Psychology – Bystander Effect

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There are some psychological concepts that are just interesting whatever your point of view and bystander effect is definitely one of them!

Bystander effect is the finding that an individual’s sense of responsibility is reduced by the presence of others. Individuals are more likely to respond to someone in need when on their own rather than if they are surrounded by others who also are not helping that person (Darley & Latane, 1968).

There are some great youtube clips of bystander effect in action, it’s worth a look, one is at Liverpool St station, a station in London that I arrived at for work everyday for nearly seven years of my life. I hate to say it but I could probably of been one of those people that walked straight past a homeless person or someone who looked like they might be under the influence of a drug and probably needed assistance. In my twenties I didn’t have the social awareness that I have now, probably the empathy for others either, I was busy getting on with my life rushing to work not realising the impact I could possibly have on the world around me.  Luckily that bubble burst at some point!

Bystander effect theory was influenced by a particular crime that occurred in America; Kitty Genovese who was sexually assaulted and murdered on 13th March 1964 in New York. There were possibly 38 witnesses in nearby apartments who heard or saw the attacks and yet not one responded or even called the police. There were two attacks on Kitty; one that was outside of the apartments and one that was inside a foyer of the apartment where only a small number of the witnesses could see the attack.  Not one witness intervened or called the police until the victim was found dead.

Darley and Latane (1968) created an experiment whereby participants were separated in individual rooms having a discussion with other participants over an intercom system (to supposedly impose anonymity).  One participant would then fake a seizure which the participants could hear. What they found was interesting; as you can see in the table of results the more people that they believed were also present the slower the individuals were to respond, in fact when it was only themselves and the person that required help they were more than twice as fast to respond to the emergency.

I myself experienced bystander effect when pregnant with my first child, in my third trimester I started to experience fainting . It was a usual working day and whilst standing on the platform waiting for the train, as the train arrived, I fainted. When I came around people were literally stepping over me to get on the train, I brushed myself off and got on the train, quite embarrassed.  Interestingly whilst seated about 40 minutes later I passed out again however in such close proximity to others someone did actually ask if I was ok and when we got to Liverpool Street Station they offered to walk me to work. I actually needed to get an underground from Aldgate, my journey had not ended. I declined the kind offer and said I would probably just go home as it seemed to be re-occuring today.  It actually did seem odd that a stranger wanted to help, London can be a lonely city. That was my last trip to the city for work, I didn’t return and started my maternity leave. A couple of weeks later the terror attacks in London occurred, 7th June 2005 in the morning rush hour 52 people were killed and 800 injured. I can’t say for certain that I would have been affected of course but it’s a genuine possibility. Everything happens for a reason.

In an effort to combat bystander effect Zimbardo, made famous for his Stanford Prison experiment started the heroic imagination project to combat bystander effect, social conformity and systemic bias. This movement believes that heroism can be taught, developed and practiced. 

Psychology – Social Identity Theory

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I started studying psychology in 2003 after a gap year travelling around Australia, where I now reside, lucky country, lucky me! I was back in London working at Norton Rose and attending the University of East London when I fell pregnant with my first child.  Reluctantly my studies went on hold for a few years (15 years but who’s counting?), until in covid lockdown when I picked up the books again, there was something good that came out of lockdown after all. I wouldn’t change a thing, I enjoyed bringing up my two clever, beautiful, adaptable offspring.  Obviously not every day was perfect, parenthood is anything but, it is very similar to studying; a learning curve, sometimes you get a distinction, some of the time it’s a pass or a credit and you have to just keep improving, hoping you’re on the right track and that your interpretation of the results is correct, or at least plausible.

Just like many journeys there were no straight lines to the end of my degree although I began my Bachelor of Psychological Sciences at the University of East London, it’s certainly not where I finished, not the same country, continent, hemisphere or decade! Social Psychology and Social Identity Theory was an interesting semester;

Social Identity theory was hypothesised and continually examined by Tajfel & Turner (1979). The theory that we as social beings have the need to belong in groups; be it a sporting group or an educational group or perhaps a cultural group, this feeling of belonging supports our self-esteem and pride. The flip side of this grouping is that we adopt a ‘them and us’ mentality, whether that be the other side in a footie game or another culture, or people with opposite beliefs to our own. We create a divide and exaggerate the differences between the groups and similarities within our own groups to facilitate a sense of belonging. The in-group manifests favoritism to itself and a negative bias to the out group (Robinson, 1981).

Tajfel’s experiments time and time again provided evidence that when creating groups and asking these groups to reward other individuals, the subjects would always prefer to reward those in their own group rather than those in the outer group.

There are some related theoretical principles that were developed further from Tajfel’s original theory. One such theory that individuals strive to keep a positive social identity, (being part of the IT crowd). Positive social identity is largely created by comparisons between the in group and the out group and that when one’s social identity is unsatisfactory the individual will either try to make their existing group more distinct from other groups, leave the in group or join another group (Hatch & Schultz, 2004).

Identity Process Theory (Breakwell, 1986) explores how our self-concept is defined by
content and value/affect dimensions: content is added through experience and the content is valued on a spectrum from positive to negative and how this is internalized which affects our external actions. Breakwell discovered four identity principles: continuity across time and situation, distinctiveness from others, self-efficacy and self-esteem. Breakwells theory continually acknowledges the role of how social representations determine an individual’s identity components. In this respect Identity Process Theory can be described as a social constructivist model.

Although it is very difficult to argue with Tajfel’s Social Identity Theory as all of us have
experienced the in group and the out group, it tends to focus on the negative rather than the positive. The theory doesn’t look deep enough into the individual’s identity and self. Breakwells research into identity and the way we react socially gives a much broader, wholistic approach, is much more informative and makes Tajfel and Turner’s experiments and theory seem dated in comparison.

Interestingly in further research (and definitely not what my lecturers wanted included in my essay, but I was never one to follow the rules!) I discovered that in the late 1990’s in a set of interviews with former students and colleagues it emerged that Henri Tajfel had asserted unwanted sexual attention to the women around him, (Young & Hegarty, 2020). Although this does not eliminate the years of research and development he undertook in the field of social psychology it seems slightly ironic that whilst professing the in group and out group dynamics he was taking full advantage of his superior placement, being part of the ‘in group’ of male scholars.

Dry July

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Week 1 – Dry July

To be honest it had been so long since I’d had a whole week without a sip, that it was almost like I was high on oxygen. A bit like dieting after a year of gluttony, that remembered feeling of fasting, ketosis, emptiness. It was nice. I put my psychological safety barriers in place; a fridge full of diet drinks and fizzy water, icey poles and lots of fruit, literally three bags of oranges, it was a mistake on the order but they will come in handy I’m sure!

Just incase the bull took flight I downloaded The Experiment, worth a look, if you too fancy a few days off the grog. A few quick reads of people quitting alcohol and not wanting the whole AA treatment was quite insightful and encouraging. One take away was that a blip or a day when we think we have failed and slip back into an old routine is not a failure it’s a data point.  I loved that idea, (not least because I’m studying a science degree). It’s actually a very logical way of looking at something we would usually think of emotionally. We may think of a day where we revert to old easy routines as a mistake or a mess up, if you reframe this into ‘ok what happened there?’, I reckon there would be a lot of data we could extrapolate and work on.

I had a lovely meditation at the beach this week and felt much more grounded in my meditation, the light that I usually concentrate on within my body rushed into my brain for the first time, usually it sits in my stomach or my chest. I also felt like my vision was literally clearer, gazing at the clouds as I like to do, the colours were much more vivid and vital.

Week 2 – Dry July

I ventured out, even to a pub where ordering a lemonade seemed absolutely radical. I can’t remember the last time I ordered a lemonade in a pub, I was probably 12! And it would have been with a packet of salt n vinegar crisps. I mean back in my childhood, shandies (half beer, half lemonade) were a thing for kids, I can remember having shandies a lot they were like a sweet and sour drink.  At the time I probably didn’t even know it was alcohol. I progressed to cider pretty quickly which was my staple from about 14 +.  I do still love a cider, if not the calories and sugar it involves.

I started to lay into the milkshake food substitutes this week, as I realised on week one of dry July I’d slipped into a sugar craving mode. I don’t mind a protein shake and it always stops me thinking about constantly consuming. I first discovered the shake meal substitutes when I was working in London, they were cheaper than a regular sandwich and they had the added bonus of making me feel lighter. After all there are so many other crutches that life can offer, sweets, ice cream, sorbet, (if like me you pretend there are no calories in sorbet as it’s just sugar and water), oh the list goes on. So the diet shakes are a balance to the very naughty honeycomb chocolate squares I’m sneaking occasionally from the fridge when that glass of wine would usually be in hand.

I started watching Nurse Jackie this week, has every middle aged women got an addiction, I couldn’t help but wonder? Then The Dry is advertised. Confirmation Bias is surrounding me but it’s kind of comforting too, I mean we all need something and thank god I’m not addicted to Oxy! 

I tell my partner I’m quite amazed at how well I’m doing, I haven’t even looked at what date August 1st is, I’m just looking forward to my sons birthday a week or so later. In previous years, I would have planned the first of August, or the first of March if I was attempting Feb Fast. This time feels a lot more grown up, more aware.

I’ve started thinking about writing again, my passion, I’ve started painting more, basically expressing more, instead of being subdued, I feel more alive, more switched on, more thoughtful about what each day will hold.

Week 3 – Dry July

I’m not sure why this was the hardest week, I think because I realised we here in the Southern Hemisphere are in the midst of winter, whilst I see wonderful photos of my Fam and other lovely people lapping up the crazy heat in Europe. I started the week full of joy and not wanting to drink but then as it slipped by in a snowball of Uni work, actual work, house work and well what is all this work?! It all piled up and I just wanted to stay in bed and so Saturday was a PJ day, after the wake up at 7.30am for tennis and standing in the freezing cold, after getting the wood up for the fire and walking the dog. But it ended well, a lovely fire, a well earned rest.  It was also a nice reminder that exhaustion isn’t only appeased by a glass of wine, comfort comes in many forms.

I was gifted some lemons and grapefruit from a friends garden this week and so as it’s winter and I still have some red wine left in my cupboard, I decided mulled wine was to be made. Not drunk, not yet.  I just really fancied that warming smell of cloves and cinnamon, it was delightful and I didn’t even relinquish myself to the temptation.  It’s strange that I felt the need to connect with alcohol, almost as a test.  It was even on ‘my night’  a night that used to be sacred to me, to celebrate me as a single mum that does nearly everything for her kids, (as most single parents with the majority of custody do). However even on this sacred ME night, with the beautiful aroma of mulled wine simmering in the kitchen, I didn’t slip. I just thought well that will be nice one wintery day in August.

Week 4 – Dry July

It was such a great weekend spent with my children, watching tennis again and the cinema and dinner with my son, I even bought him a whisky and abstained from my usual glass of wine, it wasn’t needed as his company was by far the most warming glow I could have wished for. 

Alcohol has always been a part of my life, it’s always been a meeting for a drink, a glass of wine at the end of the day. Even whilst studying, the celebration of finishing an exam, an essay, getting a good result, even whilst studying what alcohol does to the brain, that it literally changes our dna, it changes how our genes are expressed, amazingly this information was still not a deterrent. It is a poison but is it a poison that some of us need to function? 

It End With Us, Or Does It? I hope so!

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I watched the latest much hyped about film with my partner at the weekend It Ends With Us.  Not least because of the legal battle that is still being taken up by Lively and Baldoni. Oh Boo hoo they obviously need more money and fame and….. control!? Did they learn nothing from the making of the film!?

Oh hang on a minute Control, isn’t that what the whole premise of the film is about, the fact that one person, always seems to have control over another person.  Isn’t the film about intimate partner violence? Well I think it is suppose to be!  Unfortunately the portrayal of the women’s perspective is so wishy washy, is it happening? Isn’t it happening? Continues far too long and yes I know this is supposed to be a reality piece however if we just keep portraying reality and not the solution to lifes tragedies we only end up in the washing cycle and not actually hanging the washing out to dry.

The Cinderella portrayal of poor little victim me  by Lively is sickly sweet.  Even after the inevitable speech that ‘it ends with us’ to her daughter is completely unbelievable, as she then falls back into the arms of the rescuer. NO!!!! That is just as bad as falling back into the arms of the perpetrator, it is still a misuse of control by both parties. Oh but of course more money by making a second film.

Please stop. If you are going to attempt big subjects that affect many people who are actually hurting mentally and physically, treat the subject with care and respect, that’s the message, isn’t it; care and respect. Way to go team, an absolute fail.

Memoir Writing Mentor

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How a Memoir Writing Mentor Can Help You Write Your Story in Record Time

Writing a memoir is no easy task. It’s a personal journey, filled with emotions, experiences, and reflections that shape your narrative. Whether you’re just starting out or have already begun your memoir, having the right guidance can make all the difference. A memoir writing mentor can provide invaluable support, helping you stay on track, refine your ideas, and ensure your story is told in a way that resonates with readers.

The Importance of a Memoir Writing Mentor

A memoir writing mentor isn’t just someone who reviews your grammar or punctuation – they play a much more critical role in your writing journey. They are a sounding board, offering advice, feedback, and insights from their experience. Working with a mentor gives you a fresh perspective on your writing and helps you develop your memoir into a polished piece of work.

If you’re wondering how to write a book in a weekend or simply need someone to help you structure your narrative, a memoir writing mentor can help you fast-track your progress and ensure you don’t lose sight of your goals.

What Does a Memoir Writing Mentor Do?

  • Personalised Feedback: A mentor helps you organize your thoughts, offering feedback that’s tailored to your specific writing style. They’ll guide you through structuring your memoir, creating a compelling flow, and ensuring that each chapter builds on the next.
  • Help You Stay Motivated: Writing a memoir can be an emotional experience, and it’s easy to get overwhelmed. Your mentor will be there to keep you motivated, provide encouragement, and push you to stay focused, especially during difficult writing moments.
  • Focus on the Big Picture: A memoir mentor helps you look beyond the day-to-day writing and ensures your story has a clear purpose. They’ll help you define the theme of your memoir and focus on the most meaningful moments that will resonate with your readers.
  • Learn from Experience: A professional memoir writing mentor has been through the writing process themselves and understands the challenges you face. They’ll provide helpful advice on how to overcome writer’s block, how to shape your story, and how to ensure it has the emotional impact you’re aiming for.

Why You Need a Mentor for Memoir Writing

If you’re new to writing memoirs or looking to refine your existing manuscript, a book writing mentor for beginners can help you gain the skills and insights you need to succeed. With a mentor’s guidance, you’ll be able to avoid common pitfalls, find your voice, and craft a memoir that you can be proud of.

When you decide to embark on writing your memoir, don’t go it alone. With the right memoir writing mentor, you can bring your story to life and share it with the world in a way that truly resonates.

About Frankie Banks: Frankie Banks is an experienced author and memoir writing mentor who understands the power of storytelling. With her deep passion for helping others express their personal journeys, Frankie works closely with aspiring writers, guiding them through the memoir writing process. Her expertise ensures that each writer’s voice is authentically captured, helping them craft memoirs that not only tell a story but also connect deeply with readers. Ready to take the next step in your memoir journey? Contact Frankie today to learn more about how she can help you bring your story to life. Email me now at frankiebanks27@gmail.com

Hysterectomy – What to Expect When You Are Not Expecting!

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Hysterectomy is not what you want to hear when you go to the doctor with a few minor aliments that you have been living with for a few years!

Ailments possibly ignored and untreated and tried to forget while life happens at a rate of knots that you can only hope to keep up with. The story is very similar for a lot of people that they put others before themselves, keeping the world together whilst ignoring their own pain. I’d  actually started to walk like I was in the last trimester of pregnancy by the time I went in for the operation and I had not realised this slow regression.  I wasn’t going to have the bundle of joy at the end of this, on the bright side I also wouldn’t have the sleepless nights!

My first Gynecologist (Gynie) was local to work and rushed through everything quickly, looking at the scan she said ‘well it looks like a hysterectomy is on the cards’ very matter of fact, I was put on the waiting list.  One good thing was it’s free, thank goodness for Australian healthcare!  I didn’t hear a thing for a couple of months and then when I called her office, she was on extended leave, no one had bothered to let her patients know! By now I was walking around (unbeknown to me) carrying kilos worth of diseased uterus (adenomyosis).

The next gynie ‘Trish’ (I love how all Aussies shorten their name no matter what their profession!) said after looking at the scan ‘well it looks like a huge fibroid that is pressing on your bladder and your bowel and making everything very uncomfortable down there, not to mention making you bleed excessively’.  Well yes, it was the case, one week I couldn’t go to work because I had literally bled though most of my clothes,  hysterectomy was the only option. ‘So I’ll go through what this operation looks like, has anyone done that?’

‘Not really’, I replied ‘I mean I’ve googled it of course!’

She smiled and shook her head ‘Well, there is this kinda important thing called medical consent and you need to know what is going to happen to your body, this is a big operation!’

To be honest it was pretty straight forward after she explained it and I would get to keep my ovaries, not something they used to do! That would mean estrogen would continue to flow! No immediate menopause to worry about, (hopefully).

Mid forties is actually quite young you would think to remove your uterus nowadays but just because women have started to give birth later it doesn’t mean that our uterus has other ideas! Luckily I have two beautiful children.

Hysterectomy – The Operation

It was early, very early and there were so many people waiting at Frankston hospital to be admitted, I wondered where on earth they would all fit. After triage and putting the smurf outfit on the wrong way (well how were they going to cut me in half if it was tied at the back?!) It was time to meet my rather gorgeous anesthetist, he was Irish, that accent is always a winner! He knelt by my bed and held my hand (started looking for veins) and explained what he would be doing before and during the procedure, a lot of information that I didn’t really need or take in but his presence was very welcome indeed.  ‘Oh they look grand, to be sure!’ he said getting up and walking away. Hang on, I was enjoying that! I thought, but it was ok he was back in seconds.

I was wheeled in to a small pre-op room and then my heart rate started to accelerate as Mr Irish started to put the canula into my vein. I was then introduced to Gynie 1, Gynie, 2 and Anesthetist 2 at which point I said,

“Wow there’s a lot of you!!”.

“This is a major operation! How are you feeling?”

“Slightly anxious now!”

“Well, we have all the good stuff here, I’m sure we can give you  something for that”  replied Mr older Anesthetist and he nodded to Mr Irish who went and got something that felt a lot like a nice hit of valium, (I’m sure it was something a lot more elaborate).

Then came in Trish (my Gynie) all cheery and happy, ‘how are we?’ she said and touched my shoulder, a nice gesture. ‘Good thanks’, I replied ‘Great, lets get you feeling a bit more comfortable than you have been, shall we?’ I could hear her saying hello to her team and talking them through my scan. ‘Would you like me to take a photo when we get that uterus out?’ she asked “Sure my daughter will like to see!’

Feeling very relaxed, they wheeled me though to the very bright operating room, it was huge and there was the ominous operating bed. I was asked to hop off my bed and onto the operating table and so I floated across, looked up at the light and the mask was placed on my face, goodnight Mr Irish, I thought.

When I woke up, Mr Irish was no where to be seen and I was given a little buzzer thing to hold like on a game show that I could press for drugs to be administered into my veins (PCA pump).  It wasn’t really pain that I woke with, more a weird uncomfortableness and a need to have something pressing on my tummy that felt very loose.  The nurse gave me a wrapped up towel in the shape of a baby which I held on my stomach, it made it feel a lot better and then I adjusted the bed so that I could sit up a bit.  My throat was sore and dry and the nurse gave me a yoghurt followed by an Icey pole, this was like a five star hotel! ‘Are you feeling ok, any nausea?’ asked the nurse, holding my wrist. ‘All good’ I replied.

I wondered what time it was and was told it was around 3.30pm, I had gone into the operating room at about 10am, so I’d been out for a while.  ‘We’ve got Archie coming down to pick you up and take you to the ward, we’re just waiting for your blood pressure to return to normal, Archie should do that, I think you’ll like him’ she gave me a wink.

Another yoghurt and along came Archie a ‘built’ Philippine guy, with a huge welcoming smile! This place just gets better and better.  I was wheeled up to the ward taking an occasional hit on the ‘buzzer’ next question please Bob! Realising how strong that stuff was and how hungry it was making me I soon stopped.  When I got to the ward I was greeted by a lovely guy who asked me what I would like for dinner!

A young nurse came by with a supervisor, ‘Oh hi we just want to do a patient blood pressure test, we take your blood pressure laying down and then we ask you to stand up and walk up the ward and we take your blood pressure again’ I laughed, ‘No’ I said with a smile, ‘I’ve just come out of surgery and I still have a catheter in and my cannula, you’ll have to find someone else for that experiment’, I smiled again. ‘Oh ok’ and away she walked. I’m sure she was just learning the ropes but she wasn’t going to be pulling on mine!

I won’t lie, a mixed ward leaves a lot to be desired when there’s one bathroom between four, luckily two of those were bed bound, well luckily for me, not them!  I was released (from my bed and the catheter) about six hours later and much enjoyed using normal functions again, all be it into a witches hat to be examined by the nurse. Ok time to take the catheter out, she ripped it out like ripping off a band aid, I let out a little yelp. ‘That shouldn’t of hurt!’ the young nurse exclaimed. ‘It’s coming out of my bladder of course it hurt!’ I smiled back at her. A quick look at my stitches and that was that.

The guy next to me, early sixties was in for some kind of alcohol related problem and would constantly ask the nurses to wipe him after using the toilet, ‘who does it home?’ the first nurse asked ‘my carer’ he replied. The said ‘carer’ showed up at visiting time and yes you guessed it, his wife.  ‘Did you go out last night? ‘ he pointedly asked her, the cloth drape not creating any vocal privacy between us. ‘I, erm, I went to Cheryl’s for a bit’ I could hear her nervously reply ‘You didn’t have a drink did you? While I’m stuck in here!’ I lovingly named this man Mr Ahole.

I had to put my ear phones on, I couldn’t listen to any more. I played some Vance Joy.

The first night I slept like a log, occasionally being woken for observations, the second night was much more interesting.  Mr Ahole next to me was still asking the nurses to wipe him after every toilet episode however Mr Ahole 2 had turned up on the ward in the shape of a guy who needed security with him because he had abused staff on another ward. I heard the nurses chatting and heard him ordering them about, ‘I want stronger drugs, these aren’t working!’, ‘Who are you? Are you a doctor?’ ‘Do you know how to administer drugs?’ He was with an African orderly (security) that sat with him. The nurse on night duties was rushed off her feet. ‘I’ll do your obs in a minute sweetheart’ she smiled at me, ‘it’s ok I can see you’re busy’ ‘yeah no-one wants the night shift!’ her big brown eyes darting towards the white ceiling. ‘You need to speak with respect’ the African security said to the patient. ‘I am, of course I am, are you telling me that I’m not being respectful, these girls don’t know what they’re doing half of the time’ ‘I think that’s enough’ replied Mr security.  Mr Ahole 1 not getting any attention hobbled over to the bathroom.  ‘Nurse I’ll need you to’ but she turned her back to him and talked to Mr security, ‘This guy needs help in the toilet apparently!’ ‘What!?’. And that is how to delegate! She walked off down the ward to do her obs, I think there were around 6-8×4 sections on the ward, she was very busy. The conversation  in the toilet between Mr Ahole and the security man was hilarious. ‘What do you need?’ ‘I er need you to wipe’ ‘Oh man!’ There was a lot of movement in the toilet and a little yelp, suffice to say Mr Ahole didn’t ask for any more toilet help whilst I was there!

I was ready to go home on day three, I’d seen enough and heard enough and had huge empathy for these amazing nurses. I realised how unsympathetic I would be in certain situations. I wanted my bed and my comforts.  Now that the canula and the catheter were out I decided to take a walk around the ward, I was very slow, so slow I felt like a hundred years old but that was ok, I knew I would be slow to start with, I held my stomach with the towel as if trying to hold everything in. I did a lap and was happy, then I decided I would have a shower. I started to feel a little bit more normal. The nurses came round with my meds and I asked if I could have a smaller dose, I could feel the chemicals oozing out my skin. ‘Have them with your lunch instead, I’ll come back in a hour’.

My gorgeous son came and picked me up from hospital, carrying my bags and the beautiful flowers that my friends had sent me to the car. I had stocked the freezer with lots of homemade meals, so after a quick, well slow, stop at the pharmacy, I finally got into my own bed, asked my son to heat up some food, ate and slept. Two weeks bed rest was really what I needed but I did get up and start to do things earlier than that. Everything was slow and steady and no lifting, by week six I had started to feel like me again. I went for my six week check up with Trish and learnt that I had adenomyosis, my uterus was four times the six it should be! I saw the photo Trish had taken with her tiny  finger pointing to the middle and what a normal uterus would look like.  I was still in the shock phase of post operation and didn’t really take it all in, however somehow this was vindication of the last year of my life. I now had to concentrate on healing.

Exactly six weeks of not driving and it was New Years Eve, I could finally have some freedom. I went to woolies and bought a big box of chocolates and a card for the nurses. ‘You are All Superstars, thank you for helping me though my hysterectomy!’

By month seven months my body had returned to some form of new normality. I went on b12 weekly injections for five weeks soon after the operation which also made a huge difference. My stomach was tender to the touch for a good few months and now 11 months later occasionally there are a few pains.  I’ve had a scan to make sure everything in there is ok and they even found one of my ovaries working which was nice to know. Things are different but good different.

How do you Worry?

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Worry is a strange word and something we have all done at some point. Worrying about things we can’t control is completely useless and yet we all do it!

Worry for me starts in my tummy, a knot of what if? My brain is then drawn in with a slight jerk of, What if what? Most of the time I have to remind myself what I’m worrying about, my brain talking to my tummy as if it was a child always asking Why? But in this case it’s What if?

‘What if what?’

‘Who cares?’

‘Why do you always ask this? Just settle down! Stop worrying!’ My brain tells the troubled tummy but my tummy doesn’t have ears, it only has emotion. Occasionally the amazing happens and my tummy tells my brain It’s ok right now there is nothing to worry about. That is a lovely sense of freedom and strength and yet it is only a perspective.

Of course I could always find something to worry about in this world that is far beyond my control and most of the time I do. Is that emotion useful? Probably not! Am I actually going to change any outcomes from worrying about a situation? Probably not. Thinking and brainstorming and writing things down to order them from the jumble in my brain perhaps can help but worrying or ‘stressing’ is not useful to me. I know this and yet my stomach does knot!

 

Justice, Vengeance & Vigilantes

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It’s very easy to judge a person without knowing their back story, we are used to watching our Netflix binges and getting the back story given to us on a platter.  Sometimes I think we have lost the human initiative to actually ask questions or read behaviour that gives these clues away.

This weekend I was privileged to watch a couple of shows with fantastic backstories that really made me think!

Thirteen

Thirteen with the wonderful Jodi Comer (Villanelle) from the ballsy series Killing Eve playing the victim was frustrating to watch. The female police officer acted so well questioning Jodi’s character continuously to the point of disgust, treating the victim as the perpetrator in my experience is all too often the case.  Obviously, the facts need to be established but creating a supportive environment surely would get the better result, “You catch more flies with Honey”.

Justice is a wonderful thing when it works out. When it doesn’t the ethics and morals that surely are the backbone of the justice system seem contorted, broken and in need of some physio!

Occasionally the police and the courts seem to have two completely different sets of values, then throw in the CPS and DPP who actually decide what goes to trial and you create a less than satisfactory system.

If I had watched Thirteen before I had watch Killing Eve the anger and frustration of Villanelle and her psychotic ways would have been an easy progression to make for the characters to link together. Jodi Comer did such a great job as the groomed and frustrated, lost victim of abduction in Thirteen the complete antithesis of Villanelle, the strong hit woman who I’m sure many of us wished we could emulate figuratively, not literally!

Villanelle ended up being somewhat of a vigilante in the third and final season of Killing Eve when  a victim of domestic violence kills the husband, cut to the next scene where said wife brings all her friends, “they all have a Pedro too”. Now that was going to keep Villanelle busy!

When the justice system stops working is this what actually happens, unfortunately there is a huge part of me that really hopes so!

Three Girls

Human trafficking is often thought of as taking someone from one country to another country. However, human trafficking just means a trade of people for human labour so it actually prolifically happens in the same country. However, it’s just easier to prosecute when larger barriers are crossed such as countries.

Three girls is a true story of sex trafficking and grooming, a huge problem in most societies. This story starts in 2005 when the police investigated and a ring of sex traffickers in England.  As teenage girls these victims were not reliable witnesses or the right kind of ‘vulnerable’ to be victims. Although the social worker involved had the moral standing of a saint her views were too far fetched from the realities of the police and the justice system.

Yet again the victim, a young girl was made to feel like the perpetrator as the male group had enlisted her to recruit other females.  A lot of persuasion and a ridiculous amount of bureaucratic nonsense ensued until eventually the ring of traffickers were brought to justice.

The writing of these two series was just fantastic and really made you question your own values. Another step forward for female leads and the telling of truths.

 

The Betrayal of Skinny

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Tiny people have heart attacks too! It wasn’t until someone I know had a heart attack and my first though was but she’s tiny, skinny. I realised I felt betrayed by the media’s portrayal that skinny is good, healthy or the way any of us should look. It’s complete rubbish, healthy is where we should be aiming, healthy, happy and kind. It was this thought that spiraled my thinking into many places regarding body type and skinny. I have been aiming for healthy and strong since my early twenties when I realised quite quickly that my love of food outweighed my love of feeling skinny.

Sorry Kate Moss ‘Everything tastes better than skinny to me!’

Even marmite and I don’t even like that very much but on a thickly cut slice of whole meal lightly toasted with some French butter, on a cold winters’ morning with a hot cup of tea, that outweighs the image of my blue dress on a size 12 body in my teens (the only time I’ve ever been a size 12 and ever will). I also realised early on that boobs are also better than skinny! Imagine if men’s penises increased twice the size when they put on a little weight?

The fact that it’s clinically proven that food gives off the same chemical in the brain as cocaine and that people who eat small amounts of sugar are actually happier does not surprise me in the least. So, Kate as much as skinny looks very good on You, it can never taste as good as food to me.

Which brings me to another point, the look of skinny doesn’t actually suit everyone. As you get older your skin needs a little plumping, looking drawn in the face in your 20’s you can get away with, the older woman can only fill with so much collagen before wrinkle upon wrinkle will start to appear. Fillers let’s face it distort your face leaving more quizzical looks! 

Waist training, plastic surgery, media and just the normal general human looking someone up and down, (whenever anyone does this I cringe). Look into my eyes my friend that is where I am, not in my sandalled feet, shaven legs, work skirt, size fourteen blouse covering the sometimes C, sometimes D, sometimes DD’s depending on my hormone levels. Again, don’t let your gaze get stuck there those boobs have earnt their right to wiggle and jiggle (but that’s another story). Higher, higher that’s right that’s where I am just look into my eyes that’s where you will find my empathy and kindness, humour and humanity. Kindness is one size fits all thank goodness, however not everyone can quite squeeze it over their ego and vanity. It’s definitely worth trying it on occasionally, it’s been around so much longer than skinny and will make you shine, in fact with a little kindness you will be the most beautiful person in the room.

 

Dolphins

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We are so lucky to live somewhere that spotting dolphins from the shore whilst walking the dog is a regular occurrence.  The first time I recognised what was happening was a few years ago while I was walking my beautiful kelpie Ray.  All of a sudden Ray spotted a group of seagulls circling the water about 300 meters from the beach, puppy went crazy running up and down barking, what were they doing? I stopped and looked and all of a sudden a fin came out of the water and then another, the dolphins were feeding and the seagulls wanted some freebies!

So now whenever I see a group of gulls a couple of hundred meters from the shore I look for the fins and generally they are there, its a beautiful sight.

Today however was different I spotted the fins as I walked down the cliffs, Ray hadn’t seen them and there were no gulls! I kept looking but they were doing a different dance today, swimming on their backs, swimming on their sides, almost waving at us, but still no gulls, they obviously weren’t feeding.

Then I saw another group and another, there must have been four or five pods of dolphins all playing, I had never seen anything like it and couldn’t take my eyes away from them. It was like they were playing football or basketball, up and down and in a out of the water they swam. Even after our walk as we wandered back up the cliffs they were still at it! Waving and flipping around.

I stood at the top of the cliffs and then I realised what they were doing! Doh! I had a little giggle at these wonderful creatures obviously enjoying themselves enormously. I wanted to tell someone to come and watch with me, it was such a wonderful, beautiful amazing sight. Instead I wandered back to the car and smiled all the way home.