Some humiliations shared

Black background with tiny banana peel in lower right corner.You might have noticed the name of this blog. It’s a phrase I thought of back in 2006, when Amber shared an embarrassing incident and I said something like, “At least blogging means no humiliation is wasted.” That’s been my approach to writing in general for at least the last decade – that whenever something stupid or cringeworthy or life-changingly horrendous happens, at least I can write about it.

Continue reading Some humiliations shared

This is about my period, full stop

Logo for the TV show True Blood, consisting of the first word in black angular letters, the second in red, on a pale grey background.Periods periods periods periods periods. Bloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood.

OK, the squeamish people should have left us now.

I’m super impressed that Mad Men showed us Sally Draper’s first period, but mine was nothing like that. Instead of the bright red stain I was expecting, I got a small brown smear. I was 11, and I had no idea what it was. After worrying for a while, I told my mum that I had something weird going on in the knicker department, and she gently broke it to me that this was my period. Continue reading This is about my period, full stop

Jealous, much?

Close-up photo of two gulls hovering close to the water. One has a chunk of bread in their beak, while the other looks on, surprised and horrified. A small caption says "Damn it."Can we all just admit there are moments when we’re filled with raging, bitter, foot-stomping, fist-curling, about-to-cry jealousy? Yes, technically I’m talking about envy, but jealousy sounds so much nastier, so much more base, so much more accurate.

Recently, I started counting how many people I’m jealous of. I had to stop when I got to 40, because I’m a grown woman and that’s ridiculous. But I’ve felt so jealous of people who have things I want NEED that I’ve wanted to punch something. I’ve burst into tears. I’ve felt like I was worthless. And I feel like it’s really not OK to admit it. Continue reading Jealous, much?

I’m not going to care what anyone else thinks, and I mean it this time

Two men and a woman (all white) sit at a shiny conference table, deep in discussion. The word "Shh" appears in large black letters over the top of them. Well. It’s been a while. I kept meaning to blog, but as I picked up a little more work and tried to fit in other writing, and felt ill, and FINALLY started watching Mad Men… I didn’t. But lack of time is only part of the reason.

The other part is that I was a wimp.

Continue reading I’m not going to care what anyone else thinks, and I mean it this time

This is why I’m fat*

Close up of a small, fat gold Buddha statue on a shelf, some books behind him (titles not visible). *I’m using this as a judgement-free descriptor like “brunette”, not as an insult.

Dieting

Diets don’t work. I know this. But I still went on one a few years ago. It wasn’t to lose weight, which allowed me to feel superior — it was to detox from sugar in an attempt to improve my health. (I failed, which allowed me to feel inferior again.)

Continue reading This is why I’m fat*

The 500 Pitches Project and why I can’t stop trying to make it as a journalist, even if I’m deluded

Yellow typewriter with white paper sticking out of it saying "Hire me, pls" in red type, next to "x 500" in turquoise text, all on a dark grey background.As you might have heard, journalism’s in the crapper. I’m not just talking about its reputation in the wake of phone hacking and the New York Post’s irresponsible “who cares if we’re right as long as we’re first” reporting on the Boston Marathon attacks.

Turns out, during a recession, magazines and newspapers are luxury items — as are most of the brands that advertise in them. Ad rates have dropped, publications have folded, requests to write for free have soared, and even writers with years of experience are flogging their services on job-bidding sites while weeping into a vat of Value gin. Continue reading The 500 Pitches Project and why I can’t stop trying to make it as a journalist, even if I’m deluded

I’ve discovered the secret to happiness, and it’s HORRIBLE

Close up of a little girl's legs and feet, in leggings and ballet shoes. Her feet are turned out, and a caption (blue on light grey) says "TURN. IT. OUT."Turn it out. That’s it. It’s as simple and as awful as that. This isn’t advice (more of a note to self) but if my experience of depression has taught me anything about happiness it’s that one way to cultivate more of it might be to STOP THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF ALL THE DAMN TIME, DIANE.

Continue reading I’ve discovered the secret to happiness, and it’s HORRIBLE

The avoider’s guide to life (wouldn’t be worth reading, but the caterpillar’s would)

Close up of aqua bubbles, with the word LIQUIFY in dark grey letters.When I was three or four, my mum had a minor operation and had to stay in hospital overnight. I was fuzzy on the details, scared she wouldn’t come back, and afraid to tell my dad how much I missed her in case it hurt his feelings. So I ran upstairs and squeezed myself into the space underneath my chest of drawers so I could cry without him knowing.

Continue reading The avoider’s guide to life (wouldn’t be worth reading, but the caterpillar’s would)

Something I’m doing that’s actually working(!): EFT

Close up on top of SIngin' in the Rain poster, featuring paintings of Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds and Donald O'Connor in yellow raincoats, carrying umbrellas. At the top it says "What a glorious feeling"

I was always dysthymic growing up. Then, in 1999, when I was 20, I really fell into an abyss and was diagnosed with clinical depression. Since then, I’ve had all kinds of therapy.

I’ve seen psychiatrists, psychologists, counsellors, life coaches, and NLP practitioners and done everything from hypnosis to CBT to dredging up sad memories and crying a lot. (A lot.) I’ve also tried herbs, relaxation, dietary changes, nine different anti-depressants, and acupuncture, among other things.

Continue reading Something I’m doing that’s actually working(!): EFT