• Life

    5 Reasons Why Being A Mature Student Sucks

    THE MORNING PANIC What the hell does a 33 year old wear to university? Now I know the answer SHOULD be ‘whatever the hell they want’ but being a mature student in a pretty mixed-age class with a penchant for 90/00s style bin bag baggy jeans and cartoon themed tops, it makes you start to question your life and fashion choices. Especially in the first week when everyone is still getting used to everyone else, it’s all a little judge-y. Blue hair shoved in the “mum bun”, make up free and glowing (read: sweaty and gross) and adorned with tattoos and piercings in a sea of the latest trends certainly…

  • Mental Matters,  Speak Up

    There Is No Age Limit On Self Harm

    The first time my mum saw the angry red welts on my arms she walked away from me, her head held down and tears in her eyes. I guess she didn’t understand the whys and to be honest, neither did I. I don’t remember the first time I drew a blunt pair of scissors (my favoured instrument of pain) across my arms or legs. I knew that to make sure I didn’t need medical attention I’d have to use something that wouldn’t necessarily cause the skin to open and bleed but the pain and the raised red welts it left was enough of a satisfying outcome for me. I didn’t…

  • Life,  Mental Matters

    Perfect Doesn’t Exist

    As some of you may know, I’m 33. From around the age of ‘knee-high to a grasshopper’ I’ve been asked – “what do you want to be when you grow up?” I have dreamt of a hundred different lives from the usual – ballerina, teacher, princess – to the not so usual – travel journalist, interior decor designer, vampire. In fact, it’s an age old question that we ask our own children today and, I don’t know about you but I worry that my kids want to be YouTuber’s or gymnasts (having never taken a class in their life) and even a builder. I mean, it’s already ALL or NOTHING…

  • Parenting

    A Holiday Performance

    Idyllic sandy beaches, swimming pool fun, picture-perfect family slurping up picture-perfect ice creams. The insta-crowds would be proud. Throw in three over-sensitive, tired children and four adults with over-exposed nerves – including the mum with more emotional baggage than the plane allowance allows, and it’s anything but ‘instagrammable’. Welcome to our annual paid-for-by-my-parents holiday to Carvoeiro, Portugal. We’ve recently returned from our 6th trip to this beautiful town as a family and we hit the same frustrations head-on every year. It’s perfect, paradise, home. Yet it’s exhausting, full of irritation and pressure to ‘perform’, to be switched ON constantly. I feel shitty complaining as I sit in my seat of…