Happy Girl Winter: How to Overcome Seasonal Depressive Disorder
‘Finding the Beauty in Abnormality’: My Diagnosis of Marfan Syndrome
‘Connective tissue disorder’ and ‘aortic dissection’ became regular parts of my vocabulary. Needles, MRIs and hospital gowns became our new normal and, by the time I turned eleven, our differences became more noticeable. My sister was lucky, in a way. At a glance, you wouldn’t know there was anything wrong and her heart was by far the least affected. For my cousin and I, it was different…
‘My Adolescence was Dictated by Epilepsy’: Looking Back at My Illness and Learning to Face My Fears as an Adult
It definitely didn’t make me popular when I got to university. Even now, it’s hard having to justify to people the reasons why I don’t drink. It’s not anyone’s business but that doesn’t stop them from prying. My medication doesn’t recommend drinking, to which someone will always pipe up and say, ‘I know someone who knows someone who is epileptic and drinks.’ That’s great, thanks for your unnecessary input, but funnily enough we’re not all the same…
‘Complacently May Be Comfortable, But It’s A Trap’: Why Growing Up and Growing Apart Should be Celebrated, Not Side-Stepped
Have you ever heard that famous quote from Theodore Roosevelt, the one about comparison being the thief of joy? Well, if this is true, complacency is a close second. Living a complacent life steals one’s creativity and ambition. It robs you of opportunities for growth. Complacency may be comfortable, but it is a trap. Don’t fall for it. I am telling you now, you deserve more…
‘To Experience New Motherhood is to Experience a Type of Grief’: How The Birth of My Daughter Made Me Think About Death
The first time my daughter grew out of an item of clothing the grief I felt was an aching, bodily grief. The only situation in which I had ever touched time in this way before was in the company of a dying loved one. Nobody can deny a failing body; neither can we deny bags of tiny clothes that no longer fit piling up week after week…
How OCD Stole My Early Womanhood
The term itself is thrown around with oblivious disregard, used aimlessly to describe a love for excessive cleanliness and organisation. It has rapidly become the laughingstock of psychiatry, fallen victim to mindless stereotyping and trivialisation. But the honest, unfiltered truth about OCD cannot be found in a bottle of antibacterial handwash. It can be found in the messy rooms and the red-raw hands, the mood stabilisers and the late-night hospital admissions…