I recently wrote a blog post about the expectations we personally have of others’, events and ourselves. Today, I want to talk about how to deal with the expectations other people have of us. We can control our own expectations, but we cannot control what other people expect of us, whether personally, in work, or strangers. We need to fit in, so we do need to behave with certain restraints generally; abiding by laws, social systems and etiquette etc. If we do not, we might end up in prison or are disliked or even isolated by other people’. Some things really matter, others do not as much. We have to use our own judgments as to what expectations we will or will not fulfil. Sometimes, even though we try, we cannot always fulfil them anyway, and then what? Best ourselves up? Apologise? How important it is and how we impact on other people are the key things to think about. So, let’s break it down… Personal expectations. This could be from friends, a partner, a family member etc. These are people who we care about; we care about their opinions, or at least their opinions affect us in some way emotionally. Our parents may expect us to go to University and become a Doctor for example. Friends expect us to be on time when we meet, or not to cancel last minute continually. Our partner might expect to share the jobs involved in keeping the home paid for and clean. Are we doing our bit, or are they expecting too much or more than we can give? Firstly, can we put ourselves in their shoes and empathise with them; think about what their motivations are for what they want from us? It is best not to assume, as we could get it wrong, so could we ask them why they want us to do something so much? Is the expectation perfectly acceptable and something we can agree with? If so, we could try to fulfil it. If not, talk about it. Maybe we can learn a thing or two from other people, about the way they look at things; what makes them tick and what their needs are. Maybe we can come to a COMPROMISE? Especially with personal relationships, but also applying to work and strangers too, we must be careful NOT TO ASSUME what their expectations are! If our self esteem is low, or we feel unhappy with ourselves, this is especially important, as we can easily assume if we think we are rubbish, then everyone else must do too. I have discussed this in much more detail in a separate article about assumptions, but I will recap here. If we assume someone thinks something negative of us, and we do not ask them to confirm, we could well be putting that on them for no reason. If we think someone feels negatively about us, we might step back from them. They have no idea why this is happening and may assume all sorts of things about why we have changed our attitude to them. The relationship is affected negatively, and it might all be for nothing. If we ask and discuss, we get the facts. We can then base our judgments and reactions on the facts and not our own made up fiction. Maybe they are judging us or expecting more than we are doing, but at least we will know for sure and won’t have a secret battle based on assumption. Expectations at work. We all have a job role at work. It is usually a simple transaction – we give X amount of hours and work for X amount of money, whether it’s a flat wage or based on commission. This is usually laid out and understood at the beginning of a work contract so everyone knows what they are doing. But, as we continue in our job, why is it sometimes we feel uncomfortable and doubtful about our part of the deal? Are we doing enough? Will we lose our job? Can we do our job? Often, these are natural processes and keep us in check to make sure we are doing enough and do keep our jobs. However, what if we are not doing what is expected of us? Has something been said or are we assuming? Is there something we can do? Are the expectations of our boss realistic? Are they still in line with our job description or are they asking more without offering extra pay? Or are we just getting lazy and need to step up and give more? What is the REALITY of the situation? That is the key. Expectations of strangers. This is how we behave in public, in all sorts of situations from how we talk, eat, dress and deal with people we do not know. Are we being horrid to a waitress just because we’ve had a hard day? Are we shouting in public? Or are people judging us unfairly? Are they saying something to us, or just looking at us in a certain way based on our behaviour? Can we relate to what they are saying, or are they wrong in some way? Are we being good citizens when we are out and about? Dressing appropriately? Treating others’ as equals? Being polite? Do we fit in? Some food for thought there, which I hope you find useful. Take care

Acceptance of our PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE, OURSELVES and what OTHER PEOPLE do is a key to contentment and happiness, and helpful to combat anxiety and depression. Carrying around resentment, annoyance, or ill feeling about things we cannot change or our past negative experiences serves only to weigh us down with negative vibes. Let’s look at some examples and possibly what to do about each of them… PRESENT NATURAL EVENTS OR BECAUSE OF OTHERS… A current disturbance for many… I am continually shocked at just how upset people get about politics even after a democratic vote has chosen a certain route. Most recently, in the UK, this has been prevalent around the vote to leave the EU and the vote for a Conservative Government. The vote is done yet many cannot accept it. I have seen and heard a lot of anger, abuse and arguments about it all. It really would be easier for us if we can accept something we cannot change in the moment. If we can change it, seek to do so, but if we cannot, accept it. Not just politics, but many other things we cannot change, such as crime, abuse and farming. Again, if we can do something about things we are passionate about, then great, do so – I wholeheartedly support using our own voice and individuality. I personally, for the last 15 years, have wished everyone would stop consuming palm oil, which, by its production, harms the environment, the rainforest, the indigenous people, the wildlife which exists in the environment including the beautiful Orangutan (second closest in DNA to a human), and our own health (via eating it). But, I had to give up on my frustrations with people not coming on board with my campaign and just campaign fuelled by hope instead. I felt a lot better for it. OUR PAST NEGATIVE EXPERIENCES – NATURAL EVENTS OR BECAUSE OF OTHERS… If there is any chance you can deal with negative past experiences then try with all you have in you. Maybe you need to talk about the events, or write down what happened. Think about who was involved, how you felt then, how you feel now about it, what happened, and what you can do about it now. Is there anything you can do? If there is, great, but if there isn’t, why hold on to the memory? Why keep it in your conscious mind, so it can eat away at you? Can you change it? If you can’t, let it go. We can accept that even negative events in life can lead to positive outcomes. If I hadn’t had a dysfunctional childhood, with negatives in it, or had mental health issues, I wouldn’t have spent years writing about it, and publishing my first book – a memoir. I wouldn’t have gone on to learn more about writing and editing, and published ten books. I probably wouldn’t be a therapeutic counsellor now, as the drive to help others’ by writing and counselling was borne from me having lots of talking therapies, which helped me no end. Or reading other people’s memoirs which helped me feel less alone. I used to spend far too much time resenting, misunderstanding, and wishing I could change my past, and all the wrongdoings of others’ towards me, including someone who sent me into bankruptcy, but all it did was make me miserable and I couldn’t live in the moment of the present day because my mind was always so full of the past, going over and over in my head. It affected me mentally and physically. Once I learnt to work through my past and learn as much as I could from it, so as not to make the same mistakes, or to understand others’ behaviours plus my own, it was time to accept it all as the past and move on in a more positive way. I learnt to take a good look at my relationships, and stick to ones that were more positive for me and the acceptance of the past allowed me to enjoy life, be more content, and to live more in the moment. To accept means we can: Learn something – how not to make mistakes, how we can do something we thought we couldn’t, how to empathise with others and see things from their point of view, that things did not turn out as bad as we may have predicted etc Be more free of discontent Not harbour resentment as this could affect our relationships (mistrust etc) Leaves us with more energy for the things that we can do something about Gives us a clearer mind Stops us worrying Helps with symptoms of anxiety and depression I counselled a client who resented his friends for their positive upbringings and all the opportunities that were open to them, but when I asked if they are happier than him, he thought for a moment and said ‘no’. I asked him if they had taken up their myriad of opportunities and he said no. I then asked him who was further ahead in his job and saving money and he said he was. I said this was because he had to make his own way in the world at seventeen, with big responsibility so he was way ahead in work and knowing what direction he needed to go in life, while they live at home with their parents (nothing wrong with that). Once he realised that all the past negatives in his life had made him the determined, intelligent young man of today, his resentment of his past, his parents and his friends slowly melted. He felt even stronger and more positive. WORRYING ABOUT THE FUTURE… The other thing to accept, which is very important, is the future. Whatever it is that we worry about, it is ALWAYS about the future, which hasn’t happened yet. But, if we can understand the worst that could happen, and how we might overcome issues, with a plan in place, and the knowledge that we have done all we can do about it, then we need to try to accept that fact. Worrying about it will not change it; it will just upset us, anger us, and make our chances of living in the moment of ‘today’ slim. Think about your own past and how you could accept them, and your own concerns for the future, and how you can lower the worry of the unknown which might or might not come. On so many occasions we can expect something bad to happen and it doesn’t, and we realise we caused ourselves lots of stress for nothing, but it’s learning from our mistakes that’s the positive way, not ignoring them. ACCEPTING YOURSELF… Acceptance is also about accepting yourself as you are (tell yourself you are enough) and accepting others’ as they are. Acceptance has worked wonders for me, and I hope it works for you too! X

Even the most relaxed people have expectations – it’s human nature. Whether it’s expecting the weather to be as the forecast predicts, that our parents or siblings will be a certain way as family members, or that our job will be secure in the future. From the small stuff to the big stuff, we have expectations and that is fine and dandy. However, it can become problematic to us if our expectations are (all too often) not met, and our disappointment leads to negative emotions such as sadness or anger. But some of this can be avoided if we tweak what we expect and how to expect it. There are different categories in which we can place our expectations. Expectations of others’ emotionally close to us Expectations of others’ not emotionally close to us Expectations of nature Expectations of self Expectations of others’ emotionally close to us incorporates friends, family or partners and often has the most impact on us if our expectations are not met. This is because our emotions can be more easily triggered, and we are out of control of what is happening. We like to be in control. I don’t mean controlling people, as that is another matter entirely. I mean generally in control of what is happening if it impacts on us. So, if someone close to us is doing something that hurts us or disappoints us, we want to get control of the situation, so the person behaves or does things in the way we think they should. But this is just not possible unless we become controlling, so we need to either accept what the person is doing or not doing, talk to them to find out why they are doing what they are doing and explain how it is impacting on us, or just suffer the effects, helplessly. What is important to remember is that although we are not in control of what is going on, we are in control of ourselves and how we view things, how we react, and what we will do with our feelings and the actions that come from them. If we remain against what the person is doing, we will be in an internal battle, helpless and frustrated. If we accept that the person is doing what they are doing and there’s nothing more we can do about it if we think it’s wrong, we free ourselves of our helplessness and frustration. This is simplified, of course, for the sake of this article not being pages and pages long, but you get the gist… Negative impact expectations of those close to us also may also be self-driven just because our expectations are too high or impossible. What do we expect of our mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, uncle, cousin, friends, partner? Are they realistic? What are they based on? Are we comparing what other people’s mothers, fathers etc are like to them? Are we judging? Or are we just basing them on getting our basic needs met from these people? Because if we are not getting our needs met, then maybe change does need to occur. And if the person does not want to change, we have to make decisions based on what is best for us – even if it means not communicating with them for our own benefit. These things are not black and white, but it does pay to look at things from as many angles as possible, so we can be sure of what we expect and why, and how important it is to us. Expectations of those not close to us. This could be work colleagues that we feel don’t pull their weight, how we see strangers behaving in public or customer service levels we receive. Was the waitress rude? (Am I taking it personally? Was she just having a bad day? Did I misinterpret efficiency for rudeness?) Why is that person I don’t know being loud/slurping their tea/dragging their feet? (Why am I bothered about it?) Why does my co-worker leave so much work for me yet gets all the credit? (Maybe something needs to be done as this is directly impacting our ability and attitude to work). Expectations of nature (weather, events unfolding etc) requires a lot more acceptance as we usually cannot do very much or nothing at all about it. However, we can be prepared for anything (take an umbrella or have a back up plan) to ease our disappointment of unwanted surprises. Expectations of self. Now this is something we really ARE in control of, but often don’t see it. OK, we need to have a certain amount of expectations of ourselves – this keeps us motivated, helps us to set goals for ourselves (personal or work driven), and keeps us in order with regard to how we treat others’. Expectations of self are important, even if they lead to a certain amount of disappointment. That’s natural. But, when we pile them up too high and expect things of ourselves that we cannot possibly achieve, or we beat ourselves up too much if we don’t do things well enough according to our high standards, it’s not good. This can lead to even more negative emotions and a feeling that we have ‘failed’ or am a ‘failure’. Those feelings can then take away our motivation to try again or move on and much more. Feelings of failure can lead to depressive moods or anxiety and so it goes on. But, some of this can be avoided if we are realistic in our expectations of self and are kind to ourselves if we don’t achieve exactly what we set out to do. Some questions to ask ourselves… What do we want to achieve? Do we have the ability? If not, can we get help? Am I expecting myself to do something based on how other people do it? Am I comparing to others? Is it realistic? We don’t fail, we learn. We don’t lose, we learn. All the above tips on this subject are simplified and are not individualised as they would be in a counselling session, and I have only covered this topic for the sake of positive psychology and helping us to feel better. If we really do mess up with the actions we take, then of course there can be consequences, and the same for if someone oversteps the mark with us. That is another matter entirely, and sometimes plain acceptance or ‘learning our lesson’ are not apt or good enough. It is too big a subject and things like that cannot be discussed one way in an article such as this. I hope these tips help to make you think about your expectations and how you can take some pressure off yourself by tweaking your expectations in life.

I no longer have a mum mum and I Dec 2015 The trauma in the last week has left me numb I write this now, just one day after her death I stepped out of the hospital room and she took her very last breath The nurse said it’s common, as I held my mum’s warm hand To wait until the family is gone, before their life will end I get that as I know full well how our mind controls our body That reminds me of my dad’s nickname for my mum, it’s Dolly I know that time will unfold more feelings and thoughts But for now, I’m just OK, and sometimes I feel frought I loved my mum despite her moods, as most of it she could not control Schizophrenia since her twenties, all her life it was so cruel Dementia then took over after a fall down the stairs Despite three visits to the GP, he didn’t realise what was clear She had too much Lithium in her blood, making her delirious and caused the fall When she nearly died four years ago, but her strength it conquered all mum and dad June 2017 at the carvery enjoying a nice dessert, how quickly things can change The brain scan showed damage from mini-strokes, vascular dementia was the name All I know is my mum slowly disappeared, her personality was never the same First her memory went, then behaviour became even more erratic than before Her mobility, eating, her continence, it all gradually became much worse I cherished every day out, on our own for lunch or with dad Knowing it would gradually end, her best years she’d already had I look at Titus my black and white cat, his visits to mum very much cheered her mum and I Dec 2015 As he entered the room, her eyes lit up, she relaxed as she stroked his lovely soft fur A photo of me and Titus the cat sat at the end of her bed If she got agitated or sad or upset, the carers always said They’d show her the photo and talk of us both and she smiled and called out my name I’m so grateful that she never forgot who I was, even though she was never the same She remembered my dad, and needed him most, his visits must have been so soothing Even when she was upset, or calling us names, she told us of her love, it was all so very moving Her mobility worsened, she was stuck in the chair, incontinence that came next Her brain cells lessened, her confusion got worse, concentration became less and less Then her eating was erratic, her fingers she’d use, to pick up her lunch or her dinner She lost lots of weight, her face and body changed as she weakened and got very much thinner Then stuck in her bed, her swallowing got worse, her frailty became very clear I still took in old photos and showed them to her, recognition I held very dear That’s me or that’s Sandra, or that’s Desmond or dad, she’d know me even when I was two Despite her failing mind and body, she’d know me and say I love you Sometimes we were ‘pigs’ she’d say ‘you don’t like me’, or she’d cry and be crushed with fear The next minute we’re great, or her eyes would close, words repeated, dementia was clear The words ‘yellow’ or ‘what colour’ they featured a lot, as her arms reached out before her Or ‘lily of the valley’ that too, over and over, when that started we knew we couldn’t reach her And then she was sick, it went down the wrong way, caused Pneumonia right in her lungs Off to hospital she went, I knew she’d not come out, there was not much time now left for fun Just over a week we watched her go down, her swallowing went, the infection would not go away We made the choice to stop all the treatment, oh what an awfully sad day There was more to come as she wouldn’t give up, we watched her body break down The medicines came, as the (death) rattle began, her consciousness began to wane Just a few moments left, to see her stunning blue eyes, focus on mine or the others Michael, my dad, we were there in that room, and even all three of my brothers Then the last call came, to me in the morning, the nurse said her breathing had changed We got in the car and phoned my dad but he somehow sounded deranged We knew he wasn’t well, he’d been coughing last night, we’d taken some medicines round I went to see mum, Michael went to my dad, an ambulance was arranged Dad in A&E my mum just upstairs it all became so surreal Antibiotic drips started, for my dad, weakness in my body I could feel As I watched my mum passing, one brother was there, and Michael was right by my side We all visited dad, to see how he was, as my mum’s breathing began to subside I went up alone to find her all quiet, but warm to the touch, I called the nurse in She confirmed she’d just gone and she closed the door, as my mind began to cave in I kissed her goodbye, I talked to her loads, I said everything I needed to say As I sobbed for ages, reminiscing lots, oh boy, what a grave day She’s out of pain now, we all agreed, she’d had enough of suffering in her time She’d said many times, we went down to tell dad, in his hospital ward, he was going to be fine We all are relieved, she will suffer no more, and the grieving had already begun But it’s much worse now as I realise, I no longer have a mum. Rest in Peace Mummy, 26th February 2019 XXXXXXX

Today, 23rd August, would have been my mum’s 85th birthday. It is the first one she has not been here for since her passing six months ago. I often wish I could see her, but especially today. Last week was my dad’s birthday and as we sat in my mum and dad’s favourite restaurant, I said mum should be sitting there, and dad said, yes, she’s missing out. Missing out… that made me think. Yes, of course she is missing out, as her life would have probably gone on if she hadn’t got those mini strokes and vascular dementia. Our lives can, and are, ripped from us with or without suffering first. We simply MUST make the most of what we have. We must try to live our best lives; to be good to others’, but especially good to ourselves via self-care. I talk a lot about self-care as a counsellor and do try to practice what I preach! Self-care validates our life on this planet. To give you some ideas I will talk about my self-care efforts… Self-care for me right now consists of a few things. Some have been longer term and others I have introduced since my mum’s passing, like choosing to give up smoking cigarettes. (It has been incredibly hard, but it’s been five months already!) I took up the bereavement counselling offered by the palliative care team who made my mums last hours comfortable, despite comments that could have put me off. It’s helping me with all aspects of my life and a huge amount has come out in just 3 sessions. All stuff that had been pushed back due to the stressful and non-stop events of the last 5 years, and a whole lifetime so it seems. If I suddenly burst into tears over a memory or a song that reminds me of mum, I do not berate myself, I remain in the moment, appreciate the emotions and the memory, and let it pass. I make sure I have time to eat properly, and don’t stuff down junk food on the hop. I am able to say no, if I need to. I appreciate that that my thoughts and emotions are my own – I do not compare or feel I should deal with things in a certain way. I go at my own pace. I do not worry what other people think of me. Of course, I do care, but worry is another matter entirely. I essentially can be myself and not what I think people want me to be. Some evidence of this is my collection of tattoos and not being ashamed of my loud laugh! Ha ha ha. Sparing lots of time to play with my animals or watch my fish I’ve started reading again; it’s relaxing! I listen to my body… Actually this one needs work! I tend to hear what it’s saying but do it anyway, causing a bad back or stomach ache etc. However, I do my back exercises if I need to and have baths or rub in peppermint cream, so I’m halfway there. I like to dress how I like, and keep my nails neat etc. I practise expressive writing as self-therapy. Being optimistic. I practise mindfulness. Spend plenty of time outdoors. I remember when I could barely go out due to anxiety and paranoia, and don’t ever want to go there again. I love the outdoors! I make time to socialise – I love a chat! Having lots of potted plants inside and out. I have no garden, but I create a garden and I love it. Getting jobs done at my own pace; the washing up can wait sometimes! But, generally keeping my home nice so I have a pleasant, comfortable area in which to live, surrounded by things I love. (Living in a shared home can make this harder, but it’s important to always have a space that is just yours, with your things, so you have some personal space) Flossing my teeth – mmm getting a bit boring now!!! I could go on, but you get the idea. There are lots of other things I could be doing that I am not, and although they are on my ‘to change’ list, I don’t beat myself up about not doing them. Small steps. Have a think what you do for self-care and maybe there are a few more things you could add to further enhance your life. What do you like doing? Imagine you are someone else that you really care about – what advice would you give them? Whatever it is, take that advice for yourself and do it. If we take care of ourselves, we can take better care of others and have more to give, so anyone who thinks self-care is a selfish act (many do, especially mothers) it is the opposite. If not for yourself, take care of yourself for those you care about. Thanks for reading

Having a recent tattoo by super talented Ben Harper of Vintage Inx, Basildon, we got chatting (I do love a chat while getting tattooed!) about the many benefits of having tattoos. It got me thinking, and I decided to share all the benefits relevant to me. It’s, surprisingly, a lot. I hadn’t realised. Although a tiny part of me would like to be rid of them for the odd situation, like if I ever got to go on another upmarket cruise and want to look more elegant, I am pretty much 100% very happy with them, I do not regret any of the 24 I have already, and I will have more! Here’s why… Confidence in body – like plastic surgery might be for someone else When I look at myself in the mirror, I like what I see. At 45, my body isn’t doing too bad, but it’s the tattoos I see just as much. Some cover dimply bits, some take the eye off a little extra weight I carry on my upper arms. I feel I want to have parts of my body on show that I am not sure I would without the tattoos, like wearing a bikini in a public place or a strapless dress. For me, body confidence is important and having tattoos has definitely helped me with that even though it wasn’t the reason for having them. Part of a group/following – a sense of belonging I had a small tattoo on my lower back and two tiny Japanese symbols on my wrists, for many years. I then got one of my cats faces tattooed on my inner wrist, which was much more on view. At first, I loved it. Then, when I went to certain upmarket shops, I would hide it. I regretted it in some ways. Then I got another, and another… Each time it was a shock to see a new tattoo that I loved, but at the same time felt weird about it. Two men close to me openly admitted they didn’t like them and that I had too many. Some people stared in the street when I had them on show in the summer. A few more down the line and it still happened at times, as they got bigger and covered more areas of my body. My plan not to have anymore was broken time and time again as I craved another one and another. I would see them all and regret them sometimes, but as my confidence grew, and my research into designs grew, I realised I wasn’t just different to most people around me, but that I was also part of a type of people who had multiple tattoos. If I go to tattoo conventions, I feel part of it all, and sometimes positively bare compared to others! Like a Christian goes to a church to practise their religion with like minded people, or a runner takes part in a marathon with thousands of others, I go to tattoo conventions and tattoo parlours, and I feel right at home. Confidence as a person and the sociable aspect Permanently changing how I look, via having permanent tattoos, has had its ups and downs as I said above, but all in all, dealing with those has made me more confident, not just of my body, but inside myself. As much as people might stare at my tattoos, with an disapproving look, people also stop me to ask about them. I love that. I love answering questions about them; why I have the designs, how much it hurts, where I go to get them done etc. That increases my confidence. I also realise it’s great to be different, not for the attention, but to feel totally individual. And if people do discriminate, as tattoos do carry a stigma, it only serves to increase my resilience. Just as going through mental health issues and coming out the other side did. Acceptance Having multiple tattoos has helped me to be more accepting of others and their differences; their beliefs, the way they choose to look and the things they choose to do (as long as they are not hurting any living creature). Tattooist/counsellor Being a therapeutic counsellor myself, helping my clients to deal with all sorts of adversities, I am trained to notice any side issues or triggers that may occur which may make me feel negative. But tattooists are all too often telling me of how they are like counsellors, as their clients offload all sorts of personal stuff to them. Although I try not to, I have chatted about difficult subjects in my life to some tattooists, if I feel safe to do so. I love a good conversation and need to chat when being tattooed, so one subject leads to another, but it has also occurred vice-versa and I have been the listener. Proud of getting through pain There’s nothing better than getting through multiple hours of pain than when it’s finished, and I have outdone my expectations of myself on just how much I can take. I don’t mind patting myself on the back for getting through it as it’s an intrusive and painful experience, even if I chose to do it. Deciding on ideas and any meaning tattoos might have, like a project – for self or thoughts of others’ I LOVE researching tattoos on Instagram or google. Many of mine have personal meaning in them. I get an idea and then check out what has been done before. Even more, I love deciding on who to choose to do each one. I have tattoos by eleven different tattooists, from Scotland, Yorkshire, Midlands, London and local to myself. I love different styles and chose to have individual mixed style tattoos rather than sleeves or major pieces in one style alone. I have black and grey and full colour, and I choose each one with plenty of thought and discussion with the tattooists. It’s a mini project, which I love. I don’t like waiting long for a tattoo, so I tend to go for cancellations or manage to get an appointment without much of wait but it’s the research beforehand that takes the time for me. I then get excited when it’s booked, totally nervous on the day, and fall in love with my new art as I watch it heal and look after it. Excitement of sharing I love sharing my tattoo art on social media or my blog. I can then be a part of the gang who share their tattoos and ideas for others’ to see and maybe even inspire a few. Value for money; My art gallery is always with me Although I have art on my walls at home, I have to be in the room with them to see them. My tattoos go everywhere with me! I can see them whenever I want to, or I can cover them if I want to. That is what I call value for money

When I was fifteen I looked in the mirror and saw someone else. I was growing up. It was Dad who had to explain about periods and buy me my first sanitary towels. Imagine that? But it wasn’t just that. In the mirror, it wasn’t those changes I saw. And I didn’t see my skinny frame or my strained face, just the bulge in my tummy. I resolved I had to do something about it and made a plan that would hopefully obliterate it forever. It had to be flat, end of. I had been working quite hard on the project over the previous few months, but had found nothing that fixed the tummy issue. I’d lay on my bed with my knees propped up in my little private pink room, surrounded by posters of the Bros boys, Nick Kamen, James Dean and fluffy kittens, avidly revising the calorie counts of every type of food or drink that I might consume at some point or another. I had my head in all kinds of diet plans and books, and wrote down in a little pocket book everything that passed my lips. I stared at the list, dissatisfied. Always one too many boiled sweets or a banana, which was a whopping ninety calories. I weighed myself a few times a day and the decrease in pounds of my bodyweight pleased me. I had read somewhere that laxatives were good because they pushed the food through quicker and the calories and fat were less absorbed, leading to weight loss. Great idea! Off to the chemist, I bought Ex-Lax laxatives off the counter – in the form of little chocolate pieces in a cardboard packet, got home and shoved some in my mouth. Those little miracle pieces of chocolate worked a treat when I was having my ‘one day of eating’. If food entered my body, it had to exit as fast as possible, so I had an answer for everything. Sitting on the toilet a few hours later, emptying the contents of my bowel in fast succession was such a relief – I loved diarrhoea. I’d also found Limmits lunch bars by then – a low calorie ‘meal in a bar’ – and would just eat those apart from an occasional dinner. But soon it interfered with school. Usually I would meet my friends for lunch. We’d eat our packed lunch and either hang out in the school grounds, bantering about something, or we’d rush over the school field to the public playground, where all the boys went. They loved to excite us by spinning us round fast on the merry-go-round. We’d laugh our heads off, until we thought we’d fly off it. Boys could be bad, of course. But, I’d go home instead as part of my new routine. Each trip was nearly a mile, so I’d walk nearly four miles a day, just going to and from school and spent more time on my own with my new diet obsession. Before long, I found myself running most nights after school. I felt free as I ran round the back roads of my town to the fields beyond. My trainers pounding the track, I taught myself how to deal with a stitch in my side – breathe all the time methodically and slowly as I ran, and the air didn’t get caught. Every step freedom, every step my body felt better, every step I pounded out the thoughts in my head – memories, events, boys, shit! All shit! Get it out. Writing my diary every day helped to erase the day, but running really pushed it all away into the recesses of my mind. Midway through the three-mile jog, I had half a cigarette – rationed exactly. The other half would be put back in my box for another time. I enjoyed it. Being in full control of my actions, to overcome my grumbling belly and hunger, was an achievement. After two days of eating nothing, the hunger subsided, my stomach felt empty and I was full of energy to exercise even more. What a wonderful feeling, feeling so light, and to see that flat tummy in the mirror – it was worth all the effort. It was about taking control. If I couldn’t control others, I could control myself. But rain stopped me jogging. If a downpour came, typically British climate, I’d put some music on in my room and do star jumps, running on the spot or dancing, watching how every bit of my body moved intently in the mirror on my chest of drawers. I particularly liked Diana Ross’ Upside down and I loved dancing – it made me feel free. I couldn’t do much as I had around four foot by two foot floor space, but I managed a sweat and I just had to do it for longer to achieve results, then straight in the shower. My friend at the time, a skinny, pretty girl called Marcia was thinner than me. I felt fat. When it came to boys, she got most of the attention. Eventually, I had a strict routine going, which entailed no food for three days, except for three boiled sweets. We didn’t have regular meals being cooked in my house, so I was able to keep my little diet to myself. Following the three day period of starvation, I would binge, stuffing sausage rolls, cream cakes and other naughty foods in my mouth, always waiting until the house was empty. When out shopping with Dad every Friday, I would choose all these treats myself so they would be waiting in the fridge for the right moment. Standing at the end of our narrow kitchen, by the bin, I would munch my way through packets of food ravenously. I would then do one of two things. I might chew the food, spit it out into the kitchen sink and dispose of it down the plug hole so it didn’t enter my stomach. Or, if I felt like a treat, I would scoff them as fast as I could, go upstairs and stick my fingers down my throat and puke the whole lot up, repeatedly purging until there was nothing left in my gut to come up or the retching and acids caused too much pain in my stomach or throat. Next, I would eat as normally as possible for two days, everything calorie counted and logged, using ExLax to push it through, then back to starving – starting the six day process all over again. I remember continuously bashing my hip bone on everything and I loved to see the bones on my chest and ribs poking through my skin. I was never, thank God, at death’s door. This six stone person was fantastic at covering her body, keeping the puking a secret, and dodging all possibilities of getting caught or stopped and it lasted for several months. Although I have to confess, I still had issues with food for years afterwards. At school, I began taking the cross country and long distance running seriously in P.E, and in our last Sports day I came second in the 1500 metre race, coming second only to a competitor for our county – a professional. Finally, the need to succeed overcame my self consciousness. Looking at the numerous photos of myself taken a couple of years after this period, I can see that it worked and I did have a flat tummy, but there are no photos of the time of my ‘diet’ – an unusual gap in my life history of photos. Dieting for days on end, bingeing and throwing up, and exercising for hours a day, took its toll and my body started giving up and my periods stopped by the summertime. I reckoned this was great, but my friends did not. I hated periods – the pain, the blood, bad, erratic moods – everything about them. I got them pretty bad. I didn’t want them anymore, so this was another achievement. I suffered lots of stomach cramps two years later, which turned into severe IBS when I tried eating properly again, for which I self prescribed hot chocolate and smoking weed. It was a three-day stay in hospital that led to my diagnosis for my chronic pain, constipation and diarrhoea. My parents knew nothing about my diet and my secret routines. By the time I was thirty-two, I had had three teeth extracted and lots of root canal treatment and I think it was connected to this early abuse of my body – acids rot teeth and upset the gut, and lack of nutrition make teeth weak . *** It was 1990; the start of a new decade. Maybe what I needed after what happened with Vinnie and then the saddest Christmas I could remember. But it wasn’t the best of starts. My close friends had become increasingly worried about me losing my periods for what was now five months, so Jane had offered to come with me. Sitting in the waiting room, my nerves were frayed, my thoughts filled with horror, and I got more and more restless as each minute passed. I was just short of bursting into tears when the doctor called me in. I told Doctor Griffiths everything, five months, I’ve had no periods. He gave me a form to send to the local hospital for a referral. Finally the hospital appointment came. I had the day off school to go and managed to get Mum to go with me, although she didn’t like hospitals. The letter the specialist sent to my GP said… This lady has secondary amenorrhoea, I am sure because she lost two stone in weight in three months last year and though she has gained some weight she is still only 7st 4lbs clothed at a height of 5ft 3 ins. She actually knew the reason and has spent some time dissuading some of her friends from dieting this year. I have told her that she has to be well over 7 ½ stone and I think she will probably achieve this. I don’t think she is in a particularly anorectoid state. I have arranged to see her again. A great start to the year that was. I was always good at dealing with these things with my happy, positive ‘persona’. I temporarily didn’t care about how I looked anymore and had my hair cut into a crop – back to my natural dark mousy blonde colour. I didn’t want to look pretty anymore or attract any boys or men, although I did have a boyfriend of sorts, but I didn’t really like him. I wanted to end that Amanda Green; take all her armour away. I didn’t care. I felt shit. I wanted to be a child again and couldn’t stop crying. I was an emotional wreck; nervous, inward, lacking confidence, dressing down in baggy clothes and had a real need for drink… So, it was no surprise when I went on my skiing trip in February that I had a few problems…

An excerpt from my memoir…. It was a whole seventeen years later, in 2006, I rediscovered the rape as I searched through my diaries while undergoing therapy for my depression. I felt uneasy about myself when I read about this incident with Vinnie, as if I were reading the diary of someone else, with her dirty little secrets and self destructive behaviours, not a fifteen-year-old version of myself. I wasn’t a virgin when Vinnie raped me, but I didn’t deserve that. Not long after that, I cut myself. *** Christmas has always been a time for celebration and family. I remember Christmas 1989 very well, three months after I was raped but of course it couldn’t hurt me then because I had pushed it to a place so deep I couldn’t retrieve it. Not yet. I guess that’s why I made the cuts. Of course I was only an amateur at that form of self-harm: not a real cutter with my measly thirteen holes and a few knife or compass flesh wounds – unlucky for some? Thirteen holes in my ears. I never questioned why I did it. Or why I did any of the things I did. I suppose I just did it. But when I think of it now it must’ve been a reaction to what happened. The memory of Vinnie I had shut away. He couldn’t hurt me, but I could hurt myself. Every time I made another cut I liked the way it felt I got a small gold stud ready to put in the new hole in my flesh and placed it on my chest of drawers in my bedroom. I closed my bedroom door. Using a ball point pen, I made a small mark on my ear where I wanted the next piercing to be. I burnt the end of the needle with one of my collection of novelty lighters; the one shaped as a gun that my mum had bought me. I pulled my ear lobe out with my fingers, to make it taut and ready for a new hole, watching in my bedroom mirror all the time. I placed the needle onto the pen mark and pushed onto it to pierce the skin, using fairly hard pressure. Once it pierced the skin, I jabbed it right through the thick flesh and took it out quickly, replacing it with the gold stud and fastening the back in place; finished with a good dab of surgical spirit. I threw myself onto my bed. My little ritual didn’t satisfy me. Twiddling with my thumbs and wiggling my toes, I stared at the ceiling, struggling with my brain to think of what to do next. I didn’t have any more spare earrings to fill new holes with. Then, I had an idea. I leapt up, grabbed my pencil case out of my college bag and took out my compass. I burnt the compass point using one of my Zippo lighters, enjoying the smell of petrol it emitted. All ready. Using the sharp compass point, I began to scratch the knuckle of my left index finger. One line down, about one centimetre in length. One line across, about half centimetre. An L shape. Several times needed going over the same lines to make it bleed and make the letter clearly defined on my skin. Sharp, scratching, pain, self inflicted relief. It gave me relief – the enjoyment I was looking for. And it was something different. A word will soon be etched across the hand, and then I will be satisfied. Next knuckle, scratching, digging with the compass point. Circular. An O. Needed to be more careful with the O. Next knuckle, a V. The pain, very nice, scratching and digging, bright red blood and jagged edges to the letters. The taste, lovely, natural, as I sucked on the cuts. Next and last the knuckle of my little finger, an E. LOVE. Marvellous! When I showed Mum she wasn’t amused and nor was Dad. So after that instead of carving something they could see, I resorted to using the bread knife sawing little lines into my forearms – deep enough to bleed but not so deep they would scar, although a couple did very slightly. I’d been going out with a guy called Zack for a week who didn’t ring or come round and he said he would that evening. I phoned him and he said he was sorry. I felt dreadful, and grabbed the knife from the bread board in the kitchen and headed upstairs to my bedroom with it. Everyone was out. I rolled up the left sleeve of my sweater and with the knife in my right hand I rested the blade on my left forearm before pressing down and sliding the blade down. The serrated edges caught my skin and dragged it, so I had to saw up and down a couple of times before drawing blood. The cut, the blood, the soreness, all had the power of relief for me. I put cotton wool and plasters over it, after squeezing the luscious red liquid out for a moment and tasting it, then rolling my sleeve back down. Mum and Dad came home later and I stayed up with them and watched Top Gun. I cut myself just a few times. I wanted to do far bigger cuts and bleed much more, fantasising about it regularly, but I resisted. I didn’t want to ruin my looks too much and I was very much into how my body looked. I wanted to love my body. It was one good thing that I had that men wanted. The word love featured quite a lot in my life. Not because I was told I was loved by my parents, because I wasn’t, only in birthday and Christmas cards, but because I wanted love. In my diary under miscellaneous I came across something I’d written. It said please love me. When I think about it now I was shown love. I just didn’t always feel it.