s all about give and take, and you’ve got to keep an eye on how much you’re letting people take versus how much they’re giving you.

One operation, two operations, three operations, four…

One operation, two operations, three operations, four…

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

If you’re an avid reader of my blogs, then it’s likely that you’ve seen me mention that I’ve had six operations because of my disability. But what’s funny, is that a lot of the time when I say these things about my lived experience with Spina Bifida, what I’m actually doing is repeating the speech I’ve always known as how to explain my disability to others – I’m not really thinking about the words I’m saying. For instance, it might surprise you to know that even though I talk about being disabled quite regularly, there are plenty of days when I almost have to remind myself that I have Spina Bifida. This is because the details of my condition and the way they physically ‘affect’ me aren’t constantly on my mind. But the times when this dissociation from my own disability gets the weirdest, is if I sit and properly think about my operations.

I had my first two operations when I was a baby and if I’m honest with you, I’m still not entirely clear on what they were for, what they were called, or how the procedures actually went. My basic understanding is that the goal was to drain some of the fluid in the lump on my back using tubes; I know they didn’t really work, and I know that I’ve still got a small plastic tube in my stomach because the doctors didn’t want to cause me any more trauma by making me have another operation to take it out. So, I’ve got a completely harmless plastic tube inside of me. Which (when I think about it) is weird, right?! But I don’t remember those operations, I just remember always knowing that that tube is inside of me because I can see the scar.

My next operation was on my right foot. My parents have told me that as a baby my feet were actually fine, and it was only when I started to walk (I think), that my right foot started to curve inwards so that I wasn’t placing the pressure where it should go and we started having some issues. Hence I had an operation to correct the positioning called a tendon transfer where they move a small piece of tendon from one side of your foot to the other to basically stretch it in a different way, so the bottom of your foot lies flat on the ground as you walk. (It’s difficult to explain in words…you might just have to google that one to get a visual aid). And again, I don’t remember being involved in the operation, but I know that I was because I can see the scars.

My final three operations were on my left foot – affectionately named by one of my best friends as the ‘attention-seeking foot’ because this little bugger has rarely stopped giving me grief since it decided to copy my right foot and curve inwards. The operations I had on this banter wagon were exactly the same as the one on my right foot, the only difference was that it took three tries (classic) because the first one got infected so you could see the bone from the outside, then the second attempt flopped, and by the third go, I had no more tendon left to transfer so it was less that the operations had ‘worked’, and more that my lovely surgeon had done the best he could. – He did kind of nail it tbf. I was in a wheelchair for 18 months during this part of my childhood.

What’s odd though, is that the time when I had these operations isn’t really something I recognise as my life because it all just sounds so medical. Obviously, I know that it happened because I’ve got scars and medical records to show for it, but I don’t ever remember thinking of myself as this regularly hospitalised child. Although, that isn’t to say that I don’t have memories of being in hospital gowns, and spending months with nurses coming to my house to dress my foot every day before I got in my wheelchair to go to school, or how the fever felt when my foot was so infected that the bone was visible. I remember all of that viscerally. But when I see the home videos of the little girl stumbling around, walking faster than her Spina Bifida feet could carry her, it’s difficult for me to watch because that level of blatantly obvious physical disability isn’t me in my head.

It goes without saying that I have my parents and my big brothers to thank for this, because if they’d ever brought attention to just how pronounced my disability was in my early childhood and restricted me according to that, then I wouldn’t be what I am. But then the funny flipside of being brought up this way, is that seeing images of little me limping around after my big brothers is bizarre and in some ways a little upsetting because oh my god, that’s me. I’ve heard all these stories about it but look! Look how much I couldn’t walk.

Still, in these same photographs, videos, and hazy memories of when my body was showing the purest form of my Spina Bifida, I couldn’t have cared less about it. This was also aided by the fact that no matter how bad my feet are, I never experience any direct pain because I don’t have any feeling in either of my feet. Therefore, infection or not, limp or not, I ran and explored as much as any other four-year-old did and the idea that I was ‘disabled’ was totally irrelevant to my experience of life. But my brain will always be wired this way, so it can get strange sometimes when I realise just how disabled I actually am.

I ran away to the Ukrainian mountains

I ran away to the Ukrainian mountains

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

As many of you have seen on social media, I went back to Ukraine this summer to work as a summer camp counsellor for a month, and if any of you are prOper big-time stalkers (*cough* I mean, ‘followers’…) of my work, then you’ll know that this wasn’t my first rodeo: I did the same job at the end of my year abroad two years ago. And what’s funny about coming back from doing anything for an extended period, is that people ask you how it was: some ask you out of politeness when they’re not really that interested, and others ask you because they truly want to know. But then when it comes to it, there’s no way you can effectively concentrate a month’s worth of experiences into one conversation, so you’re left with the ‘oh yeah, it was really fun thanks’.

I wanted to go back to Ukraine for two main reasons. The first was that I wanted to go to a different country because I like seeing other places, and because this year pretty much everyone on the planet has had the urge to leave their home country ever since being literally confined to it by law. The second reason related to the first, but was distinct in that I wanted to go somewhere else because for so long I felt stuck. I’d thoroughly enjoyed my second year at university but a pandemic, online learning, and the basic fact that I don’t really enjoy my degree made it so that I had this feeling that I was waiting around for something to happen only I had no idea what that something was. So I guess if we want to psychoanalyse it, I was eager to go back to do something I’d done during my year abroad since that was the time that I’d felt the surest of who I was and what I was doing.

The pandemic threw everyone for a loop, we know this, but my feeling lost and directionless at times can’t be wholly attributed to Ms Rona: it must also be a side-effect of our school systems telling us all the way through our adolescence that we need to know every step of our lives at least five years in advance. If you don’t plan, and if you don’t know, then you’ve done something wrong, you’re failing at adulting.

For the longest time, I knew I wanted to go to university and study Japanese Studies. So, then when I got there and realised that not only did I not enjoy it, but that the teaching had beaten my confidence down so much that I started to genuinely believe that I’m a bit stupid, it came as I nasty shock. And though I’d never really thought about it before, I now acknowledge that when situations or people stress me out, make me feel embarrassed or upset, I prefer to just run away and hide so I have time to make sense of it in my head. Hence the trip to the Carpathian mountains to fuck about doing dance routines and eating grechka with some kids for a month. Grechka, by the way, is this buckwheat thing and whilst I love some Ukrainian foods, grechka isn’t for me…it’s just that consistency in between needing to chew it and not needing to chew it…kinda gross. But anyway, back to the analysis of emotions.

I’m not about to criticise the part of my personality that likes to hide sometimes, because I don’t see why we need to change every little inconvenient part of ourselves, but I will say that I need to be less hard on myself right now. Yes, once you leave school and move out, you become an adult and there are lots of responsibilities associated with that, however, that process doesn’t automatically come with knowing exactly what you’re going to be doing at every stage of your life. Therefore, we should start cutting ourselves some slack for feeling a little lost sometimes. Especially considering we just lived/are living through an iNtErNAtiONal pANdeMIC.

On that note, coming back from Ukraine to see people no longer afraid of standing near strangers, of hugging, of going to a festival, of dancing in a bar, has really helped with dampening all those intense anxieties building up in me for the past 18 months. Let’s not be silly and assume that the stresses have completely gone – I’m still a languages student with no real semblance of a year abroad – bUT (!) as everything relaxes, and musicians release new music, life feels like it’s moving again. And thank fuck for that.

I’ve changed my mind

I’ve changed my mind

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to do something brainy when I grew up. (This was obviously briefly interrupted by the oh-my-god-when-I’m-16-I’ll-go-on-The-X-Factor-moment, but then we don’t really need to give 7 year old me that much attention here…) I always knew that I was good at academia, and that I’d probably go to university and end up being a professional nerd. But as I’ve gone through the education system and I’ve learnt to hold my own as a young woman, I realise that I’ve been listening to those good old societal constructs again in telling myself that a profession determines my level of intelligence.

But before I go on to my potentially sickening motivational speech where I tell you to fOlLoW yOuR dReAms and dO wHaT yOu lOve, I’ve got to first acknowledge how successful we are at convincing ourselves, and our children that we need to know exactly how our life is going to play out from the first time someone asks us what we’re going to do after school. And it’s not that I think we should stop asking children these questions, it’s only that we take their answers way too seriously. We categorise careers and people according to what subjects they were good at at school, or their ability to write an essay, or to solve an equation. Yes, certain jobs require a level of academic ability for you to succeed, but intelligence isn’t limited to your academic success.

Before I started my degree, I was convinced I knew exactly what job I wanted to go into. I thought I was going to come out of Durham University and somehow weasel my way into a job in translation in the music industry – don’t ask me how I expected to get there, but that’s what I wanted to do. However, I’ve come to realise that I don’t want language to be the overriding aspect of my future career. Don’t get me wrong, I love languages, and I hope to continue learning new ones for the rest of my life. But I realise that I’m 21, and what I love doing more than anything right now, is writing these blogs, making my podcasts, and interviewing musicians on the radio.

So even though it’s not a ‘conventional’ choice, or something the education system taught me exactly how to get into, it’s something that I have a real passion for, and without indulging in my ego too much, it’s something that I know I could be really good at. Oh, and it’s kind of ideal for the whole physical disability situation because standing for long periods of time or walking long distances isn’t really a problem when all you have to do is sit behind a microphone or a laptop…so you know, it’s kind of a medical choice? But I digress.

I might only be really young, but my age is my power, because I truly can decide to do whatever I want to do with my life. Maybe I’ll get it completely wrong, but if I do then at least I tried! Plus, if it does all go tits up, then I’ll always have that cheeky Durham University degree in Japanese Studies with a bit of history, history of art, and Korean thrown in for extra spice on the CV.

So f*** it, let’s give it a go.

Like a virgin

Like a virgin

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

This week I want to talk about the one thing that FILLS the minds of people of all ages, especially those around my age and younger: sex – more specifically, losing your virginity.

It’s a big topic since everyone’s sex life is such a huge deal in today’s society. People put so much pressure on when and how they should lose their virginity, that the act itself is made out to be this big, momentous, personality-shaping, potentially life-ruining moment. To a large extent, I agree that the details of when and how you have sex for the first time are massively important, but not for the same reasons society forces us to believe.

First of all, I don’t believe that there’s a ‘right’ age to do it (except past the legal age obviously). Whenever you choose to have sex, as long as you’re both safe, able to change your minds and feel ready, then so what if you’ve known each other for years or for hours? There’s no need to build it up to be this moment where you need to have been in a relationship for years, on some romantic weekend away, with rose petals on the bed. Let’s be frank, for most people it’s kind of messy and uncomfortable and anticlimactic. Oh, and for most girls, it hurts like a B**** (!) for the first time: yeah, they don’t mention that bit in the movies, do they?

Also boys/girls (but mainly boys): if the girl bleeds, then just be a nice guy and don’t freak out about it. You may not have known that sometimes that happens (and that it’s tOtally normal) but equally, the girl might have had no idea either and your reaction will be a big deal in how she feels about it and herself – both at the time and afterwards. Speaking from experience, the boy I lost my virginity to wasn’t a saint in how he treated me overall, but when I bled he didn’t care one bit so neither did I – if you’re reading this buddy, thanks for that. Xx

Having worked at a girls’ school and just generally being surrounded by people, it’s clear to me that popular culture’s airbrushed narrative of sex and the loss of a person’s virginity is toxic for the individual. You have girls and boys with these unrealistic notions of what sex is going to be like, ultimately ending with disappointment when their reality doesn’t match what they expected. I have so many friends who’ve felt like they nEEded to lose their virginity before University, or in the first week, just so they didn’t have to carry the shame of not being experienced in that area. Sex is a super intimate thing to do with someone, and like everything, you get better with practice.

Personally, I don’t have anything against one-night stands – hey, if you’ve got an itch to scratch, then do you (!safely!) – but I very strongly believe that they should NOT happen through someone being ashamed of being a virgin. That shouldn’t even come into play.

So, if you’re reading this as a virgin, then please don’t force yourself to rush into it just because you think you need to, and don’t expect it to be perfect! I mean, I lost my virginity at 17, but at 20 I’m still yet to thoroughly enJOY sex because, fun fact: it takes a lot of females years of being sexually active and a few sexual partners to get the full experience we all hear so much about. So if you’re in that position too, then it’s cool man, you’re not the only one. Plus, just because you don’t have an orgasm doesn’t mean that it’s not fun.

If you’re over the legal age, feel ready, and are safe (in every way), then you’re good to go. But if you aren’t ALL 3 of those things- even if just 1 of them isn’t right- then like I told my Year 11 girls who asked me about this when I was a Teaching Assistant, the braver and more worthwhile thing to do is just wait until you can tick all 3 of those boxes. Looking after yourself is a l w a y s a good idea, especially when it comes to sex – and that goes for e v e r y o n e.

Losing your virginity might be a bit of a flop orgasm-wise, but as far as I’m concerned sex should always just be fun. So do it with someone that you like and feel good around – that way, it’d be hard not to enjoy it.

A n d u s e p r o t e c t i o n k i d s !

Third-wheeling

Third-wheeling

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 1 Comment

I never really wrote a diary when I was younger: I’d just write entries sporadically- and when I say sporadically, I’m talking a couple a year. Sometimes they’d be about pointless fall-outs with my friends, but more often than not the content would discuss what you’d expect a teenage girl to write about: boys. Girls lOve to talk about boys, and as pathetic as I might feel to voice my feelings on this subject, I’d be lying if this weren’t something that plays on my mind – and has done since puberty. So in an effort to continue to be uncomfortably honest in my writing, off we go.

Love and relationships are so weird to me. Society completely obsesses over them, making single people feel like they should stop being single at the first opportunity. There’s also this weird culture in my generation where people are always searching for the best: they could be talking to someone they really really like, but they can’t possibly commit to a relationship label because what if they meet someone better? But then you can’t end it completely because you haven’t found anyone better yet, so let’s just not have a label: I’ll tell you I love you but get with other people – sound good?

No. That literally just sounds stupid. Lol.

Then there’s the people who stay with someone they’re not really vibing anymore because they’re scared to try something new. This scenario also doesn’t make sense to me…but then I’ve never had a boyfriend, so how would I know?

I’ve gotten really good at living vicariously through others’ relationships. Honestly, at this point I think I could probably put ‘professional third-wheel’ on my CV – contact me for enquiries and bookings, I can be available any day of the week. But as much as I love third-wheeling, always doing it is getting a bit boring now.

With the boys I’ve ‘dated’ (not sure my experiences really qualify for that title but anyway) I’ve never felt the strong feelings music, literature and film tell me I should feel, so it’s clearly not been right. It’s common knowledge that humans learn by example, and the most influential romantic relationship I’ve observed has been my parents: they’re perfect for each other. Not only are they madly in love, but they’re also each other’s best friend and connect on every level. It’s an utterly beautiful thing to see when growing up and it’s meant that I’ve never (really) wasted my time with toxic or superficial relationships. However, the flip-side is that now my expectations are stupidly high. I don’t regret not having a boyfriend during school because I now know exactly what type of person I am/want to be – a luxury many girls my age don’t have. But I do also kind of feel like I’ve missed out on something, being 20 and having never properly dated anyone.

To be fair though, I think this feeling was exacerbated by my first term at University. I thought I’d meet new people and the trend I’ve experienced with boys so far would end, but I’ve just been confronted by the same old bull****. Since the age of about 15, I’ve consistently been told by boys that I’m intimidating, I’m ‘too much’ (a direct quotation) or that I’m amazing but they’d never go there. All of these comments were either offensive or just didn’t make much sense to me. But the killer of the recurring themes has been that boys already with girlfriends think I’m great. Can’t really do anything in that situation can I?

Thankfully, I’ve always refused to settle or to change myself according to what a boy said he wanted – although I did briefly try one time when I was younger. Bad idea. The fact is that if someone compliments you profusely but then follows that up with not wanting to get to know you or spend time with you, then they’re just not that into you (or worth your time). Annoying when that’s all that ever seems to happen though innit.

I know, I know, I know, I’m young, I’ve got plenty of time.

These reassurances are true, but people of all ages still get bored and annoyed by stuff like this all the time. Relationships are shoved in our faces so many times a day that of course when you can’t relate, you’re going to get jealous and impatient. Not wanting to be single can be the most depressing and tedious part of your day, but the important thing to do is to stick to your guns and not compromise for someone. Truth be told, eventually you (and I) will find someone: we’ll be the ones telling others to chill out about wanting a relationship, trying very hard to hide our smugness at already being in one. So keep ploughing on, and remind yourself that whoever you end up calling your boyfriend/girlfriend will have been worth the wait.

I mean, my lad will have enough balls to like the things about me that everyone else called ‘intimidating’ or ‘too much’- and that level of confidence sounds pretty hot to me.

Raising a disabled child 101

Raising a disabled child 101

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 1 Comment

As a young girl, I was incredibly confident, outspoken, enthusiastic, and so fortunate that my parents never allowed my disability to suffocate that. My childhood had a fair few tumultuous years: I had operations, infections, insufficient footwear causing more infections, new parts of my condition popping up as I grew and so many other problems I can’t even remember. All of this was then exacerbated by my free-spirited attitude leading me to accidentally injure myself and then not understand why I couldn’t walk like the other kids, obviously ending in huge upset.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to imagine how completely I could’ve been crushed by my Spina Bifida. There are children out there who are unable to live away from it, and in all honesty, for a time I was one of those kids. Aged around 7, I spent the best part of 18 months in and out of hospital and in a wheelchair and yet, my family managed to make me feel just like any other kid. They worked tirelessly to protect my personality from my disability: a feat I will probably never be able to repay them for.

It’s well-known that parents need to be supportive when their children are struggling in order for that child to feel safe, loved and happy. But having a child with a disability that you know nothing about requires a whole other level of support. To make life all the more challenging, my eldest brother has Marfan Syndrome and has his fair share of medical problems. So not only were my parents navigating raising 4 children whilst working full-time as English Literature teachers, they were working out how the hell to cater to 2 separate disabilities, whilst ALSO encouraging those children to feel equal to their non-disabled siblings and the rest of the world.

They managed it though.

I spoke a lot in my last entry about how complicated it is to live with a disability, but an important aspect of my experience is that I spent the first years of my life living as disabled with my family. I was so overwhelmingly supported that there was never any aspect of it where I was alone.

When I describe my childhood and adolescence as perfect, that isn’t to say that there weren’t points where I really struggled. For instance, I was in a wheelchair at 3 separate points in Secondary School – prime time for teenage insecurity and social paranoia. What made my early years perfect though, was the fact that everyone around me constantly made me feel normal. In the moments when I was physically or emotionally isolated from my peers at school, my parents and brothers kept me laughing and focused on a positive outlook on life.

This did then mean that at the beginning of this year, before my travels and before moving to University, I was confronted by the loneliness of moving out. I knew that I’d make friends at University, or wherever it was I went, but I now knew that my support system was about to be miles away. My family and friends who all knew my condition as well as a non-disabled person can, weren’t going to be 2 seconds away. This would mean that I would have to re-explain myself to people, bringing attention to my limitations in a way I’d never done on my own before. There would be no-one who knew me: I had this moment of realisation on the floor of my room, crying to my Dad, with an infected foot, weeks before my plane to Nepal.

It was only when I started to travel that I realised that I can do this on my own – even though it’s definitely not been easy so far. And it’s only thanks to the immense amount of love and support I had whilst living at home that I now (sort of) know how to. Thanks to my family, I’m confident in social situations and don’t shrink into myself when my disability is mentioned. Owing to my parents’ strength, I’ve learnt how to get respectfully passive aggressive with institutions or individuals when they seek to deprive me of things I need, because to some I don’t appear ‘disabled enough’ (side-note: what does that even mean?..). But most importantly, it’s thanks to all of my family’s unwavering support that I know that as lonely as disability can be, there will never ever ever be a time when I’m alone – no matter where we all are in the world.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you should raise a disabled child.