I recently turned forty three, and became a new mum, and it’s safe to say that I’m feeling the strain in more ways than one.
So — pregnancy related eyesight decline is a thing. Who knew?
But we all knew that age related presbyopia is common, and apparently I’m a textbook case. I’ve been doing that thing where I look like I’m trying to play trombone but with a book, while operating a screw-face that aims to assist the eyes in squinting their way to less blurry vision. And I’ve been getting headaches and decidedly sore eyes to boot.
I am a mixed-race woman — and proudly so.
But if you ask me what my ancestral roots are, you might not recognise the pride because you will likely perceive that I’m insecure about my cultural identity.
And you would be correct — not because of any shame or prejudice, but because despite being born and raised in the United Kingdom, I don’t know to whom I can attribute my dark eyes, tanned skin, full lips and naturally curly brown hair.
I’ve longed to feel secure in myself when the ubiquitous question is asked — “What are you?” or “Where…
I have a four month old.
Approximately a year ago, I began to regularly tap potential birth dates and times into my astrology software — because that’s what we do when we have a positive pregnancy test and we’re also astrologers.
My daughter’s due date was 11th September 2020, which sounded ominous enough to begin with, but I was all too aware that she could arrive any time before that, and maybe up to two weeks afterwards.
With 2020 being such an astrological powerhouse of note, I was almost afraid to look. But I’m an astrologer and I can’t not…
Apparently we’re all fine.
All of us.
Every time we’re asked.
But seriously … how are we all doing really?
HOW ARE YOU? is a powerful thing to ask another person. It isn’t just a flippant and disingenuous opening for conversation and small talk. Think of the opportunities for honesty, accountability and humility that are missed when we reply with our societally approved standard stock response.
‘I’m fine’ shuts down a huge array of descriptive narratives that enable us to appropriately gauge another persons level of wellbeing. …
I’m sorry (not sorry) to admit that I have been the owner of a long-term creative hiatus hernia that’s about ready to give way.
This is my fourth Medium article, and I suddenly want to write about — All. The. Things.
I am absolutely loving the diversity on this site. It’s a veritable playground for wordsmiths.
Many of the articles I’ve read about how to write for Medium state that it’s best to have a niche. But I don’t think I have a method in mind for my posts as yet. …
Thank you Jamie Cat Callan for creating this wonderful Writer’s Toolbox, and thanks to my fantastic partner for buying it for us.
We switched Netflix off yesterday afternoon, and had a thoroughly fun and exciting time getting to grips with this box of creative writing goodies to inspire the write[right] side of the brain.
This kit promises to banish writer’s block for good, and I believe it.
Within the box are a host of interesting tools that can be used in a multitude of ways. To give you some ideas, there’s a beautifully written guide book introduced by the author…
When contemplating my online writing journey, I took quite some time questioning whether or not to use my real name.
Bear with me here —
— Pseu Donym
— Sue Denim
I played with the sound of that word many times, rolling it around in equal measure over the folds of my tongue and the lobes of my brain — becoming amused by the concept of actually calling myself Sue Denim.
Even pen name A. Nonny Mouse crossed my mind [chuckle].
But try as I might, a new name for myself was not forthcoming.
Nothing fit — and…
This is it.
This is the first public pen-to-paper moment.
This is what I’ve procrastinated about and deliberated over for years.
And the only reason I can think of as to why it has taken this long to hit that ‘publish’ button, is a funny but rather uncomfortable feeling that I’m going to label — vulnerability.
I’ve said it.
I feel vulnerable.
You see, I’ve been a secret writer.
I would write in the attic room of the house I grew up in; the furthest room away from others.
I would pen poetry, letters, thoughts while looking up through…