Five things you need to know before you start University.

Hey, Class of 2018! You're off to University in less than a month and you feel so scared, so excited, and so oblivious to what's ahead of you. That's exactly how I felt this time last year. So here are five things I didn't know last year that would have eased my anxiety and let me know what to expect as I embarked upon my degree. Happy Studenting!

1. University is not a party. Before I went to University it seemed like it was nothing more than a three-year piss-up, and I was pretty nervous that it just wasn't for me. But, in my experience, the people who waste their University years being drunk and stupid are actually judged by their peers in a sea of eye-rolls and lectured by their, well, lecturers, for shooting themselves in the foot. If you want to know 'where it's at' when you're at University, get down to the library. Screw the nightclub, you're about to learn the value of a silent room and endless shelves of reading material.

2. Preparation is key. No you don't have to do that set reading because, lets be honest, you're a grown up and you can make your own choices. But in my experience, if you haven't had time to do the preparatory reading for the lecture/seminar, it's a waste of time even going; the few things you do manage to grasp are so few and far between that instead of learning a whole, rounded fact, you learn 'pub knowledge' and realise down the line that you know a hell of a lot less than you thought you did. Prepare yourself by spreading your workload evenly and make sure you do everything that is required of you to make the most of your Uni years. There's no point even going to University if you're not going to come out of it with some shit-hot grades!

3. University is not secondary school. It's okay to be whoever you want to be at Uni, and you'd be hard-pushed to find somebody who has enough time to mock you for it. What's more, the pretty, ditzy types are side-eyed while the people who can offer decent conversation (and seem like a solid reliable choice for future group projects!) are favoured by their peers. Sure, it's basically snobbery just coming from the new direction, but you have worked so hard to be here and maintain your grades, why shouldn't you take a moment to revel in finally being valued for your mind? Oh, and on the school note, please don't call your lecturers 'sir' or ask them if you can go to the toilet in the middle of a lecture. Awkward.

4. It really sucks, but University has to be number one. And however old you are, there are things you'd much rather be doing. For me personally, I have two children and a husband and sometimes it breaks my heart when I have to lock myself away and ignore them for a couple of days (especially when I'm actively telling them to go away and leave me alone) because I've got a deadline creeping up or just a particularly hefty load of reading to do that week. But what I keep telling them, and more often myself, is that it is only three years out of your entire life. Things are hard now so that they can be easier later.

5. Finally, keep a dialogue going with your personal tutor. At the beginning of the year you will be assigned a lecturer from your department who will be your personal tutor (or a similarly-named point of contact) and he or she will follow your University journey closely to ensure things are going along as they should. It's really important that you talk to your personal tutor about any life changes or reasons for any long-term absences. Your PT will call you in for a meeting if there are any issues (such as poor grades or low attendance) so the best thing you can do is keep them in the loop on everything. They're not there to be scary, they're not school headmasters, their job is to get you through University with First Class Honours.

Wedding Wednesday: Nervous Tummy.

Sometimes you write a post because you need to and you don't know what it's going to say until you've written it. This is one of those posts.

Our legal wedding is in nine days; our blessing ceremony/reception in 10. The relevant paperwork was completed weeks ago. Our RSVPs have been finalised. Drinks and food paid for, crafts probably 75% done, playlist even closer to being finished. We've got a few things to finish, and then we just have to get there and get married. That's it. And yet for the first time in this entire process I am feeling stress.

I've mentioned before that I felt like I was cheating at being a bride; every decision was breezy, I planned and organised everything so that I'd never feel any stress and I've had no problem asking for help (and being offered help by wonderful family and friends) so I haven't really needed to go 'bridezilla' at any point. But now I'm torn between wanting to get everything together and just get the day over with, being sad that my time as a bride-to-be is coming to an end, being excited to get married and over-thinking every aspect of it. Will the weather be bad? How will I stand in front of people and talk? What can I say that isn't corny and cliche? Am I going to have 'nervous tummy' on the day (my whole life, my natural response to anxiety has been vomit. Lots of vomit.)? Will my social anxiety take over, will I want to hide away? Am I going to look ridiculous and feel uncomfortable? Will everything I've worked on look awful when I put it all together?  Will I be taken seriously as a bride?

Deep down I know that this is nothing but normal anxiety, stress finally catching up and giving me my fair share. I'm just not sure how to cope with it, or what brides say to themselves to make it better. How surreal am I going to feel, standing next to Jay and turning into a wife?! I was less stressed about becoming a Mum, probably because it was all out of my hands and all I had to do was turn up and do I as I was told. And maybe that's what I should tell myself now: you've prepared for this, you're ready, just turn up and forget about all of the other people. 

Or maybe I'll just spend the next 10 days vomiting. Either's good.

Pre-Teen Chores

One of our biggest difficulties raising Jelly has definitely been teaching her to take responsibility for her chores, and I wholly blame it on clashing parenting techniques between her two houses. While at her Mum's house Jelly may be asked to do some chores, but her Mum doesn't feel it is fair to put that kind of pressure on a nine-year-old. We whole-heartedly disagree. In this home, we all pitch in to our family home, allowing us to carry on with a good work-ethic and a sense of pride in ones own possessions. 

We attempted to set up matching chores at each house a year or two ago, and it was just a disaster. If she didn't complete jobs at her Mum's house, she was given the money anyway as "its not her fault I didn't remind her", so she became quite happy to skip the money we were offering in order to receive money from her Mum and not lift a finger all week. We tried taking money away completely, we tried taking away her technology, she just didn't seem to care. She's only here half the week, and half a week is easy to wait out if you get to do what you want for the rest of it. It's so hard to instil values which are contradicted completely at the person's other home.

So here we are, in a situation where Jelly has been doing two jobs a week (folding socks every Saturday and making tea/coffee whenever we ask), and has not received any money from us since some time last year. Her birthday and Christmas gave her a bump in cash, so she hasn't felt the sting of going without, and unfortunately the complaints about just how much she is made to do at our house for zero reward are getting more and more frequent. It pains me to say it, but her work ethic sucks right now. But by the end of this summer, it won't.

Yesterday we had a conversation, where she told me she would like to try to earn some money. So we struck up a deal and I explained that it's very similar to what I do as a freelance worker, in the hopes of having her connect it with feeling grown-up and like she has a real sense of the value of her work. Here's the thing: I'm a workaholic, but that doesn't mean I love to work. It means I love to earn. Nothing feels greater. So I have drawn her up a price list. She knows how much each job is worth and the frequency of work is (aside from a few once-a-week jobs) entirely up to her. She is literally choosing how much money she will earn every week. The rules are: we don't remind her to do the jobs, we initial each job to agree it has been done properly, she works out the total and presents it to us (kind of like an invoice) for immediate payment at 6pm every Saturday. Suddenly she is given the chance to take responsibility, basically to own her own finances - I'm really hopeful that she's going to take this opportunity and run with it. Time will tell!

Our suggested chores for a 9 year old: fold socks [once a week], 50p. Tidy bedroom [once a week], £1.00. Tidy craft cupboard [once a week], 70p. Tidy drawer [once a week], 70p. Feed and give cats water, 10p a day. Put own laundry away, 60p. Make bed, 10p a day. Dust shelving, 30p,

Wedding Wednesday: My Bridal Shower

I honestly thought I'd blog so much of the pre-wedding process, but I've just been so busy living it all that I've totally forgotten to sit down and write about it. Maybe I'll share some vlogs on things like decorations etc, if there's any interest.

When I first asked my auntie to be my maid-of-honour, I was very clear about one thing: I don't want a stripper anywhere near any pre-marital celebrations. Call me crazy, but I just feel like if you've agreed to marry somebody you're probably not at a stage where you want a strange man rubbing himself on your face. Maybe that's just me.

My second request was that it could be appropriate for Jelly to come along with me. Yes, part of that was to ensure there was nothing untoward and ridiculously embarrassing planned, but also because I felt like it was important to me that she would be there. I sent out a list of email addresses of ladies I'd love to be there and left the rest entirely in the hands of my auntie Kerren and one of my bridesmaids, Daniella. I knew zilch.

As it got closer to the time, it got pretty obvious when the shower was going to be: I knew there was a select time period when my Mum was down this way (she lives 700 miles away), she gave me her daily itinerary and Saturday 27th June was her only day with zero plans, I kept getting texts and Facebook messages from people apologising that they had work or other plans on that day - yeah, people are not good at keeping secrets. Eventually, I admitted I knew exactly when the shower was (down to the  exact time - 3 - 7 - because Jelly goes to her Mum's at 7pm on Saturdays so a late drop-off had to be arranged) and let myself start to get excited. The location, however, remained a complete mystery.

Me, Jelly, Daniella, Kerren in the mirror and my Mum taking the photo

Pouring Jelly her tea

Between people not RSVPing (I totally sympathise with this, it has been the only thing I have hated about wedding planning!), people working, being a bridesmaid for somebody else that day or not having childcare available, there ended up being five of us there: me, my Mum, Kerren (auntie and MOH), Daniella (bridesmaid) and Jelly (bridesmaid). My other two bridesmaids couldn't make it - Kathy had to work so we arranged a spa break for just the two of us as our own celebration, and my sister, Sophie, is 11 and lives in Glasgow so it was never going to be feasible for her to come along. We bundled into a taxi, picking up Daniella from the train station on the way, and my auntie told the driver that the location was a secret from me so not to mention anything about where we were going. And off we went.

My bridal shower ended up being in Woughton, in a beautiful location where there was actually a wedding going on that day! After we managed to sneak past the bridal party having their pictures taken (whoops) and talking ourselves out of stealing a complimentary Bucks Fizz, we were led through to a beautiful room which was set up for afternoon tea. We each chose a different tea, then tucked into sandwiches and cakes which were absolutely gorgeous. We were stuffed by the end - and I definitely took the leftovers home in a doggy bag to share with Moo! I wasn't letting that go to waste!

Clearly entertaining Daniella with my hilarious story...

Once we'd eaten we found a nice seating area in the reception where we set up shop to play some bridal shower games, drink champagne (Sparking apple juice for Jelly!) and open some presents. Kerren had emailed Jay and I a set of questions each to play The Mr & Mrs game and it turns out he knows me better than I know him, as I failed pretty miserably! My Mum arranged an adorable game, where she had pictures of me throughout my life and we guessed how old I was in each one (not surprisingly I won...) and then we talked, laughed, played the rizla game (though we used actual paper so I suppose its called 'Who Am I?'), I opened some gifts and we drank, talked and laughed some more. Afterwards we took a walk around outside where there were beautiful grounds, a rope swing hanging from a tree and beautiful arches and flowers galore. 

Jelly pushing Granny Emma (my Mum) on the swing

And me pushing Jelly. 

I had a really beautiful day and can't thank the four of them enough not just for coming, but for the work that went in to arranging it all. Even Jelly bought herself a new frock and wore her 'fancy gloves'! I felt really special and very loved, and it made me all the more excited to share our wedding day with our awesome families and fantastic friends. 

Fun Life Stuff!

Happy Thursday, everyone!

Today Jay and I went to give our notice of marriage. Of course, we only brought Jay's driving license and not a birth certificate, so he's had to schedule an appointment to complete his notice next week, but I am all legally ready to get married! The nerves set in a little bit today when I thought about just how much I would have to say in front of people, but hey. It's all good!

We've had a pretty rough couple of days. The car failed its MOT and was going to cost £250 to fix, so after scraping the money together to get the necessary things done they discovered our head gasket had all but gone and threw another £700 on top of the bill. Needless to say, the car wasn't worth fixing. We're looking at cars now, and have been so so lucky as my Mum and Step Dad have let us borrow enough money to buy a better car than we normally buy and break the cycle of spending £500 every summer on a car that has no life left in it. Thanks, guys! We've got our hearts set on a couple of seven-seaters with roofbars so we're good to go for car boot sales in the area. Wish us luck!

Our summers have both been spent looking for work, too. Jay was pretty jammy this week, being offered four interviews - one of which he only popped in to hand in a CV and they ended up taking him into the office there and then (while I waited in the car wondering what the hell was going on for an hour!) and offering him the job on the spot. It's a delivery job so he can't start until we have a car, which is why we were so gutted when it was declared as good as dead, but luckily they're really keen for him to start there as he gelled so well with the staff and they're happy to wait for him! So lucky! And while my search got me nowhere except pretty down with myself, the website I currently work for are starting up a new section and are offering summer jobs which pay more per hour than I'm actually on for my regular job. So I've put my name down for 20 hours a week - so we've both achieved our summer goals of part-time jobs! 

Everything's coming up fee-house.

Talk Me Through It: Smear Test

***WARNING, THIS POST CONTAINS TMI***

My anxiety is often centred on different situations, and by that I mean that I will focus on playing scenarios out in my head when I don't know how they're going to go. If I don't know the exact route to a job interview I'll play over every situation in my head to the point of obsession, maybe just as a way of being one step ahead of every disaster so feeling in control. So I've decided to start a little blog project called 'talk me through it', for anybody else who feels the same way that I do. Even if you don't suffer from an anxiety disorder, we all feel anxious sometimes and it can be really helpful to feel like you know what you're up against before you enter battle. Or whatever you're entering.

Today my topic is smear tests. This smear test (or cervical screening test) was my first one, though I'm no stranger to having medical professionals looking at my bits - in my pregnancy I had a vaginal scan and a stretch and sweep, as well as all of the other lovely things that happen pre and post baby. And the actual giving birth part, which didn't end up being vaginal, but did end up with lots of fingers and utensils being put inside me before the decision was made to get me off to theatre. I feel I am not saying soothing things right now. 

A smear test is nothing like that. See, I can be soothing. I entered the room and had a short chat with a nurse about what kinds of things the smear test looks for, but I already knew most of what she said as I'd looked it up online, and asked about periods etc. Against the wall was a bed, with blue roll all down it and one extra sheet placed on top. There were curtains around the bed. The nurse asked me to take my bottoms off, lay on the table and cover my modesty with the spare piece of blue roll when I was ready. While I was doing that, she prepared her medical equipment, then asked if it was okay to open the curtain.

The procedure itself is short and painless. She asked me to pull my feet as close to my bottom as I could, then let my knees fall apart. She lubricated me then inserted a speculum, explaining to me exactly what she was doing as she did it. As I am plus size, she had a bit of trouble seeing my cervix so she removed the speculum and used a larger one, while asking me to put my hands under my bottom so I tilted my cervix up slightly. This may or may not happen to you depending on your size and shape, but it is nothing unusual or to get worked up about. The larger speculum doesn't hurt more, but you can feel it more. Honestly I was more worried I'd fart while she was down there than I was about her actually being there!

Once the speculum is in and she can see your cervix, a small brush that kind of looks like a mascara wand (I didn't see it, I looked it up online) goes inside and sweeps your cervix, collecting cells which will be sent to the lab. Again, this doesn't hurt, but you could feel it. It felt like the pressure you get when you need to pee, in a way. Then she was finished. She gave me tissue to wipe the lubricant away and told me where to dispose of it when I was finished, and then she left me in privacy to clean myself up and get dressed. Afterwards, she explained that you may experience light spotting/bleeding and said that the results will come in letter form from your hospital, not GP, in the next 2-3 weeks. Importantly, she said I will receive a letter whether there is a problem or not - this saves me panicking when I receive a letter, or panicking when I don't that they have forgotten about me and there is an actual problem.

Here are the things people commonly worry about when thinking about a smear test:

Exposing yourself. No offence, but it's nothing special, it's just a fanny. She's seen probably thousands, depending on how long she's been in her job, and she won't remember yours. We've all got them and being secretive about yours isn't worth potentially risking your life. Unfortunately, exposing yourself to doctors is part of growing up for both genders, from smear tests to childbirth to prostate examinations and everything in between. It's just something you have to do to stay healthy.

Pain. Like I said, it doesn't hurt. You can definitely feel that something is happening but at no stage did I wince or anything like that and I'm a huge pansy. 

Awkwardness. YEP! It's hella awkward. But it's her job, she's going to be professional, it's literally five minutes out of your day. Don't feel the need to chitchat or anything, she wants you done and out of there as much as you do. Just do as you're told, get it done and move along. And like I said the most awkward thing to me was the fear that I would fart and you know what? I bet she's had that happen a million times too.

Period. If you are on your period, don't go! The NHS advises that the middle of your cycle is the optimum time to go. That way you won't be worried about whether or not you're going to start your period in the lead up to the event. And if you do start, just ring up and reschedule. NHS resources are stretched enough, and people not showing up instead of cancelling their appointment (so it can be offered to someone else) puts a further strain on things. They will be happy to reschedule to accommodate you, the nurses aren't going anywhere.

I think that's it! Sorry for way way way too much information but I figure it's better to be open and honest so that if you're worried you're not getting the full story, you can read this blog and know exactly how it happens. I hope this puts at least one woman's mind at ease. And please don't ever put off a smear test because you're scared of any of the things mentioned above, or especially if it's because you're scared of the outcome. A five minute smear test could save your life.

Mental Health: Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place

This post is going to be in stark contrast to my last one, to the point that I'm really going back and forth about whether or not I should actually post it. I don't want to be a liar and I don't want to offend anybody. I don't want to trigger anybody. I don't want to open myself up for hatred from a) the body positive community and b) trolls. But I guess I'm human and I am allowed to feel things, and maybe this will represent the undulating nature of mental health. Just because something is okay on Monday, doesn't mean you won't hate it on Tuesday.

Here is something that is not a secret: I am fat. And I worked hard to reach a place in my life where I didn't feel an internal flinch when I made that bold statement. At the doctor today, my nurse took my blood pressure. It was high. She asked if she could then weigh me. Just an FYI, I was there for a smear test, so my weight really had nothing to do with why I was there. Just routine dignity invasion. I asked if I really had to, she said I'm afraid so, yes. Then she looked at the scales and said "oh gosh, you really have put on a lot of weight, haven't you?" [referring to the last time I was weighed at my GP, two years ago, at my postpartum check-up] ... She really was only trying to be kind I suppose, and she whispered "Obviously you know you're...." and I replied "fat" and laughed because laughing is how to make things not sting, dontcha know. And she said "right, so lets deal with it. How can I help?"

And honestly I was stumped. Because here's the thing. I've worked for so long to convince myself that its good to be me, exactly as I am. In the past I've had a tetchy relationship with food. I used to sneak food to bed and eat it in the middle of the night. Food has always been a reward to me. And when I feel bad about myself, food is a comfort. Even to the point that I have hidden empty wrappers, or gone to a shop to replace something so nobody knows its gone, as an adult. When I'm really down I eat an embarrassing amount and sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it until its done and Jay gets home and says "did you eat an entire multipack of Twixes?" and I think "shit, yeah, I must have done". So when I have dieted, one of three things has happened.

Scenario A: I achieve goals when I diet. Reward? Food. Just a little bit in secret to say well done. Addiction back. Can't stop. Time to start over.

Scenario B: I lose no weight. I fall into a pit of self-loathing. Comfort? Food.

Scenario C: By the second day the feeling of restriction is too much. I literally feel no point in living anymore, as dramatic as that sounds. I hide and cry. Depression plummets. I have no alternative but to go back to life exactly how it was. I talk myself into eating my old diet because it's better to be fat and happy than thin and depressed, right?

And so I tried to break this cycle by jumping into the world of body positivity. Wonderful bloggers, vloggers, models, writers, who had such beautiful things to say about bodies that looked just like mine. These ladies are sassy and they aren't afraid to show it, so why shouldn't I be happy to look like me? I honestly felt this way almost unfalteringly for months (High street clothes shops make me feel like utter shit because I am confronted with a million things I'd wear and 0% of it would even fit me) and I was on a pretty high cloud. Heck, I even figured I'd start swimming a couple of times a week so that I could eat the same, look the same, but just feel a little bit fitter. I got to the happiest I have felt about my body in my adult life (which happens to also be my heaviest) and I was proud of myself for breaking the cycle and approaching the situation in a mature, rational and stable way.

But then the doctor happened. "Let's deal with it. How can I help? I can help with getting you in to exercise, I can refer to you to a dietitian" and I interrupted because I felt drained just hearing the conversation begin. "I go swimming actually, I've just been there now, that's why my hair is wet" "Well done, that's an excellent start. What else can we do?"

What did I want to say? "I am scared to go to a dietitian because I think I am going to feel overwhelmed, controlled, restricted and my depression is going to get out of hand again. I am worried I'll get into a cycle of hiding and binge-eating.  I am scared to feel judged. The thought of even embarking on this journey exhausts me. I feel like everything I say sounds corny, or like an excuse, and I'll never be taken seriously or understood. I don't feel mentally strong enough to deal with this right now."

What did I say? "Not sure really. I'm just... Swimming."

"Right. Well I leave that with you", she said with a smile. She didn't pressure me or make me feel guilty. We changed the subject, I left feeling fine. But the more I reflect on things the more I wonder what I am supposed to do. Mental health vs physical health, I suppose. Can I even achieve one without the other?

I'm screwed.