The doctor made a point of telling me he didn’t want to cause any more pain than was absolutely necessary. Which, to a chronic pain sufferer, is always one of the nicest things you could wish to hear from anyone, anytime, anywhere. Especially when your knees are spread and your knickers are halfway across the room.
Featuring Twitter exchanges, mulled wine tea and nice-smelling candles.
For two years, I have had the privilege of dating a wonderful young man. He’s kind, thoughtful, sensitive, respectful, intelligent, loving, not to mention extremely handsome, with beautiful blue eyes and a heart-melting smile. Last week, I ended that two-year relationship.
Featuring friends, faith, and a fudging ridiculous onesie.
Feminism, at its base, is opposition to sexism. Sexism is wrong because it operates on the belief that the respect people deserve is determined by their sex, which is a) not true, b) harmful, and c) let’s be honest, a bit stupid.
Having left Hogwarts behind years ago, I bet Emma Watson thought her troll-fighting days were over. Women desiring equal rights does not necessarily mean that we seek to become identical to men in all ways; it simply means we want to be treated by the same standards of justice and respect as our male counterparts.
For the best part of a year now, I have been searching – on and off – for stability. I’m used to the usual ups and downs, but a serious heartbreak about eighteen months ago sent me ricocheting through the months that followed.
It’s no wonder Blurred Lines was a smash hit this summer. The problem is, if you don’t stop to listen to the lyrics, you might end up singing along to some fairly troubling notions. The idea of a whole generation blithely repeating, hashtagging and retweeting ideas of #blurredlines of consent is worrying in itself.
Was this a misunderstanding of what freedom feels like? Probably not. Was this a misunderstanding of the freedom God offers? You bet your Garden of Eden it was.
Am I crying enough? Am I crying too much? Why am I not crying at all? What ‘stage’ of grief does the model say I’m in? What am I supposed to do with all these emotions inside me?