Though we all must now adapt and change our way of life somewhat, it’s important to remember this is only temporary. Things will improve.
I’ve heard people complain about the restrictions; mostly young, fit, able-bodied people. Yes, it’s a pain in the fat ass! But it isn’t forever.
Also, please be aware that many disabled and chronically ill people are repeatedly forced into prolonged periods of self-isolation throughout their lives. Plans are often cancelled last minute due to poor health. This isn’t new to them.
So, before you complain because you can’t go out partying with your mates, or to the pub, please consider those for whom limitation and isolation is a way of life.
Show your thanks and appreciation for the NHS and those working in health and social care.
Be mindful of the most vulnerable in society, and help out if you’re able to.
Please don’t panic buy or stock pile. This isn’t the apocalypse, people!
All of this has made me think about relationships and what they really mean.
Valentine’s Day Selfies
We’ve all seen couples posting impossibly idealistic, airbrushed selfies on social media, making us believe their lives together are perfect and they couldn’t want for any more in a partner.
Ha! Who are you trying to kid? (Call me cynical).
But the truth is, when you live with someone, whether it be family, friends or a partner, you will inevitably, at times, rub each other up the wrong way and fall out. To think otherwise is, frankly, naive.
They may be senseless, petty disagreements or more serious conflicts. The important thing to consider is how you react and resolve such issues.
As the saying goes, never sleep on an argument. It may seem daft, but it’s true. An unresolved argument will just fester away.
It’s Good to Talk
Some people, somewhat understandably, choose to avoid any sort of conflict and refuse to acknowledge tension within their relationships; sweeping it under the carpet. This isn’t a healthy approach.
If you have a grievance, talk about it calmly and reasonably. Share your worries and concerns with friends, family and loved ones. Don’t bottle things up. Again, it will just fester away resulting in bitterness and resentment.
It’s Really Okay to Disagree!
We can’t all be the same. If we were, life would be very boring. You don’t have to like all the same things or agree with everything those around you think and feel in order to love them. I repeat; to think otherwise is, frankly, naive.
Kindness isn’t agreeing when you don’t, or avoiding potentially difficult conversations just to keep the peace. Kindness isn’t pretending to enjoy things you don’t simply to please others. Kindness isn’t inflating another person’s ego to make them feel good.
Kindness within relationships is about respecting each other’s views, differences, individuality and needs. It’s accepting that we are all flawed and forgiving sincere mistakes. Kindness is about caring enough to keep each other safe, supported and grounded.
People who know me well often describe me as incredibly private and somewhat closed-off. They’re not wrong. But I have my reasons. That said, I’ve been trying to open up a little more and share a closer insight into my everyday life in recent blog posts.
For me, 2019 really has been a year of major highs and lows.
The summer was genuinely the happiest time of my life. Everyone noticed.
Now, I’m the type to roll their eyes at the mention of people “glowing with happiness”, sceptical old bint that I am, but apparently it is a thing.
I was kinda hoping it would last longer than it did. But hey, that’s life.
Soon after my birthday came a swift punch in the gut (not literally, fear not!) and that marked the beginning of one of the unhappiest periods of my life. These things come to try us!
I’m not going to lie, this past month has been pretty crap.
Yeah, Christmas is a time to celebrate, have fun and be with those you love most. But it can also emphasise and remind you of what you’ve lost. And who you’ve lost.
I have some amazing people around me – family and friends. Thanks to those of you who patiently put up with me being a miserable fecker!
Some have offered wise words and advice, some have made me laugh when I really needed to, and others have simply been there to listen. You lot are what life is about (Ooh, deep!).
Let’s get this year out of the way and I promise, in 2020, I’ll pick myself up and get back to “the old Carol” ~ generally pratting about, laughing at inappropriate things and maybe even smiling occasionally 😱
A final word for anyone struggling for whatever reason…
I don’t want to get too serious. After all, it is Christmas – oh, joy!
Life ain’t all shits and giggles. I really wish it was. But it just isn’t.
Sometimes life gives you lemons (bastard lemons!) So what you gonna do? Throw ‘em back even harder, I say.
I may be pixie-sized but I’m pretty damn defiant. I’ve faced a fair few battles over the years. Truth is, the battle never really ends. But you gotta trudge through. What’s the alternative?
When I was 8 or 9, I fell off a horse. The horse decided she’d had enough of this trotting bullshit, and wanted to play silly buggars. She bolted downhill then stopped abruptly, throwing me forward.
I landed with my arse in a muddy puddle and lost my bloody boot. Yeah, I was a bit shook up. But I could either sit in that puddle and sulk (well, I couldn’t get up and walk off!) or get back in the saddle. So, I got back on psycho Sally!
Point is, life can be a bitch, but you gotta carry on and you gotta help yourself. Find what makes you happy and go for it!
I have a few things lined up for the new year, including some truly thrilling blog posts (I can sense the excitement already!).
Merry Christmas, folks. Take care! See you in the new year.
I think most people living with a chronic illness, disability or mental health issue can relate to this quote, at least to some extent. I know I do.
I am limited by my physical disability (congenital muscular dystrophy), despite the claims by some that you can do anything if you just try hard enough. As a non-ambulatory wheelchair-user with a muscle-wasting condition, I’m afraid there are certain things I cannot do.
I am heavily reliant on others to carry out daily activities such as cooking, cleaning, locking doors, opening and closing windows and so on. I also need help with personal care tasks like getting in and out of bed, dressing and bathing. This can be undignified, thus affecting my confidence and making me feel incredibly self-conscious and utterly undesirable. After all, who wants their boyfriend to shower them?!
I HATE asking people to do things for me, as I then feel a burden, a nuisance, an annoyance. Having to ask people to simply open a bottle or a can at the grand old age of 30 is frankly embarrassing (for me).
Sometimes I refuse to speak up and request help. Call it pride or sheer stubbornness. But there are other times I have no choice. Like it or not, I have to ask, to instruct, to explain.
For the most part, I’ve managed to conceal the extent of my disability from those around me. Many people, friends included, think I am much more able and independent than I actually am. Again, put it down to pride. But there are some people I can’t hide this from. Family members, of course, but also anyone I am romantically involved with.
Due to the nature of my disability and all the added extras – care requirements, dependency, restrictions, the inability to be spontaneous – I always believed myself to be undeserving of love. I genuinely thought *think* of myself as an unnecessary burden. Why would anyone put up with me, my weak, crooked body and all of my baggage when they could choose to be with someone else?
As a result of this and a lifetime of rejection, I put up barriers and distanced myself from society; a form of self preservation. Being told repeatedly that I’m not good enough, I’m “no one’s type”, and “too much to take on” has made quite a negative impression on my self-esteem.
Now, I don’t want to ramble or get too personal. But I am slowly starting to trust and believe I am worthy of love and companionship.
They say there’s someone for everyone. The cynical part of me still questions this. But maybe, just maybe, there is.
It takes an extra special person to accept me and my care needs. To take on, without question, a pretty drastic lifestyle change. To see past the wheelchair, the crooked body, the medical equipment and the disability itself, and simply love me for me, unconditionally. To try to convince me every day that I’m not undesirable, unloveable or a burden. People like this are rare, but they are out there!
So, this year I managed to make it to the first day of Naidex, having last visited over a decade ago!
For those of you who aren’t familiar, Naidex is Europe’s biggest trade, professional and public exhibition for all things disability and independent living.
Fortunately for me, it is hosted fairly locally at the Birmingham NEC, which is around an hour’s drive from where I live.
First thing’s first, I was pleasantly surprised to find that disabled parking was free – winner, winner! For all other events attended at the NEC, the parking charge is a hefty £10.
I’ll be honest, my main reason for visiting Naidex 45 was to meetup with a few friends, including fellow #MDBloggersCrew member, Fi Anderson.
Together we did a few laps of the place, trying our best not to bump into people. In fact, within the first 10 minutes of arrival, some bloke cleverly decided to walk backwards and very nearly fell on top of me. Thankfully he was young and not unattractive, so I didn’t mind so much.
It was a challenge to navigate the crowds, making it difficult to approach people and stop to chat. I spotted a few familiar faces but was only able to talk to a few, unfortunately. I did manage to briefly catch up with Mr twodoughnuts, though he wasn’t overly impressed with his first experience of Naidex. I have to say, I agree with his assessment!
For those of you planning to attend Naidex in the future, I would advise pre-planning your route as it’s tricky to locate specific stalls amongst the crowds and chaos!
As disorganised as it was, I was gutted that I couldn’t be there for the second and final day, purely because my mate SimplyEmma was judging on the Changing Lives Award panel!
Would I go again?
Honestly, it depends who’s going! It’s a good excuse to meetup with friends and fellow disability bloggers from all over the UK. And, it would be nice to represent the #MDBloggersCrew (properly) at some point. But otherwise, it wasn’t really my cuppa.
If you attended Naidex 45, let me know what you thought by leaving a comment!
Here, I attempt to take her down with my comeback (well, it is a wench war!) Though, I freely admit, I think she’s got this first round in the bag.
Let us know what you think…!
Top 5 Disney Villains
1. Chernabog, Fantasia (1940)
This is without doubt the darkest and most menacing sequence in Disney history. I was only three or four when I first saw Fantasia. I swear, even at that age I thought it was one hell of a trippy film!
The demonic Chernabog (funky name, right?), based on Slavic folklore, is God of the Night. He is the representation of pure evil, with fearsome wings that form the peak of Bald Mountain, which leers ominously over the village below.
As night descends, the delighful Mr Chernabog unleashes hellish realms and summons sinful spirits to watch them dance maniacally. He then throws them into the mountain’s fiery pit before a new day dawns. Well, that’s not nice at all is it!
I’m flipping glad I don’t live in that village!
How is this a kids film, seriously?!
2. Claude Frollo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
I was eight when this was released. To this day, it’s one of my Mum’s favourite Disney films. But call me crazy, I think it’s all a bit much for kids of that age, with hard-hitting, mature themes including religion, sin, lust and genocide!
(Sorry folks, there are no happy-clappy, ‘bibbidi bobbidi boo’ moments in The Hunchback of Notre Dame!)
I’ll be honest, it still freaks me out. Not least because of the lack of magical element so typical of animated Disney features. Okay, so there are talking gargoyles, but hey, they needed something to lighten the mood a little!
Frollo, Paris’ Minister of Justice (oh, the irony), is the first Disney villain to attempt infanticide, having almost drowned a newborn, only to be stopped by the archdeacon who accuses the corrupt official of murdering the baby’s innocent gypsy mother. To atone for his sin, Frollo begrudgingly agrees to raise the child as his own. He cruelly names the baby Quasimodo, meaning ‘half-formed’. (Dave would have been a better choice, surely?!)
The manipulative Frollo hides Quasi away in the bell tower, excluding him from society, telling him he will never be accepted by the world due to his unusual physical appearance. What an ass!
Unlike other Disney Villians – often magical and mythical – Frollo the super-creep is so threatening and unnerving because he is such a realistic representation. He is, after all, just a man. A pervy old man (oi, Esmeralda, be mine or you can burn!) fuelled by power, skewed religious motives and a licentious desire for busty babe Esmeralda.
3. Evil Queen, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
She’s the original diva bitch, driven by vanity, and all credit to her, she’s got one hell of a pout going on!
I can’t help but be on the side of the Evil Queen who so easily outwits squeaky-voiced, simple Snowy (never trust a girl who shares a house with seven old men. Methinks she’s not quite as pure as snow!).
Yes, she’s gone to all the effort of transforming into a horrifyingly wretched old wench. But y’know, needs must!
If THAT poked it’s head through your front window and tried to tempt you with a juicy red apple, would you willingly take a bite? Or would you tell the interfering, hook-nosed, eye-bulging wrinkly to buggar off?!
I rest my case. Snowy, it’s your own bloody fault, love!
4. Professor Ratigan, Basil the Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Arch-nemesis to the famous mouse detective Basil of Baker Street, crimimal mastermind Ratigan is a comically ruthless brute. For one thing, he is voiced by horror legend Vincent Price (Michael Jackson’s Thriller, anyone?!).
A status-obsessed professional crime lord, his ultimate ambition is to overthrow the mousey monarch and proclaim himself “supreme ruler of all MOUSEDOM”. Aim high, I say!
Unflinchingly wicked, conniving and with no morals, it is revealed in his singy-songy dance number that he previously drowned widows and orphans. What a pleasant chappy!
Ratigan declares himself to be a “superior mind”, yet is angered when called a rat by intoxicated minion Bartholemew, despite the fact he is indeed a rat. The clue’s in the name, dude!
His extravagantly ostentatious appearance conceals an intimidatingly feral visciousness. Though generally maliciously cheerful, calm and composed, his manacingly savage violence is unleashed in a shocking final showdown with heroic Basil.
5. Mad Madam Mim, The Sword in the Stone (1963)
“I find delight in the gruesome and grim ‘Cause I’m the magnificent, marvelous Mad Madam Mim” ~ A bit morbid there, love!
The eccentric, shape-shifting Mim is a proper tricksy wench witch, and rival to the legendary wizard Merlin. We’re introduced to the purple-haired hag when young Arthur, in the form of a bird, mistakenly flies into her not-so-classy abode. Having declared his alliance to the all-powerful Merlin, Mad Madam Mim attempts to “destroy” the boy. Seems fairly reasonable to me!
For all her arrogance and mischievousness, I can’t help but root for the haggered old biddy. I mean, for one thing, she has purple hair! (I remember, as a young kid, being fascinated with an elderly neighbour who had a purple rinse. Super cool!)
The villainous Mim is LOUD, bat-shit crazy and pessimistic yet playful. A ditzy and deceitful game-player, she repeatedly cackles, “I win, I win” – as do I when defeating Mr twodoughnuts at ‘Blog Wars‘.
I’ve noticed a lot of discussion, within Facebook groups, around the topic of walking versus the use of a wheelchair.
Many disabled people gradually lose the ability to walk over a period of time. Often it occurs in stages: from independent mobility, to the need for walking sticks, then a frame and finally a wheelchair.
I appreciate that for the individuals affected, it is an incredibly difficult decision to make. Do I continue to walk for as long as possible, despite the struggle and restraints? Or, do I resign myself to the confines of a wheelchair?
I have noticed, from comments on social media, that this is how some view wheelchairs: objects of confinement and restriction.
On the contrary, I see my wheelchair as an essential mobility aid, removing the limitations I faced when walking for only short durations. The powered chair I now use offers me freedom and independence.
Obviously, your condition and individual circumstances determine whether or not you have the option to continue walking.
Personally, I never had a choice. I have Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy and lost the ability to walk quite abruptly at the age of 10. Not that I could walk very well or very far up to that point.
Nevertheless, the choice was taken from me. I had reached a stage where I literally couldn’t support my own weight. Grit and determination played no part. And so, I went from walking minimal distances whilst wearing leg splints, to using a manual wheelchair that I couldn’t self propel due to a lack of strength and joint contractures. Sticks and frames were of no use to me whatsoever.
It was a difficult transition, of course. But not totally unexpected. As a child, I was offered little assurance of how my condition would progress. Doctors simply didn’t know. They couldn’t tell me if I would maintain my ability to walk or not. It was a case of, wait and see; roll with the punches. So that’s what I did.
To be honest, I was to a large extent relieved to be using a wheelchair, despite the fact I was dependant on others to manoeuvre me around. Even just a few small steps was a huge feat and physically laborious. That in itself was disabling me.
Committing to a wheelchair full time meant that I was free to roam with my peers. Kids at school used to squabble over whose turn it was to push me around. I was no longer exhausted, battling to stay on my feet or falling over and injuring myself. Being non-ambulant, I no longer had to wear those unsightly leg splints, which pleased me no end!
I had recently started middle school and, within a matter of a few weeks, I found myself completely unable to weight-bear.
However, less than twelve-months later, I was fortunate enough to benefit from my first powered wheelchair. I can’t emphasise enough how much of a difference this made to my life.
I could zip around at break times with friends, I could take myself wherever I wanted to go without the need for assistance, and I could venture into the local countryside. I was no longer confined!
It’s been eighteen years since I took my last footstep. And, I can honestly say I don’t miss walking. Naturally, I wish I could stand, walk and run ‘normally’. But I would never trade my wheelchair for my old leg splints, the bumps and bruises from falling so often, and the constant exertion to achieve a few small steps.