Six fricking months mother-flippers.

I am six months sober today and it still feels almost dreamlike to have reached this milestone. Have I learned anything in this last six months? Well, yes actually. I've learned so many different things about myself. Here are just a few of them. 
1. I am worth more than I think I am.

I have battled with low levels of confidence, self-esteem and self-worth since I was a child. I have never understood my worth, the value I should have been placing on myself to ensure that others knew how to value me. I let people treat me like shit, as I believed that this was the price I had to pay to be loved.
Because, why would anybody love me? I hated myself. I never managed to make friends. My relationships stemmed from one night stands where two damaged people clung on to each other in the hope that the person they’re clinging to can make the world a slightly less terrifying space.
I started learning about my own self-worth when I was 27, just before I met Hubs. When he had also spent a couple…

The abyss.

Today, for some unknown reason, WAIT…
My last period seems to have been a while ago... Ooooh, maybe that’s why I feel like an absolute bag of shit (physically and mentally) and why a coffee cancellation has pushed me, spiralling, over the fucking edge.
(Checks Clue. Realises hasn’t logged in since changed phone over. Knows why psychopathic tenancies have not been notified in advance of wanting to kill everyone and everything.)
Starts again.
Today, because my cunting period is due to show up and give me a solid week or two of wanting to die/murder/cry, I’ve stumbled over the edge into the abyss of my negative self talk. I call this my little inner prick. It’s like the old, white, racist misogynist who lives at the end of the bar of your favourite pub and you do your best to avoid eye contact because he’s such a wanker. But you can’t, because he’s got to insult you in some “accidental” way whilst telling you what a nice guy he is. That is my little inner prick. And there is no avoiding ey…

A cotton wedding anniversary.

I once asked the people of Facebook what “love” was for an article I was writing. My boyfriend at the time wouldn’t even answer the question which did not bode well for the future of our relationship. I mean, neither did the cheating, but still. I didn’t know what love was then and I think I do now.

Love is not having to define a word because the word defines you.

It envelopes your entire life and can be found in the simplest of interactions. It is everywhere. In the sneaky face lick of a dog while you fasten your shoes in the morning to the agonising claws of a cat sending knife wounds of pain through your arms.

It’s in the call of your name and a middle finger when you turn around.
It’s in endless patience when you are anxious and snappy and frustrated and a pain in the arse.
It’s in cleaning the house because they are exhausted.
It’s in cooking delicious meals because they need cheering up.
It’s in cancelling plans to snuggle up on the sofa and recharge, rest, recuperate.
It’s in s…

Saturday self-care.

I had a lie in today. For the first time in months, I turned my 6.30am alarm off last night and I made the decision with myself to sleep for as long as I needed. Guess what time I woke up? Yep. Bang on 6.30am. But I went back to sleep and awaited my darling husband waking me up at 7.45am when he came home from work. Cheers babes.

And I thought, no… I am having my lie in. Less than ten minutes later, Macho Meow pulled my radio off the bedside cabinet, knocking a full pint of water onto me and the bed. By 8am, I gave up on the lie in, but at least I had tried.

This was an act of self-care. For months, I have felt as though I am coming down with something and haven’t given myself any time to slow down and focus on looking after myself properly. Because when we get ill or stressed or overwhelmed with life, the first thing we do is to stop looking after ourselves.

I’ve dedicated today to self-care. Smiley and I went on a delightful walk this morning (that ended with me having to wade throu…

Driving Miss Davy.

In 2017, Hubs was in a job that didn’t make him happy. I’m not going to go into the details of his story as it is not my story to tell. In brief, he reached out for help and was let down by the support on offer externally. In the mean time, we were in the process of buying a house which had been delayed for months (we were meant to move in June and were still waiting for the keys in November).

So, this far into the story, we’ve got shitty job + lack of external support + buying a fucking house. Tough gig.

We moved in November (by which time I had ceased contact with significant people in my life) and in January, Hubs left the shitty job.

I remained positive. I had started a new job in education and was still working part time locally. We could manage, for a short time, on my salary. Less than a week later, my part time hours were cut, without discussion, and I began to panic that we would lose our home.

In the meantime, Hubs was physically ill and the impact of this on his ability to …

Today is a struggling to leave the house kinda day.

Today is a struggling to leave the house kind of day. I don’t know why. I only know that I have been attempting to go out since around 10am and it’s just not happening. Poor Smiley is laid under the table, gazing at me beseechingly to go for walkies and all I can think is that I should have got a Chihuahua. Something smaller. A dog that doesn’t need long walks and can just be carried around. A cat. I’ll do it, I’ll go outside, because she deserves it. Because I deserve it. I just can’t do it right now.

Instead of going out with doggo to do things that I do actually need to do in town today, I have procrastinated all day. I knew it was going to be a bad day when I put the TV on at 9.30am and watched two episodes of Jeremy Kyle back to back on ITV Hub. Well, three. But one of them was an uplifting stories episode and fuck that. I put on one of the terrible people episodes instead.

So I have to go back to when my therapist taught me about figuring out how I’m feeling. This is practically…

The 12 Stages of (my) Anxiety.

This post has taken me a long time to write. It’s been floating around in my head for months, along with 8,462 other things, and it has taken a week and a half to get this down on paper. And edit. Delete. Edit. Start again… Approximately 496 times.

I never realised that I had anxiety because I was surrounded by delightful people who told me that I was a psychopath, hateable, unlikable. I’m not anymore (surrounded by those delightful people that is, I am still a little bit of a psychopath at certain times of the month. Ahem.), though this doesn’t mean that from time to time, something doesn’t rear its ugly head and trigger all of those left over issues.

Anxiety affects different people in many, many different ways. After an incident recently where in my peak anxiety, somebody tried to touch me and I shouted at them, I decided to try and verbalise how my anxiety affects me. And to ensure that people recognise that by the time I scream, “don’t fucking touch me”, you’ve missed ALL of t…