My brain is very full. As we speak, I have 2 novels, 2 non-fiction books, and 20 blog posts floating around in my brain. That’s on top of my usual anxieties (will I ever make it as a writer? Am I wasting my life in a job that I hate?), day-to-day to-do’s (must remember to buy kitchen roll on my way home from work), wedding planning (damnit I still haven’t emailed the videographer back), buying a house (will our mortgage application ever get accepted??) and anger at the current political climate (oh for fuck’s sake Theresa, did you HAVE to call an election NOW? Couldn’t you have waited a BIT longer?). That’s a lot of thoughts for one little brain. Normally, I deal with my full brain by writing. This is not unique. Most writers write because they just need to get the thoughts out of their brain so they…

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I’d never thought of myself as one of those girls. You know the ones I mean. The ones who stare at themselves in the mirror for hours on end, painstakingly grabbing at every inch of their body that they dislike. The ones who carefully turn the pages of the glossy magazines, savouring every image of thin people with thin people problems. In fact, I’d never been particularly aware of my body at all. Or at least, not the size of it. I was a dancer, so I was aware of how my body moved. Aware of the lines it could create, the emotions it could evoke. But the size of my thighs? That had never crossed my mind. Of course, I was lucky. I was relatively thin, and dancing six days a week had left me with a fierce metabolism. But I also just wasn’t that fussed. My body was…

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Warning: This post contains talk of disordered eating. If this is likely to trigger or upset you, please don’t carry on reading! During Blogmas, I spoke about my experiences with disordered eating. It was the first time I’ve ever been truly open about some of my mental health struggles on my blog. The post was so well received that I thought I’d carry on being open and honest! Although I am mostly ‘recovered’ from my struggles with disordered eating, I do still struggle from time to time. There are still days when I have to fight the urge to skip meals and count calories. Whilst those days sometimes just appear out of the blue, they are often triggered by external factors. The thing about triggers is sometimes they are obvious, but sometimes they just make no fucking sense. So, in the spirit of being open about my messed up brain,…

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Dear student, First off, let me say how intensely jealous I am of you. I’m 5 months into the world of full-time graduate work, and whilst it’s as wonderful as working ever can be, I kind of wish I didn’t have to get up at 6:00am every day. Secondly, I know you’re probably stressed. You’re probably up to your eyeballs in essays and deadlines and projects and lab work, when really all you want to do is take a nap. You also might be depressed. Or anxious. Or struggling with your eating disorder. I know this, because I was you. I was there. Crying in my room at 3pm, unable to physically attend my seminar because everything felt so bleak. Wondering whether to drop out or walk in front of a bus. Wishing I could just be like every other person and have a normal university experience. But I’m here…

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In a world of oppression, fascist world leaders, and rising mental illness, self care is important. After all, how can you expect to dismantle the patriarchy and fight actual Nazis if you’re rundown, miserable, and burned out? There are a lot of articles and blog posts out there about self care, full of ideas of how to look after yourself. Most of them include things like ‘have a bubble bath’, ‘put on a face mask’, and ‘listen to soothing music’. While I’m not dismissing the value of these ideas (pampering yourself is a valid and important method of self care), I do think that too much emphasis is placed on them. See, sometimes the best thing you can do for your mental health isn’t sit in a bubble bath or binge watch Pretty Little Liars on Netflix. Sometimes, these methods of self care actually do more harm than good. Because…

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