Our favourite 'what if...?'

We thought long and hard about putting this up because making it public would mean the world gets a very private piece of us.

But we hope that anybody reading this who has lost a child, at whatever stage, realises they are not alone.

I write for a living, so it usually comes very naturally to me and I enjoy it. But this has been the hardest post we have had to write. It has been strangely cathartic but also incredibly emotional.

We are of the firm belief, especially now, that miscarriage and its associated feelings should be openly talked about without feeling like there is something to hide because it’s “uncomfortable”.

We understand that not everyone will want to talk about it or share their experience because they want to grieve and heal privately, and that’s ok too. For us, talking (writing) about it has helped us to heal slightly better and acknowledge that this happens – a lot.

Because it is common. It is estimated that one in four pregnancies in the UK end in miscarriage. And many of those are missed miscarriages – where the baby has stopped growing or died but there are no miscarriage symptoms such as bleeding or pain. Which is what happened to us.

Common as it is, we have heard shockingly few people talk about it. Like I said before, it’s ok if healing and grieving privately is what helps people to come to terms with it, but if it truly does affect so many people, maybe we need to encourage a cultural environment that allows people to be comfortable enough to talk about it openly if they want to, and not feel like it’s taboo and needs to be talked about in hushed tones or avoided completely.

We found out I was expecting in August. I can’t explain the joy I felt when I saw the positive line come up – on three different pregnancy tests! I ran into the bedroom, my hands shaking, where Vinay was getting ready for work. Wordlessly I handed him the tests and his face went from shock to ecstatic! We hugged and jumped around (not too vigorously of course). I didn’t think I would ever feel happier (except for when I would hold our child in my arms).

We downloaded various pregnancy apps and the estimated due date was in May. MAY! It would be the best birthday present for me and May birthdays run in my family so it felt like carrying on a cute little tradition.

I suffered terrible sickness and nausea (I refuse to call it ‘morning sickness’ because it really should be called ‘morning, noon and evening sickness’) and had to take some time off work, and be put on anti-sickness medication. In that time I also developed an infection so had to take a round of antibiotics.

I was a little worried about taking all the medication but I was assured it was completely safe in pregnancy and I was taking the lowest possible dose, just enough to keep me functioning.

We had talked about names, how and when we were going to announce it to extended family and other friends (we thought a Diwali announcement would be perfect), how we would decorate the nursery, what we would need to buy immediately and what could wait, and started working on sorting out our finances so we could be in the best place possible when the baby arrived. Most of all, we couldn’t wait to meet it!

We went for an early scan on September 15, when I was about five weeks along and not only saw the bub but also heard its heartbeat. It was the most beautiful sound we’d ever heard and came away feeling wonderful.

We then went for a private scan around five weeks when I was just over nine weeks pregnant in October because I felt a little different and just wanted to make sure everything was ok. I woke up in the middle of the night one day that week with my heart pounding because I was convinced something was wrong with the baby and checked to make sure I wasn’t bleeding. I wasn’t, so I put it in the back of my mind and tried not to think about it.

At the scan, the sonographer was quiet for a while but we saw the baby and it was much bigger than the last time so we didn’t think anything of it. We then heard the words no parents-to-be want to hear: “I’m afraid I’m not able to find a heartbeat.”

Numb with shock, we booked in another private scan on the same day (at a Mothercare of all places) because we refused to wait until the weekend was over to go to a hospital, but mostly we refused believe this was happening to us and we were praying the first sonographer had got it wrong.

The second sonographer said: “I’m so very sorry but I can’t hear or find a heartbeat. And you’re measuring four days behind so it’s likely that this has just happened.”

It’s very hard to describe how it feels when your whole world comes crashing down on you like that. It was worse than a knife through the heart. Maybe some of you reading this will know how it feels – and I am so deeply sorry that you do.

Everything else she said fell away in a blur. Time froze. I didn’t really hear anything else she said because I was looking hard at the screen willing our baby to move or do something.

It didn’t.

I can’t remember much after that. I know I kept asking if she was sure and how could it be possible when the dates matched up, and she gently kept telling me it was the case. I then vaguely remember getting up and remember them putting the pictures and report in an envelope and walking us out of Mothercare and to our car.

We had told close family and friends, and our workplaces, so began the process of “untelling” everyone. We called our parents followed by a few close friends who knew.

I know a lot of people don’t tell anyone until the 12-week mark has passed but we have never been so glad that we told our loved ones. Within minutes my parents were on their way to see us and my friends said they would also come over the following day.

The strength of support we have received has been fantastic and we don’t regret breaking the news to our family, friends and work colleagues early because we honestly don’t know where we would have been and what we would have done without their kindness, understanding and support.

We have to also take a moment and sing the praises of the staff at Stoke Mandeville Hospital who looked after us throughout this ordeal. Everyone from the sonographer to the gynae nurses and consultants were so incredible and treated us with so much kindness.

There was no rushing us out of the scan room once they had, again, established there was no heartbeat, all our options were explained clearly to us and, on the day of my surgery, we were treated with utmost respect and sensitivity. I wouldn’t wish this experience on my worst enemy but if anyone has to go through it, amazing hospital staff, like the ones we had, make an incredibly difficult time more bearable.

And, of course, we became each other’s strength. When I would sob uncontrollably, Vinay would comfort me and look after me, and when he would get upset I would hold and comfort him.

The worst part about the miscarriage was that my body didn’t realise that the baby’s heart had stopped beating so it continued to do what it was doing before and I went on thinking I was pregnant. Had we not gone for the private scan, I would have had no idea anything was wrong because midwives and doctors usually tell pregnant women there isn’t anything to worry about unless there is excessive bleeding or cramping.

I had nothing like that. Even after we found out, my body still held on to our baby, and my symptoms actually got stronger for a few days. It’s almost like it didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to let it go. Vinay and I were even talking to the baby a couple of days before we found out – which would have been a few days after it had passed on.

And while me being me had read up on miscarriage and knew what to expect physically, the loss hit me harder than I thought it would. There are very few times in my life I have cried as hard. I didn’t know it was possible to grieve so much for someone you hadn’t even met yet.

For weeks afterwards I felt sad, angry at God for taking our first baby away from us, grief that we had never got to meet it but, most of all, guilty. 

Guilty for taking the medication, guilty that as a mother I hadn’t been able to protect my child, to look after it and make sure it was happy and healthy, and I thought about everything I could have or shouldn’t have done to make sure this didn’t happen (even though we had been told repeatedly by several medical staff that it was due to a chromosomal abnormality and it was nothing I could have done).

And Vinay felt the saddest he had ever felt - a feeling of loss that would never go away and a frustration that there was nothing he could do to fix it.

Since it has happened, well-meaning people have said things like “you’re lucky it happened early,” “at least you know you can get pregnant,” “there is plenty of time to try again,” “you’re both still young” and “this will only make you stronger.”

While we understand these things have been said with the best intentions, we are most definitely not lucky – regardless of how early, we still lost a child – and we never dreamed we would join the sad one-in-four “club”. And while I know we can get pregnant again, we will never be able to enjoy any subsequent pregnancy with the same innocence we enjoyed carrying our little Peanut. 

The “what if it happens again” terror will always be there, the fear that something could go wrong again will be magnified. We are parents now – regardless of how early we lost our baby or the fact that we never got to hold it – and always will be. Also, what use is being able to get pregnant if you can’t hold on to your baby? These were some of the thoughts going through our minds.

Ironically our angel grew its wings during baby loss awareness week. All our hopes and dreams, all the baby names we had come up with, the nursery ideas, whether it was going to be a boy or girl, whose features we wanted it to inherit, who it would look more like, what its personality was like – were taken away from us in matter of minutes.

All we were left with were a few ultrasound pictures, a whole lot of pain and the reality that we would never get to meet our first baby.

It will always be our first baby though. Regardless of how many children we go on to have (and we hope to give our little Peanut brothers and sisters) this little angel will always be loved and cherished as our first. Our thoughts and prayers are with everyone who has had to go through this. It is the most heartbreaking thing we have ever been through.

Sleep tight Peanut. Mummy and daddy love you so much and we are heartbroken that we never got to meet you. We hope you are happy wherever you are and didn’t feel any pain or suffer. You will forever be in our hearts and carry a piece of our hearts with you. Thank you for giving us the chance to be your parents, even if it was for a short while. We will miss you forever and you will always be our favourite 'what if...?'

Our angel, gliding softly

Over clouds with all  your friends

Watch over us

Your mummy and daddy

Our hearts are opened

And filled  with joy

Though your visit was short

Your love lives on forever

Our little Peanut

We'll always remember.

Qualified for new beginnings

"Dear Shruti,

I am very pleased to report you passed the Reporting exam with 64% - joint first with someone else in your group. You are now a NCTJ Gold Standard journo. I am very happy for you!"

Just reading those words - "you are now an NCTJ Gold Standard journo" - caused me to burst into tears. Tears of happiness, of pure, unadulterated joy. For five intense months of hard work finally, finally came to fruition with those eight words (incidentally, 8 is my lucky number!)

A huge thanks to the NCTJ's Journalism Diversity Fund for funding my studies - without the bursary from them, I wouldn't have managed to get on the course never mind pass it! So if you're a budding hack from a diverse background, apply, apply, apply! It may be the best thing you do to make your dream come true.

It took months of studying, sometimes screaming in frustration at my lack of understanding of Public Affairs or not getting beyond the stubborn 80wpm shorthand - but I finally got there with those golden words (pun fully intended).

My proudest grade - 64% in news reporting, joint highest score in my group with another extremely talented journalist - for an exam that is so notoriously difficult to pass, I had it in my head that I would have to retake it at least once if not more times in order to get the desired 50% or above pass mark for the Gold Standard diploma.

If in September you had told me that today I would be sitting here with a Gold Standard diploma (theoretically) in my hands, I would have laughed you out of the room. There were a few times on the course that I was tempted to sack it all in and go back to PR, to a safe, secure job where I wouldn't have to worry about the stress of exams and the like.

Never have I been so glad to have stuck at it. Even when I felt at my lowest, I found the strength (mainly through my ever supportive husband, my rock) to carry on. Because, as he kept reminding me, getting the diploma would mean I would be one step closer to achieving a dream that I've had since I was 12-years-old.

And now I am. One step closer. All I need is the right job and the day will come when I can, finally, call myself a journalist.

"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a journalist."

I can't wait!

Dark thoughts

Night falls,
Darkness descends,
And like clockwork, the thoughts come.
"You're a failure..."
"You're not going to amount to anything in life..."
"Everyone else is better than you. Look at how much better they're all doing."

"You're not smart or intelligent like they are. You don't understand things as well as they do."
"Always has been that way, always will be."
"You're a horrible person."
Dark, damning, dangerous thoughts,
The thoughts of someone so far damaged, so far gone, that it seems impossible to return.
"They'd all be better off without you. You know that."
"Go on - you know you want to."
"It'll make you feel better. It has done in the past. Just a tiny prick, scrape, cut..."
Thoughts, so many thoughts,
Head feels like it's filled with razor sharp rocks,
Chipping away until there's nothing left.
Chipping away at any tiny ounce of self-confidence, self-esteem, self,
That I have left.
Feel angry, frustrated, fed up.

Now the tears come, thick and fast,

Racking, heaving sobs.
I don't want to have to battle with all these thoughts anymore - no energy left.
It's far easier to just let go,
Stop holding on,
Stop fighting back.
Falling into this black hole of oblivion,
Into the depths of despair,
Is bliss.

Average vs Perfection

perfection

pəˈfɛkʃ(ə)n

noun

the state or quality of being perfect.

a person or thing considered to be perfect.

the action or process of improving something until it is faultless.

average

av(ə)rɪdʒ

noun

a number expressing the central or typical value in a set of data, in particular the mode, median, or (most commonly) the mean, which is calculated by dividing the sum of the values in the set by their number.

something ordinary and not very special.

Everyone strives for perfection. Everyone wants to be above average. For some, it's easier than others.

Having grown up constantly competing with a smarter sibling, high achievers and people who seem to sail through life with all the hard work they do or don't put into their work, and consistently getting average grades throughout, starts to make you feel like you're never going to be good enough - or anything enough.

No matter how hard you work, how many hours and weeks and days you put in, it will just never be enough to win that prize or get that coveted A grade. It won't be enough to get into that university you always wanted to go to or do that course that could have made your life or get that job you're always dreamed of getting.

So instead, you settle for being Average. Getting Average grades, working Average jobs, living an Average life. Never expecting more from yourself, never daring to dream that one day, that glittering prize in the sky will be yours.

Because you aren't special. You're ordinary and you've had that drummed into you all throughout your childhood. "Why can't you be more like this, that and the other kid?" "Why can't you get better grades like your friends do?" "Why is everybody else so much better than you?"

You get the idea.

So you start to aim to be better. It starts off small - let's work a little harder, put a few more hours in.

Soon you're spending 10 hours a day in the library frantically trying to remember everything word perfect, so you can get those extra few marks that will possibly, miraculously get you that A you haven't had yet.

Soon you're putting in more hours than anybody else at work in the hope of getting that promotion, that pay rise, faster. You're doing everything that everyone asks you to do in the hope that someone will notice that you're the only one who ever says yes, who agrees to take on more and more and more so you can move up the career ladder faster than anyone else.

Soon you're helping with every single thing in the house, getting to it before anyone else, getting it done perfectly (or so you believe) hoping that someone will notice and finally tell you you're there.

Except, life doesn't work like that for you, does it?

You open your A-Level results. B, D, D. No A. Not even close to an A.

It's just not good enough yet. You're not trying hard enough.

You get called into your manager's office. They won't be promoting you this time but do xyz to get your score up and it's a definite for next time. Oh, that guy you've been helping and training, the one who started after you, will be moving up a level - you've done such a great job with him, well done!

It's just not good enough yet. You're not trying hard enough.

You get called upstairs. Why haven't you folded these properly? Look, this is how they should line up in the cupboard. You haven't cleaned it properly. Your rotlis aren't round enough. What will your in-laws say? How will you run your own home when you can't even get these basic things right here? (Most Indian girls will sympathise with this, I'm sure!) Why do you always have to be asked to help? Why can't you come and offer it? Why can't you read my mind and know exactly what I want, when I want it?

It's just not good enough yet. You're not trying hard enough.

Slowly it turns into an obsession. An obsession to become perfect, to know it all, to never give anyone the chance to complain again. The obsession to be better, be the first one to give the answer, be the first one to know everything, to be the one who people come to when they have a question rather than it being the other way around.

So you try harder. Harder than you've ever tried before, harder than even you believe you can go. You set yourself impossible standards, and fail, so get even more disheartened and at the same time, even more determined to keep trying, to never give up, to never let up for even a second in case someone gets ahead of you, gets there before you, does better than you so you feel like a failure all over again.

Never will you feel like a failure again.You constantly compare yourself to those better than you to work out how you can get there. You burn yourself out to beyond exhaustion, you cry yourself to sleep because you're still not quite there yet, you're still not good enough. So you vow to continue to improve yourself, and vow not to stop until you're faultless.

Failure is not an option.

And soon, you start to expect that from everyone around you. Especially the people you're closest to.

All to achieve that perfection.

You don't realise that no two people are the same, that there are so many things you're wonderful at.

You don't realise that your talents, your skills lay not in trying to be perfect, but being the best version of who you can be and utilising those other, non-academic, non-domestic, non-work-related talents.

Because your whole life it's been drummed into you that being less than perfect means you're not good enough. You're ordinary. You're not special.

Until you're perfect. 

Week two: a published online news piece and more shorthand

And so week two of my journalism course finishes...with more media law to remember (no problem, I actually quite enjoy it), more reporting tips to drill in (easy peasy) and of course, more shorthand to practice (I'm not sure whether to go AAAAARRGGHHHH or YAAAYYY at this point given I love and loathe it in equal measure).

The last shorthand lesson on a Thursday afternoon is the most hated one. Mainly because by that point most of us have spent at least six hours (13 including class time) frantically learning and practicing outlines of blends and joins plus all the new 'rules' and special forms we've learnt so we can have a meagre shot at passing the 100wpm required for the NCTJ gold standard certificate; so the prospect of another two hours (plus two hours after/outside of class time) is enough to send us all over the edge. I certainly become more than a little flustered after the first hour.

Couple that with more practice on the train home and all I could see as I walked through my front door were squiggles and lines in a mishmash of shapes and sizes threatening to burst my head open.

On the plus side, I did manage to secure a placement on my local paper and wrote a lovely story about a local boy who came runner up in a national writing competition - not exactly breaking news but it felt good to see something else I'd written published!

I also decided to sign up for additional shorthand practice as I plan to get this gold standard at any cost and the only way to do that is to get to the 100wpm as quickly as possible in order to focus on the other modules.

Ciao for now!

I am now a Journalism student. Yes, really!

First off, I'd like to apologise for the long absence. It's been a crazy whirlwind few months what with getting married, moving house and leaving my job to follow a lifelong dream.

As you may (or may not) have heard, I am now a journalism student. A few months ago I decided to quit my seemingly secure lifestyle to pursue a dream I've had since I was about 12 years old.

Of course my first concern was "how on earth am I going to fund this?!" The course fees coupled with extortionate travel costs meant I either had to have a lot of money saved up (not likely with a wedding coming up), take out a loan to fund it (where would I even begin to pay that back?) or, failing all, sell my belongings. I can't say I have anything of so much value.

I raised this concern to a tutor at Lambeth College when I went in for my pre-entry exam. What he told me would be the catalyst in helping me to pursue this seemingly impossible dream.

The Journalism Diversity Fund is an NCTJ-run charity which helps those from a diverse backgrounds with cost as a major deterrent to fund their journalism studies. One look at the application form and I almost gave up before I'd even started. It was, by far, the most difficult application form I have ever filled out.

Filling it out was the best thing I did though (it took me the best part of a month to complete it fully including writing a piece for a publication, which had to be included as part of the application form). Thanks to Dominic Ponsford at Press Gazette, not only did I get a published piece to include in the application, but also received a glowing recommendation - this, coupled with a documentary I worked on with BBC Radio Leicester on Asian weddings (thanks to the ever kind Kamlesh Purohit), I believe helped seal my chances of securing an interview.

The interview - possibly one of the most nerve-racking and difficult interviews I have attended, not least because of the panel! The questions were mainly an extension of the application form (why do you want to be a journalist, how will you bring diversity to the newsroom, etc) but I was so nervous, I felt I'd pretty much blown it after I came out.

I was on my honeymoon when I received the call from the lovely Lisa Nelson (a whole day earlier than I was expecting) - I was going to be awarded a bursary!! Not only was the JDF going to cover the cost of my fees, it was also going to help with my travel expenses. I was a woman who had just won the lottery! Cost was pretty much the only thing which was going to stop me from doing this course and the JDF had taken that huge weight off my shoulders. Now I could focus fully on making the most of it without worrying about the cost!

The Course

Since I graduated back in 2008, my life has been an unending stream of jobs and experience in the world of work, so, admittedly, at age 28, the past week at Lambeth College has been a bit of a shock to the system.

Having 'free' (read: study) time is possibly the most difficult thing I have had to get used to. The pressure and intensity was never going to be a problem given my history in PR, but it's making the most of the free time that I have found to be the most challenging aspect of studying again. I have always admitted to being completely undisciplined when it comes to studying by myself. Put me in an office and pile on the work, and my brain instinctively knows where to start and what to prioritise. Put me in a library with three hours of free time, and I struggle to know where to start!

The course at Lambeth is intense, to say the least. Day one started with a three hour lecture on Public Affairs and Ethics, and swiftly moved on to an afternoon of shorthand.

Ahh shorthand. If any of you have attempted (or indeed know) shorthand, you will know that it soon becomes the bane of your existence. Not a day has gone by in the past week that I haven't taken my notepad out to practice, practice, practice. My shorthand tutor is fairly strict (understandably so) and has basically told us we have no hope of getting the 100wpm required to get the NCTJ gold standard if we don't do at least two hours of practice a day outside of class time. Every. Single. Day.

Compared to the one lecture a week we have for all our other modules, shorthand takes up the majority of the week with a class of at least an hour long (usually more) every day - that's how much emphasis they place on it!

Saying that, at the end of week one, we all know so much more than we did a week ago. So my advice to anyone studying this course and shorthand - keep at it! Have two notebooks (one for class notes and the other for relentless practice), plus an additional small book for 'special forms' (common words which are represented by single symbols) and practice, practice, practice! It's not something you can cram and it doesn't matter if you have an IQ of 160 - if you don't practice, you won't reach the speed.

Speaking of which - I'd better go...practice!

RIP Freedom of Speech

This week's awful events in Paris marked a sad time for free speech everywhere as 12 people were killed in a terror gun attack on French satirical magazine, Charlie Hebdo, because it repeatedly published cartoon images of the Prophet Muhammed.

Editor and chief cartoonist, Stéphane Charbonnier, cartoonists Jean Cabut, Georges Wolinski, Bernard Verlhac and Philippe Honoré, economist and writer Bernard Maris, Michel Renaud, Elsa Cayat, a psychiatrist and psychoanalyst, Frederic Boisseau, copy editor Mustapha Ourrad and police officers Ahmed Merabet and Franck Brinsolaro were all killed in the massacre for daring to express and for daring to try and stop them.

Freedom of speech is described in the Oxford dictionary as "The right to express any opinions without censorship or restraint." What happened in Paris shows us this is exactly not the case. In fact, what happens in the world, in everyday life, shows us that 'the right to express any opinions without censorship or restraint' no longer exists.

In fact, there have been many occasions when I've been writing here or posting things on Facebook, when I stop and remove sentences or don't put up pictures for fear of retribution or a backlash. I ask the other half to read through my blog posts before I publish them in case they contain anything 'controversial' or anything which could offend anyone.

Whether it's at work or in the home, with friends or acquaintances, we're always so careful - careful of not causing controversy with what we say, careful not to offend anyone, to say things which could make one 'look bad' or 'be talked about'. Of course, the choice to be careful and not offend should also be there - but if one chooses not to be, there shouldn't be a fear of retribution or a backlash.

So does free speech really exist or are we just kidding ourselves? I've been told, more than once, to 'be careful' of what I post up on my Facebook page 'in case people see it and talk about it' - and I'm a nobody in some house in a city writing a tiny blog and posting on a Facebook wall with a small percentage of people looking at it! What hope did a magazine like Charlie Hebdo have? It had already had its headquarters firebombed in 2011 and Stéphane Charbonnier was living under police protection following death threats.

The attack was a the ultimate price to pay for the freedom of speech - though I see daily that free speech only exists when it's convenient for those in power - they use it to 'only express opinions' and 'teach you the right way', but when it's turned around, suddenly, it's an 'insult' or 'offensive' and makes you look terrible for saying it.

True freedom of speech will only really start to exist when we stop condemning each other for free speech. When people stop dying needlessly, like the 12 who did in Paris, for expression.

'Je Suis Charlie' - 'I am Charlie'. Yes, I am. So are we all. Because true freedom of speech doesn't really exist anymore. The victims of the massacre are testament to that.

RIP.

The Attitude of Gratitude

appreciation
əpriːʃɪˈeɪʃ(ə)n,-sɪ-/
noun
recognition and enjoyment of the good qualities of someone or something

synonyms: valuing, respect, prizing, cherishing, treasuring, admiration, regard, esteem, high opinion

I've recently started to notice that few people are grateful or appreciative. I see many people doing so much for others, silently, out of the goodness of their hearts, and no one stops to even acknowledge the good deed, let alone say thank you.

That, in turn, makes people not want to do nice things anymore. For there's only so long someone can go without hearing a single word of appreciation or even acknowledgement of a good deed.

People can only go so long giving to those who only expect, before they say 'no more' or 'enough is enough'. H. Jackson Brown said: "Don't forget, a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated." No matter how much we try to tell ourselves it doesn't matter, and to not let it get us down, the truth is, it hurts. It hurts more than we realise when we try to do something nice for someone and it isn't appreciated.

Appreciation makes people want to work harder, to do more good deeds, strive for even more excellence. When people refuse to even acknowledge a positive action or kind words spoken, it makes kindness dwindle. People are far less likely to offer to do something nice for someone again when it goes unacknowledged or people express ingratitude. Unappreciation breeds resentment, creating a vicious cycle where good deeds fast disappear and negative emotions take hold.

Another one of my aims for 2015 is to express more gratitude and be more appreciative of the good things people do for me, no matter how big or small. And, in turn, to do more good things for others.

Powerful intoxication

"The day the power of love overrules the love of power, the world will know peace."
- Mahatma Gandhi

We see it everywhere. Power struggles and people getting drunk on power to the point where they forget how to treat people well; and understandably so - it's powerful, is power. For wasn't it a wise person who once said: "But constant experience has shown us that every man invested with power is apt to abuse it, and carry his authority as far as it will go."

It can ruin relationships, whether personal and professional, and create unnecessary resentment towards others. This, in turn, creates rebellion and a hostile environment, which no one wants to be a part of. Even if it isn't done deliberately, this intoxication can prove fatal to human relationships.

Whether it's car bullies (those idiots who tailgate to get you to move out of the way so they can go zooming off, even though you're sticking to *AHEM and sometimes breaking AHEM* the speed limit), people in hospitals who blame you when their systems mess up (as has happened to me recently), people issuing instructions left, right and centre and making unreasonable demands without any offer of help, or those not taking responsibility when they've done something majorly wrong, people being drunk on power are all around us; peppered within society like burning hot chillies in a mild dish and about as welcome as snow in May.

When did life become all about getting one over another person and making them feel totally sh*t so you can feel better about yourself? Or shouting the loudest about the things you want, so you'll eventually bully people into getting them? I don't ever remember having to fight through so many power struggles in order to get from one place to another or to get things done, or even to do the things I need to do on a day-to-day basis.

So one of my aims for 2015 is to (try my hardest) to not react to these people. I believe in karma and I just need to sit back and let her do her job. Reacting to it and feeling hurt doesn't do me any good and if there's one thing I'm determined to do this year, it's to look after my health and well being (I definitely don't do it enough) and start to practice mindfulness (I definitely don't do this at all!)

For a change, I'd like to try the power of love.

Out with the old

I've always been a believer of letting go of the past and embracing the present while somewhat looking forward to the future, to better times. Welcoming each new year and leaving behind the negativity of the past year...

But lately, I've been thinking a lot about the past. Past friendships, past relationships, past lovers, past situations. Wondering whether things could have been different 'if', and 'what if' this, that and the other had happened. I guess burying the past away rather than
dealing with it wasn't such a great idea - it suddenly came flooding back in a rush of painful memories and took my breath away.

Now, coming into 2015, with so much to look forward to, I don't want these negative thoughts and feelings clouding what promises to be a great year. I wish I had properly dealt with the past before rushing off into the future, desperate to forget, desperate to move on and leave all the cr*p behind. In my rush to move away from all the hurt and pain, I forgot to properly grieve, to deal with it head on and make it a part of my life, rather than trying to bury it away and not think about it at all.

So out with the old and in with the positive. The first thing to do is deal with all these un-dealt with feelings - make them a part of my life rather than trying to run away from them, trying to pretend they didn't happen. Only then can the new year ring in happiness, joy and love - completely unpolluted and free of negative baggage.

Wishing you a 2015 filled with peace, strength and all-round fabulousness!