SINK,SWIM,FLY,CRAWL-how I fought social services to get my child back

First posted 2015

Content: How I got my daughter back-  and issues of control/ being out of control

Well bloggers we are already into week three on blogging101 course. Today’s topic is about when you hit writer’s block and using a prompt and to make that prompt personal to your blog.  Let me know what you think.


This morning I woke up with a feeling of loss and  a heavy anchor weighing me down. I should have been buzzing. I was three hours away from meeting up with a girl who works with a mental health charity and to work together on a one off workshop to close the stigma between the volunteers and the people they help. Below is all I had to type this morning: warning alert: very woe woe woe is me and not WOW WOW at all. BEFORE I CONTINUE: It came about that THIS LOVELY LADY has recently launched her first novel. How amazing is that? I can’t wait to read it. 


Why do I only see ugly? What is wrong with me.I can’t love my cat or daughter or partner cos I have trouble accepting me. Why is outer beauty so important to have when I see the beauty of people in all their different guises. My heart has been rung out . The salty ness stings increasingly as it courses through my veins. pumping –you are ugly  you are not good enough.Why now? why these feelings now? My next challenge – like a bull waiting , snorting – A Red mist descends. Red mist that at the end will be..  I had writers block I couldn’t think of anything poetic to say. All words seemed shit and I felt shit.  

So let me get real and tell you what is really on my mind My head has been doing 360 degree turns lately like that possessed chick in every movie about hauntings and possession.  Except it has been me not some movie.  My weight has been going up and  up – I have had no control. Even with me eating healthily. The numbers have  kept on  going up. I have been getting a  daily beasting from the  Goddess of hard core exersises -Jillean Micheals. No bullshit. No pansy-ing out. No quitting. I am no quitter.Not a sinker. No Titanic. Why is this fucker in my head fucking with me now. I’m finally getting somewhere with myself and what I want to invest all my working time in.

Yup, so I have really been struggling with my mind for a few months Isn’t that crazy? Me wanting to help people who are struggling? I’m struggling. . I had to let go of the figures on the scale. I’ve never done that. How did I  do it?  well,  I decided  I like eating (yes, Anorexics can like eating)  and I eat healthily  already so, I was not about  to go hungry and become ill again. No, this is my time. I wasn’t going to start taking overdoses to cope with the madness inside me – skewered. grilling me .It was bedlam in my head. True bedlam.

I stopped weighing myself every day. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT EITHER.  I carried on with 40 minutes of  an intense cardio workout . I didn’t carry on doing 3-4 hour workouts like I have done previously. I did not start monitoring my fluid intake.  In fact I did the opposite and btw  my skin looks the best it ever has. I had to get moving. Get out the house and live.  The critters inside jittering and chattering and  fluttering  chaotically in my mind could carry on.I  carried on with life.

I got out there and I followed through on my next goal. I have my daughter back . I’m already a student with full BA(hons) in Arts and the humanities. I’ve booked our wedding for next year. The one I was never ever going to have. I am finally in a place to help people.

I don’t care if I don’t get paid I’m getting so much back from this.

You know what is even more chaotic than my recent state of mind?  okay -ready?  The training I have been put on to do, is all stuff I worked out on my own and with my family when social services wanted to put my daughter up for adoption.

Why didn’t they get HOMESTART in first?


How come they didn’t tell me about a 12 week course called called WRAP ( WELLNESS RECOVERY ACTION PLAN)  that helps a person put together a support package if a person’s  health starts to get distressed?

This is not some new concept or specialised training. It’s been going on for years and being taught in prisons and schools today. Why didn’t any of the social workers I know signpost me in these  directions?

I stayed up into   the early hours of the morning for weeks. Researching online to find an answer to convince  social services that I could be a mom and  have times when my mental health isn’t all that cracking.  In my research I came across something called ‘ the circle of protection’ (very Lion king – the zulu bit -youknow what I’m on about? an epiphany or something.

Why had none of these highly qualified social workers, guardians of the court, these professionals.. but me thought to put a contingency plan in place?

When my daughter  was put under an interim care order. obviously, I  attended court. The letter for the court date arrived days after the court hearing. I was lucky that I had my family to give me the heads up. I didn’t know that the  alleged assault charges against me , that had been dropped (because their was no physical evidence to suggest that I shook my 12 week old daughter) was only the beginning of  an incredibly long fucken journey home. I was like Hercules and his 12 labours.

Back to the morning of 14/12- Confused, in a state of panic -The former manager of social services – I like to call her Miss Hannigan-you know from ‘Annie’ the movie?  I swear she looks and acts like Miss hannigan – every professional I described her too- could not keep a straight face.

Do I hear happiness here?
Do I hear happiness here?

They knew exactly who I was on about. Anyway, so after court, the wooly and rather snivelly  cardigan came into view- like a red flag. Her voice was the second thing I noticed ,she sounded like one of Marges sisters from the simpsons.

I was like : Where is my daughter going? you can’t just take her from me!

She spluttered in that voice.  

Stop the drink- stop the shit and sort your life out . I wish she could take her own advice.

I found out about a 12 week group called the  FREEDOM PROJECT that was running in my neck of the woods. In a nutshell it is a 12 week group that helps women understand why we  enter and stay in abusive relationships. I took Miss Hannigans advice  and self- referred myself to my   LOCAL SUBSTANCE MISUSE TEAM and  I  engaged with a wonderful woman to work out what my drink issues were and how I could manage them. We tried various plans until we  both agreed  that whilst all this was going on, drinking was probably not going to be drunk for the ‘right reasons’. I went to every mother- baby group I could could go to.  I could only see my daughter 10  hours per week. I missed 7 contact sessions in 12 months. There was  a local contact centre only 5 minutes up the street from where I lived. I had no problems with anybody in that contact centre. Lots of positive feedback.  The contact worker who had become emotionally involved told us she had been taken off  as  our contact worker. Social services and my ex felt that the contact worker was being biased. It is not my fault that every other person who met him thinks the same thing. Whatever that may be.

So,a new contact lady comes on the scene. We did not mix well. It happens in life. I can’t love everyone 😀 Next thing I know and I was now taking  two buses to go and see my child – in a contact centre monitored by cctv like a criminal. This is how the dynamics of our relationship went. If I got on with spending time with my child and didn’t talk much with the contact worker-  she said I was being hostile. If I did chat with her -she said I was distracted and not mentally focused on my child. This contact person has no mental health qualification. Her job  is to collect children from carers/family homes and take them to  a ‘neutral’ meeting/ contact centre and to make sure the child or children get back home safely. She is a fucken flawed human. All her notes ( she was a fan of all the disney songs – those notes were just as agonizing to hear)  were being gurned  into the social workers reports.This is one opinion from someone who was not even qualified. It felt like she was there to prod and provoke a reaction out of me.

I asked the court to authorise  a hair strand test for alcohol and drugs  to be done. The test was only done 7-8 months after my baby was taken into foster care.  It came back negative that I was an alcoholic and drug taker. I am on prescription meds  so that obviously came up.  The non alcoholic levels  of drinking found in my hair proved to them I had drunk alcohol but not at the levels they were making out.From  the period  I decided  to go teetotal the levels had reduced even more.  It all  came back negative.

I was in a very violent and manipulative relationship. This  ahem.. man treat me like something he found in the gutter. He warped my mind.  My mental health was exacerbated in that relationship. I dealt with this issue and I don’t want to say more on here out of respect for my daughter. He walked away when he lost control. When my daughter is at an age she can make and formulate her own opinions  that will be the time I decide to give her the information about her paternal father and seek him out and ask him whatever questions she wishes too.

I paid nearly £400 to do a parenting course online because social services stated I could not do a certain group because my ex was attending it and my daughter had to be over 5 years of age.  He got on it because he has two sons under 18. I got my daughter back under a  full care order -on the 28/04/2013 .  She was not even three  years old and all of a sudden I could attend this 12 week government funded parenting course for free. I had THIS IRO ‘professional’ come into my home and threaten me. She tried to wind me up because I made a comment about her not even having met my daughter and she was the person to ratify the adoption plan. She sat on my living room suite and re-iterated that it was her that ratified the adoption plan and still held that view.  If I had a problem with her then I could change  IRO’s.

I looked her straight in the eyes and I said “NO, you and me are going to see this through to the end” -It was like something out of a western movie. Eyeballing one another.

“Yes. we will” she puffed out her chest and chuckled to her ‘henchman’ .The person she brought with her to intimidate me. What makes me want to poke out her eyehole is at the final LAC review meeting she was hugging me and saying I had taught her something about people with mental health issues and  she realised how ignorant she had been. This woman works with dozens of cases like mine everyday. Mental health is not a new endemic in society. I hope ,you the reader can see why I am ranting at this..

I always say ‘ I hold up my hands  I am far from being perfect‘. I would actually like this to be emgraved on my grave. I have said the phrase so many times.  The thing is  but I put in the effort in and they did not want to own up that they fucked up and I wasn’t what they read on paper and what they thought I would be like. ALL PEOPLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ARE DELUDED RIGHT? HAVE NO SENSE OF REALITY..

Here is my point, It didn’t have to go straight to adoption but it was easy for them to place  my innocent  12 week year old child. Blue eyed  with blonde hair and  not soiled and tainted from being ragged around a defunkt system.  No behaviour issues. An easy adoption case. They call it ‘twin tracking’

Ha , you should have seen the  guardian’s face when I told her that the chances of my daughter being adopted after being told that mental health issues run in her paternal and or maternal family drops. She was 25% less likely to get adopted.  Oh they loved me. My legal team were ace. I communicated and I asked questions and I researched.

As a volunteer I have a ticket to go to this PARENTING AND MENTAL HEALTH CONFERENCE

I hope a few social workers will be there to learn something about mental health .

I’m not angry. I finally know why I went through all this shit. now I  can do the professional training and help other people.  I’m not bitter- AM I FUCK?  Thank you social services for giving me such a hard time. It has led me to take the actions to   where I am in this new chapter in my life. I am strong and empowered and passionate and every time I have fallen in my life,  I get up.  Everytime. These other less invasive  helpful  services should  be taken into account and be brought to the attention of a person before they start taking kids off their parents and family without the full facts. I’m not talking about the families where abuse goes on. I’m telling you what I have experienced  There is so much wrong with the system. I’m gonna volunteer my heart out.

Thank  fuck for silver linings. I not only have my daughter and my partner and my beautiful  family and friends  to live for but I have been given a gift of knowledge and I will be trained to help people who need some support and advice. I must share this knowledge of how I got my baby girl back and how much I have changed and how fucken exhilarating and terrifying   it is but it is worth the fight. I’m not the only one. There are so many more who are terrified to talk because they feel threatened and bullied by social services. CHANGE  must happen and I will do anything I can to be a part of that.  If you have read this far. Thank You. Never give up your right to speak . I had a  ‘gagging order’ imposed upon  me when my child was a ward of the courts( This is the law in England) . I don’t anymore and I am well within my legal rights to post this.  I want to use my skills and my creativity in writing and acting to help people remember  how to communicate again and it is a right of theirs to have a voice…

P.S. I still am partial to a cocktail or two  when I’m not looking after my health  for one thing or another -usually for a dress to fit in to  go somewhere.

P.P.S. I have written a stage play inspired by these events with a Brecht like influence. I wrote it for my final end of module assignment for my degree at the Open university and I got a 1st for it.  I might put it up sometime . I might not.


She bares all she can bear

Nothing is holding my interest today.. I feel sad, empty, confused.

Confused because I should be anything but these dreaded feelings…

Here are all the amazing things going on that I SHOULD be happy about

  • I’m considering topping up my BA with a masters in Creative writing because I can. Well, I will fund it but I can write. Some people have no limbs and wish they could write!

  • I get love and hugs from my partner and my daughter all the time.

  • I’m moving forward slowly but surely with the volunteering. In two weeks time, I’m doing a 4 day facilitating course to help mental health service users- One step closer to getting the Eating disorder group up and running.  Gaining more and more experience and knowledge

  • I am fit. Healthy. My body is neither thin nor fat. It is in good shape.

  • I have friends and family to. I don’t have loads of friends but the ones I do. I treasure.

    I got my tattoo cover up done yesterday and it is colourful and bright just like my future and my true personality. I’ve waited three months for my slot too come up to get it done.

    My Ma is pulling out every stop you can think of to make sure I have the fantasy wedding that I never even dreamed about.

Brain’s suddenly stopped. What else is going on?

Oh yes, this . My blog. It’s growing as I too grow and find  new interests. I feel  more supported as each day comes to a close and it is blanketed,lulled into a cozy slumber.Stillness. Time to rest.

Why isn’t this enough?

Why in the back of my head do I turn away from my family and go inwards and inwards and inwards -spiralling around and around and around, until I am  at the centre of my own lonely self?

Not even a flower to show for it. Not even a weed!

I look down

No, I’m the fucking weed! I’m scared I am losing my mind…

Why does the thought of organising my wedding feel like a cold pail bucket of ice water thrown over me?

Why do my thoughts tell me that my husband- to- be -doesn’t love me?

No, that is not entirely accurate. He  sees..

He sees flaws!

Flaws that he never saw before. That he refused to see?


Why don’t I give enough love to my daughter?

Why do I continue to compare my life to others when we are all so different? Not necessarily better.


Unique ,right?

Why do I feel stupid when I am not? My hobbies , the things I think about…

..all point to someone with some degree of intelligence and to up the dramatics of this post; I have  a never ending warrior- like  cry, yearning for more learning and understanding?

Why do I allow myself to let people who I knew years ago,  make or break my day,with the thoughts I think that they think about me?




Why do I feel guilty for having a non- workout day? One day. .

Why can’t I be enthusiastic?

Why am I so hard on myself?

I torture myself with my mind. I’m losing my mind. This time I don’t want to. I’m conscious  this time..

Not good enough. Never good enough.

Whatever I do – whenever I succeed,

I go on a brief high and then comes the


My body remembers it has to conform to gravity. Bloody bollocks to that.

I compare myself to other peoples successes and  how they look and that –

That,is when I feel my mood gets to the point where I want to be numb.

No, that is only temporary. Numbness inevitably always wears off.

I want to trade my body,mind and life with another!

What am I saying? these words…

My body is beautiful!

My soul ,

my life is simple, magical and it is mine. No. I won’t let these thoughts taunt me. They know my emotional IQ is below average. A lot of my emotions all feel the same.

For the record ,I don’t need more therapy.

I just need to let go and identify my feelings. My thoughts chase after them,around the twisted turns and corridors of my mind.

Ghostly faces and limbs,


  Gaping black ,open mouthed  monsters.  No teeth – not one glimmer. A glimmer would mean that  their is hope to escape them.

Only darkness- they want to swallow me and keep me in that pit of darkness.

Blacked out blinds and windows. Some rooms in my mind have been better refurbished than others.

No light bulbs – not even a match or a candle…..

They have burned the last of my light,

 my books – my precious books, that helped me connect to my emotions,illuminated my mind.

They  helped me navigate my emotions in the darkness, grasping  onto the ball of string.  Unravelling,

Unravelling  the one thought that can help me exit this existence  –


Possibly, I can get back on top of that mountain and inhale the pure air. Allow the mist to cloak me in  happiness and success again.

Maybe then,

Then I could see my self as enough -all of  the time.

I could see myself the way some people in my life describe me!

How many contradictions can my mind have? I AM GOING INSANE!

NO,I AM GOOD ENOUGH. one sharp intake of breath. Mine.

a pause,


 No sound. I scream louder and louder – some kind of  jaded sorcery  has stolen-

Stolen my voice, my light, my smile, my..

My me.


I don’t even know how I feel about this post. Wait!

My useless words feel inadequate,  my sappy command of the the English language is that of some cursed simpleton that everyone avoids.

I’m not vain! I know beauty fades.. Insecurity is unattractive…

I do love to laugh.

I love cuddles.

So it all boils down to my words. This.

This post! … lost… trying so hard to be a writer and have I succeeded?

NO!   (wait there is a whisper, faint ever so faint)

yes.. yes yes you have- because ,

because I am being true to myself.

I am honouring my feelings- the ones that lack an IQ.

I’m trying to give them the only  chance  they have, to get into the newly built safe- house. Built higher up , into the  low beamed attic of my mind.Steep. small stairs  to climb.

I have a key. I can’t go on too much about it. The other thoughts will try  mix me up and I will forget.

Yes,  I lost it- it was dark but I think  can find it…

I will find it.

Yes, we will be safe … until I figure out where the hell to put  my emotions

Run! NO -Fight… Fight.

write and write and write and write …

write, because it is the only thing that is keeping me safe. The only thing that gives me hope; is that this melancholic garbage- this freaky house  of a  mind of mine , invaded with – haunting, damning  thought- squatters, will pass.


The other thoughts have super keen hearing.  Hold my breathe.Hold yours. Hold it!

Erase what I told you from your mind.



Wait.  Okay..

The safe house if I find the key . I have access to light .

Well one lighter,


A safe full of explosives.

I will exterminate them from their favourite breeding grown. My fucking home!

“Here little critters, come out , come out -let’s play dangerous” Can you hear them scuttle, their  hard shelled cockroaches clicking. Their preferred form.

No more.

No more hiding in the dark.

I need to go.

I need to find that key.

Draw a fine line and tell me what side my mind is on.


“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose’ Janis Joplin

 Today is the first anniversary  of my Aunts death.

Long  story short: Mid June 2014 She moved to Costa Rica to work. For the 5 months she was there she suddenly couldn’t breathe. The doctor said she had COPD and that she needed to carry a portable oxygen machine with her at all times.

She came back to the U.K. and was admitted into hospital. She was in hospital for nearly 2 months being poked and prodded. The doctors didn’t think it was COPD. It transpired that she had fluid in her lungs.

I don’t know if you know the procedure for draining the fluid but I want to tell you so you can understand how  brave my Aunt was.

They cut open a hole on  of  the side her body -fed a tube through the lung to drain the liquid. Yes, she was on morphine but she still  screamed out in pain. Then once the fluid is drained they need to dry out the lung. They cut another hole on the other side of her body and blasted talcum powder into her lungs. Yes, she was awake for all this.

We all knew what she had. Two months later, she was told she had Cancer and there was no more they could do. She went to stay with my Ma. I went to visit her the night she got back home.

I couldn’t stay long, I said.

I have so many things I need to do ,I said.

We must have a movie night, kissed her on the cheek.

Then went on my way attending to my busy important life.

7 a.m. 22/02/2015



“Daisy! Something is wrong with Babs she is not moving, I don’t know she won’t answer me –BABS! BABS! –   I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Ma … Ma?”  No answer. I sat up in bed and did not react and then I thought – fuck this is not good.

One call and a taxi ride later,

I get out of the taxi as the paramedics are carrying my Aunt down the stairs in a wheel chair and into the ambulance. Pulse  monitor flashing 16.

We were allowed to ride with her. Get to hospital. She is rushed in for emergency care. Doors slam in our face. A doctor comes out and leads us to a quiet room to wait. We wait.

Doctor comes back in. My aunt is stabilised but she will be on a machine support for the remainder of her days. What do we want to do?  Ma and me look at one another. Ma’s face crumbles.

“No , we let her go! she has to go no more pain” I speak up. Mom is nodding. The decision is made. No time to call other family members. We are allowed to enter the room. We pull up two chairs and watch as she dies in front of us, snowed under morphine. It takes seemingly forever for her to go.

We sing Janis Joplin’s ‘Merecedes Benz’ .





The death rattle finally comes and it takes forever for her to drown in her own spit.

“MOMMY” my cousin rushes into the room. We all turn back to my Aunt. She has gone. It is all over.

60 years of knowing her alive and 20 minutes knowing her on her way to death.

She didn’t want to be chained to an invisible leash- an oxygen machine.

My aunt was awesome, everyone got on with her, we were great friends -always giggling, she didn’t take shit from me. She was a true hippy and a traveller. She could read palms. She fought a good fight. Life was hers -she owned her life. Life did not own her until the end.  We used to joke that I became  a drug addict because she used to sing me ‘Puff the magic dragon’ without knowing what the other meaning of the song is.

One last song


FUCK TATI I MISS YOU . I LOVE YOU. Wish I could hear you laugh again.

Expect less

I find it hard not to expect the same from people.

Expect Nothing And You Will Never Disappointed

Like what?

 The same commitment, friendship, ways of approaching issues, thinking  styles, letting go. I do find it hard to let go and that is when I am at my unhappiest. That is when I become obsessed  with having my expectations met. These people are not aware of these expectations and I brood over them. I mourn. All that has passed and all that has not resulted in a ‘… and Daisy lived happily ever after.’

It’s great getting attention and being flattered by past flames and it is hard to see them happy with another(not me) and wave them on and say goodbye for now. I’ve realised if I want to be free and ‘talk the talk ‘then I must free the one’s the took a place in my heart, especially the ones who didn’t know about  the perfect mould I had built to keep them there. They too need to be free to be happy again.

I need to be free to live -consciously   in the life that is mine. 

It’s hard to write this next section not because it is painful . It once was but I have to stop living in another time. I have everything and more that I want and need.

I have a soul mate.

How many people can truly say they have found theirs? This is the only person who doesn’t expect much from me. Does everything to make me happy . He has  held the title for best husband to be award way before I knew  the form that makes up his physical   make up.

 The most remarkable point I want to make in this post is -slowly but surely he has woken up the sexual creature in me. The one who doesn’t hide behind a narcotic mirage. The one who allows myself to lay back and enjoy. Reciprocation comes naturally. 

He doesn’t leave me dry. 

He does leave me high.

I want to feel.

I want to orgasm.

I work with him to orgasm.

It’s taken a long time to get  me  to start to let go. I stopped looking for pleasure a long time ago. 

We made love last night. I let him go down on me. I led him with the movement of my hips to help us find that place where I feel I don’t want to pull away. I don’t have to make an excuse that I can’t go through with this.

My body didn’t suddenly say “Get to the bathroom you need to pee”.

He teases.

I’m learning the fun in teasing back.

We both get what we want

He throws me about.

His teeth finds a nipple

I cried out – no, not in pain but in desire.

I trust him.

He respects my body. That is why I am able to experiment with him and enjoy myself.

I finally see a male body as sexy -not as something repulsive.Not something that will hurt me.  Something I don’t want to look at.

I admire every inch of my soul mate. I find my eyes fixating on his body when he knows I’m not looking. Hair wet, straight out of the bath. Where did this lust, this stir come from? 

He is kind of hot. That helps 😉

I find myself wanting to love him back. To trace out parts of his body, I never want to forget.So I can go back and explore those parts more.

 I drew the long stick. No innuendos, please.  

I have found  my expectations let me down all the time. I’ve learnt  the less I expect and the more I let go- the more I gain.  It does require consistent practice. 


Another example. I woke up this morning feeling free after my last post and laying my feelings down bare. I woke up to people who read and understood.I woke up to a surprise. I expected nothing. People liked what I was almost too ashamed to put into words. I have gained new friends. All I had to do was speak the truth,  Translate what my heart and mind really says. All I had to do was let go and be myself.

This is when I truly connect to like-minded people – The whole reason. I started out on this quest.

Thank you for accepting me.


( All images sourced fro Google images)


Okay so lately I am mostly talking about embracing ourselves with love and shit. The last couple of days. I  have felt less like a Hippocratic student of healing and self love  and more like a  Hypocrite.

I am not but I feel like one.

My beliefs haven’t changed. I do believe in the content of my posts. I just want to say that I also have shit days when I don’t feel so accepting of my looks and body and the rest of all that is me. I also want validation through superficial social media websites. The last two days have been pretty fucking miserable . Usually exercise, blogging, interacting with blogs,volunteering, working on new projects  and finding ways to be positive with one or two of ‘mothers little helpers; help shift the doom and gloom.


Got to give myself a break.

Talk and write the truth. This usually works. Write -freestyle it and post. Don’t check if some one may or may not like what I have to say. Minimum editing. None if possible. Small spell check . Hit the publish button, making sure I have attached all files titled ‘vacuous  negative energy’ to it,blast it into   the blogospheare -somewhere- all the words unravel and collide with an infinitum  of other unread words..

They may or may not get read. Usually people who enjoy jigsaw puzzles get these kind of posts.  Guess what? I hate jigsaws!

Bit blunt?  Sure?

 I guess the whole aim of this post  is to free myself -Let it all hang out.

So, yeah. I’ not happy and self accepting  all the time . I work at it and I don’t give up. I’m not one dimensional.

I try.

I try give Happiness and Self acceptance a secure bosom to lie their heads against.I don’t want doubt , negativity and self hate to  nestle it’s way onto my bosom and go

“Oh look tits! We are gonna suck every last drop of Happiness and Self acceptance out of them until they a flaccid, wrinkled and bruised.” 

Villainous  laughter like “mwhwhwhahahaha” or some other shit. Then they take my head full of shit and slam dunk it. Yes, those three


they will make me think that me accepting myself and being happy can’t happen outside my mind. They will try and repress the independence of my native toungue. They will find a way to make my rediscovered language seem like a myth– folklore…

It never happened.

There were never words such as Happiness and Self acceptance. There was never a language that was not approved by them. 

This is why I won’t stop writing empowering posts. Like ‘body image awareness’. Yes, I agree when I try and speak this language,sometimes, I feel like an idiot, a foreigner. I quickly lose my confidence  when I pronounce  it wrong. Use it in the ‘wrong’ context. Oh how quick my enthusiasm to live freely is  so quickly caught up in a net -stenched  in mockery and  jibes. HOW DARE I ? 


I fight to be happy -truly happy- no superficial bullshit

I fight to love my body and me- no superficial bullshit

Always keeping it real


Some THINGS  we can change by effort

Some THINGS  we can’t change

Some THINGS we have to wait a bit until we can change













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(All pictures sourced from Google images)


We hear so much about equality and diversity these days. If I asked you what each word meant, off the top of your head could you tell me?

 Mine goes: well, Equality is about fairness and being just with all people while at the same time celebrating our differences (diversity).

It’s so frustrating why can’t we accept what we can’t change?

 You accept your friends for who they are.

Your children?


 Why can’t we accept that there are some things that we can’t change about ourselves, no matter how much we try?

What You Can Change: You can work on eating cleaner, healthier foods that leave you feeling full of energy and in a good mood throughout the day. You can find an exercise plan that suits your needs and also doesn’t leave you feeling as though your life revolves around physical activity. You can wear clothes and style yourself in a way that makes you feel attractive and healthy, while still being aware that your physical appearance does not define you as a person. You can pursue a balance in life that involves both indulging yourself and treating your body with respect.

What You Can’t Change: You can’t make your body be naturally predisposed to a different shape. You can’t guarantee that you will always be in a certain weight range. You can’t ensure perfect skin, or find a diet and exercise regime that works without fail. You can’t spend your entire life denying yourself the things you want every now and again, nor can you give into every craving or whim and deny your body the care that it needs to function normally. You can’t make the scale replace every other source of value in your life.


Our main focus should be on being healthy and maintaining that health. That saying ‘you don’t know the value of health until it is taken from you ‘seems apt –I may of made up that quote.  I guess we can to some degree alter our physical appearance. It is harder for us ladies when we go through puberty and when we go through ‘the change’. There are loads of traits we can change about ourselves if we are unhappy.

We can change

  • how   we do certain things

  • how we act

  • Our attitude.

By the end of this ‘Celebrating your unique qualities’ challenge. I challenge you to find three things that YOU can do to help promote acceptance of your own unique qualities and appreciate other people’s qualities.