Stress isn’t reserved for a certain age

Enlight1-10

“You’re too young to be stressed!” This has got to be one of the most irritating, fist clenching things to be told when you feel like stress is your life. I read a lot about anxiety and depression from brave people who feel they can share their experiences, but not a great deal about stress. Stress has been a constant factor in my life since I was about 21. It stems mostly from dealing with an unpredictable chronic illness and feeling constantly on edge about my health, but along the way other things have come along and joined the stress party.

I could definitely do more to deal with my stress levels. I know there are things I do that directly contribute to making myself worse, but it’s hard to break the cycle. Sometimes I feel like stress feeds me. It adds fuel to my productivity fire and that’s definitely not healthy. I used to buckle under stress and resort to sitting in a heap ignoring my problems, playing Words With Friends, or laying under a duvet sadly googling symptoms and convincing myself death was coming. Not really a good way to live your life, I can tell you.

I was getting some blood tests done last year and the nurse had to stop just before she attempted it to make me relax my posture a bit. Blood tests are hardly joyous activities, so she assumed that I was scared, but I wasn’t. I have no fear of needles and after having about as many medical examinations and tests as hot meals over the past few years, I’m not remotely bothered by having blood taken. I was just stressed. She chatted to me as she was filling up tubes with my red stuff, and asked me if I was having a busy time at work, then pointed out I was chewing my lip. “You seem really stressed sweetheart, try to take some time to debrief yourself and relax” were her (I think fairly accurate) parting words to me.

The problem is, Even though I’m 26, and most certainly a fully-fledged adult whether I like it or not, I still get asked what I have to be stressed about. it’s a big sweeping statement for someone to tell you that you’re fine or worried over nothing when they don’t live in your head. Lately, I’ve had plenty of reasons to stress due to trying to buy a house, and most people are sympathetic to the fact that it’s a pretty heinous task and understandably stressful, but being told I’m too young ‘to be stressed out’ or ‘what do you really have to stress about, you don’t even have kids yet!’ really pushes my anger buttons.

Going out and having a good time, socialising, being busy, having hobbies and maintaining a good job doesn’t mean you can’t be stressed. Being young, having fun and seemingly appearing like a normal twenty-something person doesn’t mean you can’t also be suffering with a huge weight on your shoulders.

Young people deal with a lot of stress. If anything, the technology-heavy world we live in where everything is in your face, on a phone screen and going at a hundred miles an hour, probably mean it’s worse than ever. In a world where buying your home or renting a reasonable, fit-for-purpose space to live in costs more than most people can afford or dream of affording, there’s plenty of reasons for young people to feel the strain. Worrying about a future where you have the life you want in an extremely tough climate is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s plenty of disillusionment going on in the world with young people, which unless you live under a rock you’ll be full aware of.

I want to make 2017 a much better year for getting stress under control, because this has not been a good year for controlling the amount I feel like a walking ball of rage and worry. If you need to try and achieve the same, I feel your pain and you have every right to feel stressed and feel you need to recover as the next person, regardless of if you’re 16 or 46. Long live stress balls.

Can we just show some appreciation to having a change of scenery? 

  
For the last few years I’ve gone on holidays with friends. Once a year with my uni friends, as part of a sort of tradition we’ve started where we pick a UK spot, book the coolest looking accommodation we can find on Air B&B, load up some cars and go. The others have been holidays in the sense of beaches, sunshine and girl time. The last three that I’ve got back from, a different friend has mentioned how much of a massive difference that change of scenery has made to their frame of mind and outlook and frankly, mental health. 

It’s hardly groundbreaking, we go on holiday because we want to blow of steam, rest, top up the vitamin D and escape real life. The internal (and Facebook announcements of glee) parties we have when we turn on that out of office says it all. When I do mine I literally get Duke Dumont- I Got You start playing in my head. It’s like some ecstatic man in a Hawaiian shirt skips into my brain and presses play and then joy commences. And no, this doesn’t have to be reserved for jetting off to tropical shores with a vat of mosquito spray, this is to anywhere. I got imaginary Hawaiin shirt man even when I went to Wales and it was freezing and I had the flu, my mate had oral shingles (yes you read that right- she had shingles in her mouth) and my other friend badly burned herself. We went to A&E and an emergency dentist on that trip. We quite literally, as my boyfriend put it, put the ‘broke’ in ‘Pembrokeshire.’ But all that aside, all the snotty tissues and many paracetamol aside, I came back feeling like I’d been given the elixir of life. 

Alright, slight exaggeration, because I was still coughing up green stuff, but you get my point. On the day we set off I was thinking to myself that the only way this group of ill, burnt and crying people would have a good time is if we just went home. I was of course wrong. As I watched a friend drunkenly dance to various Phil Collins songs around a converted barn because she finally felt de-stressed from a frankly shit time in life, I realised this is what we always need. 

Of course, we’re not all millionaire lottery winners or chief execs, so it can’t always be converted barns, Indian Ocean beaches and plush hotel rooms with views of valleys. Sometimes it has to be another part of town you’ve never been arsed with visiting, like the time my boyfriend took me to an abandoned car park in Peckham. Romance is alive and well everyone. But seriously, we took really cool photos from said car park, then ambled about a part of London we’d never explored, walked about 4 miles, talked, ate food and erm, called the police because we witnessed an assault. If you forget the assault, that one day took me from tired and grumpy and fed up with my many health woes, to feeling better about everything and ready to go to work on Monday without groaning and moaning and sighing heavily. 

Fast forward to now, I haven’t slept properly in weeks. I’ve been irritable, the most sleep deprived I’ve perhaps ever been, been suffering with symptoms of pain and immense discomfort and paranoia about my health and feeling down in the low, low dumps. I’m now on holiday and within one day, despite jet lag and still no sleep, I feel like I’ve had a facial peel that’s revealed a whole new human. 

A new view and a bit of space. Enter all the ‘hands in the air’ emojis.

Keeping friends and staying happy

IMG_8004

I know it’s said by so many people in their twenties every single day and might cause people to roll their eyes, but being an adult IS hard. I mean, there could definitely be less decisions, more freedom and longer annual leave allowances- I don’t think that’s too much to ask. It’s also hard to strike a good balance where you find time to do things that make you happy, if you can remember what those things are, of course.

I still think of really silly, small things as sources of happiness and a lot of them haven’t changed much from when I was younger. Stuff like pizza (you know it’s true), sleeping in, booking holidays, laying in really hot baths, swimming, cheese, melted cheese, baking- the list goes on in that fashion. Apart from it being fairly obvious that food with a high calorie content brings me joy, it also makes me realise how few ‘big’ things I can list.

I have my family, and I have travel which will always be givens and probably the same for loads of you, but the other thing is friends. I love my friends. I feel like  I’ve made good friend choices over the years but as you get older friendships really change. The dynamics of friendships and groups and how much time we have to dedicate to each other changes. Relationships start to play a part, work changes how we spend our time and then there’s the scary factor of people starting to move away. I’d happily round up my friends, go back to my uni town, put them all in a house and camp out there for a while, so I can see everyone and have the kind of buzzing social life I used to have. Maybe just minus the £4 corner shop wine.

I still make time to see my friends at weekends, and the ‘let’s get dinner’ thing has become a massive part of my working week. I would say I manage to get in a couple of after work social sessions a week and they definitely help to break the monotony- but I feel like when you spend a lot of time being ground down by life and feeling tired from work, you need your friends.

You need the boost of a stupid message with a link to something funny. You need the offer of a few drinks on a Friday or a few hours roaming around shops and talking about life. Also, I feel like friends are really important for later in life, so it’s important to put the time in now.

I’m going away with some of mine in a couple of weeks and now it’s looming nearer I literally can’t wait to go. I just want to be with my friends for more than a couple of hours. I want to lounge around with them and eat bad food and stay up late and relax and feel human again. I also want to feel the way I do when I spend a lot of time with people who I’ve chosen as life companions-  cheerful and refreshed.

Help. Dr Internet is diagnosing me again.

  
I often think of hungry as an emotion. Like someone asks how you feel and you’re like: “I am hungry. Hungry is what I feel. Leave me alone.” It would be better if it wasn’t because let’s face it, enough emotions already thanks life. But I listen to hunger. It’s easy- I feel hungry, so I eat something, and then I stop hating on everyone and everything.

Everything else going on is not that easy. I miss the carefree days of ignoring my body and ploughing on through to another night out and getting some more chips and then going for a run because oops, better do something good. The joys of being 19.

Now I’ve got some other emotions and feelings to consider- paranoia, stress, exhaustion, obsession. The Internet has become my doctor and this is bad. It’s bad and I’m not alone.

I spend hours worrying about ‘symptoms’. I google things, look for things, I lay awake worrying about aches and pains and my internet search history is full of ‘symptoms of..,’. Wild, I know. The whole internet out there and I’m just at home in my mouse dressing gown wondering what deadly disease I must have because I had a headache earlier. It never ends. I do have a connective tissue disorder, so that’s partly to blame because I have a lot of symptoms, but even when things happen that are not related to that something pings in my head and I’m like OH GOD I THINK I MIGHT BE DYING???? And so off to Google I go.

This is not healthy. I jump on every little pain or niggle or grumble and google and diagnose myself with all manner of conditions which I definitely don’t have. I get totally freaked out and start asking my friends if they’ve ever experienced the same, then they say they don’t, BUT they do have something else. So then we talk about that. Then guess what? Maybe I have that too? 

The internet is amazing and I love it dearly. I love it for videos of people falling over, vines of Beyonce, hilarious one liners, satire, 24 hour news and for a job I really enjoy. But I hate what it does for my health. We 20 somethings who got the Internet when we were just emerging from childhood and used to plug it in on the landline are used to having the answers. We’re used to just looking it up online and we want everything immediately. It’s a blessing and a curse.

While it’s super useful in some respects of health and raises awareness and teaches us how to do vital things like check for cancers etc, my frame of mind is not impressed. 

I’m already unwell, yet there’s this tool on this thing I carry around everywhere in my hand (hiya iphone) and it’s making me paranoid and sad and stressed. It’s turning molehills into mountains and it’s seen me scorned by GPs and nurses. I realise I should stop googling and looking things up. I realise it’s that simple.

But it’s hard to give it up. I know I have friends who are the same as me. We over-analyse and we get way out of hand and we’re on whatsapp  like ‘babe I think I have cronhs’ and my God, it HAS got to stop.

Health is so important. It’s time to start being health aware and sensible in real life instead of relying on doctor Iphone to tell me I need to go to the hospital immediately. 

 

When did our 20s become the era of paranoia?

thumb_IMG_1450_1024

I’ve read enough articles, lists, blogs and spent enough time on social media (believe me) to know that a lot of people in their twenties spend a massive proportion of their time worrying. Girls especially, but that might just be my skewed view as I follow more girls on social media, read women columnists more and generally get a lot of my material from blogs- predominately written by females.

I fall into the worrier category. I fall into it so hard I would like to put myself forward as team leader, get us all uniforms and arrange the Christmas social so we can talk about what we’re scared of over some gins and then get cheesy chips after. (Genuinely, I would be up for this).

I don’t know when it happened, it certainly hasn’t always been this way, but I literally spend my life paranoid and it’s mostly about health, money and other people. Having a chronic illness nestled within my body wreaking havoc doesn’t help, and I have plenty of very good, medically certified reasons to be worried, but I go beyond those. I just worry for worry’s sake. It’s pretty much my hobby now. But thanks to the power of the internet and very few thoughts being sacred, I can (sort of) relax in the fact I’m not alone.

My peers are just as paranoid as me.

God, we need to sort ourselves out. Whenever I read a tweet from a friend who’s worrying about something to do with health or finance or any other young adult topic, I just want to reach over and whisper “don’t worry pal, me too.” That sounds creepier than I intend it to be. But if you are one of these worrisome people, please try and take a breath and lessen the teeth grinding and anxiety in your stomach, you’ve got some company. There are others out there right now doing all the things we know are bad for us- Googling symptoms, scrolling through unrealistic Instagram accounts, comparing careers to people older and much more experienced and staring at our banking apps and thinking ‘where’s the money gone?’

Exhausting though, isn’t it? As much as I want to take a chill pill and feel the way I felt when I was about 20 (which by default was tipsy, warm inside and free) and roam around like I’m indestructible and totally on top of everything, I just can’t. The paranoia and the concern have crept up and taken hold and they’re not just here for a sleepover, they want to stay longterm. Cute. NOT.

It hasn’t been all bad- it’s given me ambition. It’s made do things outside of work that create work that ultimately make me extra money, help me get contacts and help me grow audiences for things like this blog- all because I was worried I wasn’t doing enough career wise. People actually read this blog, which is still amazing even now, and people actually reach out to talk to me off their own back and tell me they like my blog- even more amazing. So yeah, in some ways, I’m kind of thankful for it, but there has to come a time when it stops.

There’s only so much time in one day, and wasting too much of it worried about every ache, pain, thinner looking friend or more retweeted article than your own will only result in a downward spiral of misery. And making other people happy above ourselves, despite the fact we’ll carry on doing it forever anyway, is no good. It’s just no good.

Worried about your fertility? About your chances of buying a house? About your liver? About those headaches you get? Your overdraft? Your credit rating? Not being travelled enough? Not going out enough? Not getting enough attention from certain friends?

The list goes on and it could just get bigger and bigger and evolve the older we get, or we can learn to accept, which as someone who hasn’t got to that point can contest to- it ain’t easy.

This era of worrying might pass, and who am I to even speak for people in their twenties, I’m only half way through. I just want to worry less and I think I could round up a small (or maybe world domination size) army of people who would like to join me in that. Throwing away youth on endless amounts of worry and paranoia sounds awful and I do not want to look back and realise that’s what I did. I want to do EVERYTHING and have a lot of fun while I’m doing it.

Let’s go start a revolution shall we? (Or let’s just have an early night and not Google ovary disorders for a while). Baby steps.

Ever felt bad about yourself for not being what other people want you to be? Come join the club of EVERYONE. 

   

  

Sometimes I feel so horribly guilty about stuff that I shouldn’t give a second thought to that I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. What is more likely though, is that it’s society telling me I should feel bad and should act a certain way and look a certain way and feel a certain way, and if I don’t then I’m an outsider. I’m wrong and the trendsetters are right and I should go think about what I’ve done. Shame on me.

I go through phases of trying to eat mostly plant-based food (lol tonight I had nandos and mug cakes and two kinds of cheese) because it’s good for me and it’ll make me healthier and thinner and stronger and people will nod and clap and cheer. YAY GREEN JUICE. And then I remember Biscoff and tangfastics and it’s like, sorry broccoli hun, not today. 

I go through phases of trying to dress differently. I try to buy things that other people will approve of and get flustered and annoyed if I leave the house and something doesn’t look right because the thought of those strangers judging me on the tube is awful. Then I remember I like floral things and I like being warm and I like having comfy feet and it’s like, sorry over-priced, uncomfortable, not practical shoes, you gotta stay at home today. 

I also go through phases of trying to alter how I act to change people’s perceptions of me so they’ll accept me quicker or think I have a different, more appealing life than I really do. Then I remember that’s just a shit thing to do. It’s just so lame. And all other words that mean the same as lame in the theosauras. All of them.

This has been in my drafts for a while and I’ve never found time or really liked the way it read to finish it and hit publish. But this week has been a week out of the ordinary and for the first time in ages I haven’t even felt a glimmer of those thoughts, which might be why I can finally finish writing about them. 

It’s just so ridiculous that we all go about our lives concerned over what others are doing and looking at photos of people famous for doing not much else other than pouting on Instagram and having desirable eyebrows. 

It’s when unexpected things happen that thoughts like ‘I don’t want people to think I don’t double cleanse my face and eat courgetti’ become so bloody stupid. Like, what is our problem? I would rather not have so many bad, sad or down times that force me into putting things into perspective, but it’s definitely good on occasion to remember that I am what’s important, not strangers or judgement from people I likely would never share a friendly word with anyway. 

It gets bad sometimes. It gets so bad that I want to tell myself that I can’t sit with us. I would rather I go away to a corner and stay there. It would be grand if we could sometimes take out our overly conscious brains and stick them at the back of the wardrobe while we have some time off from worrying about appearances and how happy people think we are. There’s a market for personalised brain boxes on Etsy and I said it first. 

It’s not a groundbreaking, genius or bold statement, but wouldn’t it be good to keep our head together and in the real life game the way it fleetingly feels when we’re reminded that there are things way more important and meaningful to spend our brainpower on. 

5 signs that tell you it’s time to end a friendship

I’ve droned on a lot on this blog about how important I find it to have good friends. By good friends, I mean friends you actually like and want to spend time with. Friends that make you feel supported and happy but you know you can rely on for the truth when you need it (that dress makes you look like roadkill, burn it. etc etc). It’s also good to have friends you miss when you don’t see them for ages. Missing people is important. You know like, “OH MY GOD I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN SO LONG HAS YOUR HAIR GROWN HALF AN INCH?”

It sounds obvious that you would of course have friends like this, but actually, it seems pretty normal for people to keep company with so called friends who they actually don’t like. I know people do it, because I see it all the time. I hear it from people who moan and say things like ‘well she’s my friend but I actually can’t stand her.’ Errrr….sorry? ‘Friend’ and ‘can’t stand her’ don’t belong together. My most shared post is about this, so I guess people relate.

You know when a friendship has gone bad. You just do. The prospect of seeing someone makes you feel anxious, unexcited and probably bloody miserable. You probably also put it off to the point you’ve moved onto medieval ailments and who’s likely to believe you have scurvy? You can’t be bothered, you have nothing to say and you worry about what they’ll think about your clothes or hair or that you have nothing impressive enough to tell them. You also suspect they want to see you partly to brag and make you feel a bit crappy.

In my friend culling experience, there are signs that tell you exactly when to pull the plug.

1) You feel anxious before you meet up. Why? Because they make you feel shit and you feel the need to impress when all you should be doing is eating too many carbs and laughing about that time you tripped over a dog and cut both knees. (That happened to me). You worry about them not messaging you, when actually you have nothing to say anyway. You probably also worry they’ll go away and talk about you after.

2) You don’t want to be alone with them. If you can’t happily lounge on a sofa with a friend one on one and at least fill half hour, why are you bothering?

3) Silence is concerning. You absolutely think OMG THEY DEFINITELY HATE ME. THEY ARE TELLING EVERYONE I AM AWFUL. Bet you have friends who you also don’t speak to for weeks but never worry about it? Yep. That’s a good friend.

4) You would definitely rather they weren’t joining in. Maybe you’re now only friends with them because other friends like them. I’ve been in situations where hearing a ‘friend’ is joining a social event has made me feel disheartened. You know that sort of heart sinking bitter disappointment you get from hearing a piece of news? A bit like when the milkshake machine is broken in McDonalds.

5) You just DON’T like them anymore.

It took me too long to realise the above mean a friendship isn’t working out. Working it out meant a happier but smaller friendship group and a happier me.

Everyone struggles with life balance sometimes, so let’s give everyone a break

IMG_2273

Some days I climb into bed and feel like I have done a really good job at life. I don’t always know why sometimes, because it happens on days when I have been sluggish, or not finished all my work, but the feeling is still there. It might be something to do with embracing ‘be the best you can be’ as a life motto, but yeah. Some days I’m all like “high five, good job, time for well deserved sleep” and all manner of happy, dancing emoji feelings.

Other days though I am literally like, you massive loser. You can’t keep up with your own life and you’re letting people down.

Grim.

The latter is not a good feeling. At the end of last year I felt that way all the time. It became like a normal feeling to just constantly be annoyed and constantly feel like I’d forgotten a million different things or not been a good friend, or a bad daughter. Endless lists of joyless feelings.

It’s really quite hard to hold together a life. Even a life that seems full of luxury and appears to be a piece of cake, can in reality, be a nightmare for the owner. We do own our lives, they are ours and we have to control them. We have to remember, and work, and finish things, and feed our bodies and remember to get sleep and remember those texts we should have sent and that washing that STILL needs to be done. It’s even harder when the bad times roll in. Stress turns your memory and your concentration to mush and you feel like everything is helpless.

I don’t think there is any shame in any one, of any age, feeling this way. I’m 25 and I don’t have kids, I don’t have endless financial responsibilities right now, I don’t have loads of stress at work, I don’t even have a pet. I still have massive trouble balancing life and getting it right though. I sometimes do think I should get a grip and man up, but then I remember how real the feeling is when it first sets in.

You know when you’re climbing up life mountain and you’re like, I can’t do it, I’m not good at climbing, I am definitely going to fall? Sometimes when I remember things I haven’t done and It gets all ‘shit, nothing can save this day from being a total disaster.’ But sometimes I remember and I’m like, F that, I’m so busy. And there it is. Some days the balance works and some days it doesn’t. Everyone deserves to feel like they’re stuck on life mountain and can’t see the top yet even if you think they have an easy ride and need to shut up. Give people a break.

Respect yourself. You deserve it. 

  

I’m currently laying in bed, at 5:30pm on a Sunday, having only moved today to put on washing and buy food. It’s been good. Like really, very good. However this sort of behaviour usually fogs up my brain with guilt and I get grumpy because I’ve wasted a day and not achieved anything. Well not today. In fact not anymore, because I deserve this day of being a total sloth, wearing pants that are far too big to ever be sexy, a grey Minnie Mouse top and a greasy ponytail. I’m looking fly, to say the least. 

The reason I won’t beat myself up over it, is because over the last couple of weeks I have realised something about respecting your own life. I have a lot of respect for a lot of people. Friends, family members, my boyfriend, famous people, politicians, athletes, authors. The list is endless. I never really think about respect for me though. Bit crap of me really. I’m fairly great, soz, but I am. It’s so awkward to write that down or think it about yourself and why is that? Because we don’t think about ourselves enough. Not in the big picture anyway. We think about appearance and being tired and our general needs. But there’s so much more to think. Me. Moi. Number one. We achieve as much as the next person in our own way, in different ways, in small ways and big ways. We feel proud of ourselves yeah, of course we do, but over the last couple of weeks, trekking, resting, laying, travelling and thinking, I’ve realised I owe myself some respect. 

I think we all owe ourselves a bit. Ive just had some big life news, finished a big project, achieved some big things at work over the last few years, saved money, travelled, fought and continue to fight a chronic illness, battled with my family against bad times, held down a relationship for four years. GO ME. BLOODY HELL, YOU GO GIRL. *All of the sassy celebratory emojis* 

We HAVE to do more than feel proud sometimes. We have to feel really bloody respectful towards ourselves. Otherwise the amazing things we do go forgotten and let’s face it, we need them close in our minds sometimes. We need them to boost us, to perk us up, spur us on, to remind us of that time we wanted something and we went out and GOT IT. 

It might take a long time to be able to do it, but do give it a go. It feels really nice. R E S P E C T. (Find out what it means to me etc) 

Why you should write down your feelings

IMG_2145

So blogging has really blown up. I know so many people who do it. I have a friend who does it as a job full time. I do it for work. My colleagues now do it for work. It is the age of the blog. I remember when I first started one a few years ago, I had no idea what I was doing, I just started writing about a rare health condition I have and didn’t really expect anyone to read it or for it to last that long. Fast forward to now, and that blog pretty much landed me my current job, has it’s own social media account and is used by relevant charities. It even makes a small amount of money.

So yeah, blogging has been good to me.

I started this blog at the end of October last year, basically to get some experience writing about stuff outside of health, which is what I do for work. I wanted to just have a chance to write about whatever the hell I wanted, and just because I LOVE WRITING. I don’t pay an awful lot of attention to who reads this, or how many people, (I mean, I did once drunkenly ask a man on the bus if he liked my blog and he ended up reading it on his phone, so there’s that) I just like to write stuff.

This whole lifestyle blogging thing has turned into a diary of sorts, which I suppose is the whole point. In the last six months I’ve had a really stressful time, as my dentist confirmed a few weeks ago by shouting ‘OH GOD YOU MUST STOP GRINDING YOUR TEETH!!!!’ Life, eh? So now whatever I am thinking about, if it’s friends, fruit, shoes or even the dry skin on my hands, I just write about it. I actually write LOADS. All the time. I do it on my phone while sitting on the tube or early in the morning at work when no one else is around and I am shoveling porridge at my face. I do it late at night when I can’t sleep. I once did it while I sat on some grass and let my dog sniff a tree for ten minutes. I don’t publish it all on here because seriously, who wants to read about my period pains? Do I really want to share my period pains? No. Probably not. I Still write about them though. Mostly like: OUCH WHY HELP WHY OUCH UNFAIR.

What I can say about this whole experience though, is that I now have somewhere to dump my thoughts and it’s SO therapeutic. It also has proved that I am not alone in a lot of things I worry about regularly and end up questioning my sanity over. My social media following has gone up thanks to a few fairly popular posts, and I get some good feedback. so overall, blogging has been completely worthwhile. I also now get inspired by everything I see. I pay more attention to things because I never know what will lead to a good blog post. It’s quite nice to be more aware of what’s happening around me and reflecting on it properly.

I write a lot for my job, and I like it a lot, but it’s not the same as just taking a blank page and filling it with whatever the hell I fancy. If I want to ramble on about how much I love mint sauce, I can. If I want to list everything I love about the month of April, I can. Talking to people is helpful when you want to clear your mind, but so is writing. I couldn’t recommend it more if you feel like you need to dump the contents of your brain and refresh your head but aren’t sure how. Just write it all down. Write it in a notebook. Write on your phone. Write on your walls (maybe not if you rent). Just write it somewhere.

My blog is basically like my mate who just accepts whatever I think, and the other stuff that comes with it is all experience.