This timeline is wild at heart and weird on top.

This morning TikTok is awash with weeping women across the globe just utterly exhausted by male apathy to rising misogyny. It’s American women full of rage saying they’ve pied their partners, family and pals who voted Republican. It’s Democrats urging other women to buy a pew pew for protection before the laws are changed and they aren’t allowed to. It’s some American men also urging women to join the 4B movement, to be extremely cautious when dating in the USA because they to see how problematic voting a fascist rapist as president is going to be. Again, no focus there on their own behaviours and the actions of the men around them, just ‘women, you stay safe out there’ patter that says nothing of any consequence. It’s women saying they are being radicalised by the limited number of supportive and proactive male voices in the conversation, that the apathy is what is forcing their hand towards changing their lifestyles to protect their heath and wellbeing. And absolutely none of it feels reactionary at all, it feels a sensible response when this is what passes for entertainment and discourse in their world.

The world is lunging deeper into a mental health crisis as billionaires play with the broken systems that allow them to. This timeline is wild at heart and weird on top. ‘Which of the hateful megalomaniacs will come out on top, tune in tomorrow for more’ kinda vibes. An inverted squid game.

Meanwhile, quiet covens in the woods…I’ve got some work in a group show at Out of the Blue Drill Hall, My Body Whose Choice, which seems even more apt than it did last week. An exploration of female autonomy and safety in art. Organised and curated by Hello Art.

Out of the Blue Drill Hall

Dalmeny Street, Leith

November 11, 2-5pm

12th - 15th, 10-5pm

16th, 10-2pm (I’m working elsewhere but encourage everyone to go along to this. Some of the artists will discuss their work, there’s a clay workshop to release some rage and a guest speaker)

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I’m also taking part in a panel talk on Monday 2 December at the beautiful Greyfriars Hall at Virgin Hotel in Cowgate. Organised and hosted by local legend Lynette Gray. The Power of Creativity and Art.

The panel will discuss our personal experiences of how leaning into creativity and making art has helped us to process and heal difficult life experiences. I’ve written on here, made mention in exhibitions and on socials but aside from ranting at a handful of generous supportive pals, I’ve never really said all of the things around past abusive relationships and medical trauma that I’ve been working through out loud all at once, certainly not in a room full of people I don’t know yet. So it feels nerve inducing but like it will prove to be another big growth step forward.

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Before all the demented political chat kicked off again, October was mostly a delicious month. I got to tour guide a tour manager when some pals came to town for the weekend. It was so good to get out and about, visit some favourite galleries, restaurants, potter about the city. I’ve been a bit of a hermit on and off across this year while I focussed on art projects, recharging, hatching plans and just staying the fuck away from any drama. Autumn in Edinburgh is a wee stunner. So good to wander in the colours before winter comes. Women in Revolt, Barry McLean at Modern One and Two, Ibrahim Mahama at Fruitmarket, Judy Clark at Away Industries, just missed Sett Studios Flawd Folk parade, vintage fairs, record shops…

I also had my first experience of life modelling, for a workshop run by my studio pal and neighbour, Felicity Inkpen. Witchy stillness felt good. My kid and I ran out to the beach to see the Northern Lights and they made him cry. I went along to Other Other Music at Leith Depot finally, after a long time threatening to. I was at Florence Given’s Fruitmarket Gallery book launch for Women Living Deliciously. I popped into the launch night for the new photo booth at Stills Gallery. Hosted a Halloween party for my kid and a dozen sugar buzzed weans. Shot a beautiful tiny wedding in the garden of an East Lothian cottage, with a walk to the beach for a pink sunset which I helped design too (@edinburghelopements) Did another wee brand shoot, this time for lovely Mairi MacSween Illustrations. Plus all the usual juggles and plate spins.

November also brings more out of town pals to visit, a couple of local indie brand shoots which will be good fun, more music and creative experiments.

x

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WORK WITH ME

Brand shoots, portraits…people and the things they do + me and my big bag of cameras.

side b:alternative takes

Honey, I’m Home.

All the trigger warnings, again.

September has been an immense experience in growth and trusting my creativity. THANK YOU to everyone who came to see my work at Art Walk Portobello and the Drill Hall.

I’ve never curated and organised a group show before and the feedback has been amazing. I really enjoyed most of it, some trickier bits to navigate too but that’s all part of the learning. I think the idea of mixing all our work together went down well and looked great. Thanks also to the folks who bought work at both shows. My personal work has all been funded by the day job so far so to sell stuff is brilliant. And several folks came back to the Art House multiple times with different folks which is just the best possible thing, thank you.

The Art Walk wasn’t just a challenge in overcoming the imposter syndrome, it also had a deeper personal meaning which has felt like a huge step forward. The end of August/start of September last year I was once again really struggling with finding a sense of safety. The unravelling of all the grief, hurt and anger at finally facing the abuse I’d experienced in the past was heightened by a series of troubling messages from an old drinking pal of my sexually abusive ex, another person I’d had no contact with in years. I had to speak to the police about it. To give further context to the level of trauma I’d been bottling up around my experiences with male violence of different kinds I’d only invited one man into my home to hang out in around 5 years. The whole time he was there I was trying to smother a panic attack to the point I could barely form sentences. It didn’t go well, he’s not really spoken to me since but it made me super aware of the level of fear I had even around men I felt safe in the company of and kick started a heap of processing all this stuff that’s been pouring out since my stalker ex got in touch again around February last year.

So to open my doors to allow any stranger off the street to come into my flat, into my bedroom, the room I made a lot of the images around autonomy in, felt HUGE and healing as fuck. A reclamation of my personal power, a leap of faith in creative play as a way to process and heal. So everyone who came along played their part in that too, thank you.

People will take anything and everything without asking - autonomy, money, pals, jobs, ideas, memories, private conversations…opening up and realising that nobody can take away your creative voice is emboldening. I’m revisiting the Artist’s Way and the epiphanies are coming thick and fast. It’s such a worthwhile exercise, and one I’m really enjoying with company this time around. A creative coven of open hearted wonders.

I feel intensely grateful for this time.

The news of the French rape trial has been as triggering as the exhibitions were freeing. There’s elements of the details of that trial that I can relate to in ways that no woman ever should have to. The press coverage at times is sickening. To read the tabloids saying the accused were all looking ‘for sex with a stranger’ is fucking enraging. Who goes into a chatroom called ‘Without Her Knowledge’ looking for risky sex? Nah, misogynistic rapists go there looking for opportunities for sexual violence against women and there’s a huge difference. Let them hide their faces while she holds her head up, there is zero shame in being a survivor, that all belongs to perpetrators. There’s also reporting that suggests the survivor, Gisele Pelicot, is looking for revenge purely for holding them accountable, which is a disgrace. It’s also just depressingly predictable how few men bother to use these moments to further the conversation around male violence, they just don’t give a fuck cos they don’t have to. Speak up, lads, I’m so fucking bored of saying that it’s only when you look at misogyny with the same disgust as is reserved for those who act on paedophilia that anything changes. It’s only when it costs you that the majority of you start paying any attention. Just don’t leave that mate alone with your kids, yeah…

I’ve spent the last week sorting out my studio, finally decorating the walls a bit, laying out the space so things are to hand for all the ideas instead of treating it like a storage space for fun and a desk for paid work. I’ve no excuses for not creating myself more rituals around creating and using all the amazing words, the hugs from strangers and encouragement to build some new things…October brings friends for visits, some brand work and acting on the gratitude.

OH AND JOIN THE MAILING LIST

I’m so piss bored like everyone of trying to make content. Keep feeding the beast so it doesn’t bite. Just join ma list and you get one sporadic email claiming to be monthly and organised with links to all my new work, rants, meltdowns and exhibitionism.

Cheers (speaking of which, that’s a bottle of ‘sparkling life’ which made me laugh. Downed it.)

xx

When I am among the trees

All the trigger warnings.

Photography by Jannica Honey

For me, this summer is putting into practise all the things I’ve promised myself were on the horizon while I processed a heap of difficult things over the previous 18 or so months. IT’S DELICIOUS AS FUCK.

I revisited my favourite festival this past weekend. Going this time booze sober AND with a sprained knee felt at times like it might be a tall order. But I experienced the whole thing in a totally different way, lost count of the times I just stood in awe at the countryside around me, at the beauty of the energy in the crowd. When you were raised in a field of utter BAMS chucking bags of piss around the Slam tent or spending a full weekend in the car park cos they were too wrecked to even get into T in the Park, a wee oasis of calm and joy in the Welsh mountains is like another planet. It’s well middle class and polite sure, but it’s also fucking cheeky and a daft pagan wonder.

Trying to dance and ramble around a hilly festival site on a sprained knee is an experience. Who does she thinks she is, Elvis? Maybes, pipe down hound dog. It was maybe a blessing in terms of the call of the drink to have to go to hobble to bed like a responsible adult in the wee hours instead of partying all night. Popping a squat in the new urinals was also a bit touch and go at times but I bandaged knee up and had a very beautiful weekend.

As a kid I loved doing wee dance routines on my doorstep for passing strangers. I felt that wee me was back and raging that I wasn’t keeping up with her moves but she was glad to get to surface anyways. I also loved making mud pies, took great pride in my leaf pastry crusts. Which is a fucking banging segue into the real reason for this rant. I want to talk about my experience of going into the woods to get naked and to be seen and photographed by Jannica Honey for her When the Blackbird Sings project.

“When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.””

— Mary Oliver

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share any of the images. I felt like I was going into the woods just for me. After I became a mum and attempting to breastfeed had made my Poland Syndrome surface again, experiencing the same trauma as I had at puberty, I hadn’t wanted anyone to see me naked. Aside from the medical staff who were involved in the breast reduction I had and probably my kid I don’t think anyone really has seen me naked in well over a decade. There have been partners I wanted to be more intimate with who I just couldn’t bring myself to get naked in front of. So to do this feels quite huge after 18 months of really processing what that all meant, the medical trauma of operations on my boobs and ass, and all the issues I had around my body through processing being raped multiple times by someone who also at times claimed to love me, being assaulted at work…all of it. Being in the woods felt like a full stop to being in those wounds and a beginning to learning to properly live past them. They will never define me but they created scars and affected the ways I have interacted and related with others.

A pal made a flippant comment the other night at the festival. He said that a woman on stage who was wearing an awesome suit ‘had her tits hanging out and wasn’t this a family show’. He wouldn’t have said anything if she’d had smaller boobs. We were raised surrounded by images of high-end fashion brands worn by svelte small breasted women, looking radiant and aloof in their expensive designer outfits. Small tits equals demure (aka you should be quiet). And women with big boobs all over lads mags in just their knickers and wonderbras, just there to be leared at, sexualised as slappers, slags, fun time buxom dollybirds. I’ve always struggled with that form of misogyny, where we immediately sexualise big tits. I hate that social media let’s men parade about topless and bans the female nipple like it’s some sort of filthy secret. That whole attitude deeply affected my psychology around shame for having asymmetry as a pubescent teen. Certain abusive people really leant into trying to destroy me for it too. The vaudeville sideshow, freak of nature, not ‘a real woman’ of any kind…

And I looked at the woman on the stage in the awesome suit, with her great tits and I just thought she couldn’t give a flying fuck if you sexualise her body mate, she’s playing tunes at a fucking amazing festival and no doubt living the life, stop reducing women. And you know, epiphany cos I was really talking to myself about all of the above.

Photography by Jannica Honey

Walking into the woods I just felt excited. I hate being photographed, I’m not the type of person you’ll find on socials posting loads of group selfies cos there aren’t any. I’ve started pushing myself to take more photos of me just at work cos they always get more traction in stories on instagram than anything else but aside from my artwork I don’t have many photos of me. And my artwork ones feel like a performance, you get into character to try to describe intangible things or to emote an experience or feeling. So to reliquish control of the outcome, also while I’m totally out of shape from doing zero exercise in around a year aside from the odd gentle yoga class, also felt huge. To get past the usual ways woman are supposed to pick our physicality apart and hate ourselves into taking up less space and being quieter feels powerful.

But there’s also something special about my favourite woods, the sounds of the breeze through the trees, the vibrant greens and the crunch of fallen leaves and cones, I always feel a calm wandering around in there. Processing a lot of violence, aggression, control, medical traumas, I find myself often craving slow gentleness. I found that in the woods. I trusted Jannica too, that wise witch knows. I loved lying on the moss, the feel of the damp ground under my feet, indents of the ancient bark on my back. Unless it’s part of your job, I think our daily lives are increasingly removed from nature. I see it in the ways folks interact with the beach on sunny days, bringing half a house made of plastic with them or shouting at kids for getting sand and seawater on their clothes. We’re forgetting how much joy there is there already. And how much privilege we have to have access to nature in calming and inspiring ways.

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political
I must listen to the birds
and in order to hear the birds
the warplanes must be silent”

— Marwan Makhoul

I feel those words literally and metaphorically. It’s really familiar to stay in our wounding, to lean into unhealthy coping strategies, numb out the difficult, to avoid the darkness of the bigger picture. I want to feel everything deeply, to be present. And then I can appreciate moments like lying on moss as a dog walker ambles past in the distance, totally unaware that a wee woman is lying on the ground learning to love the body that’s struggled to keep her alive, with all it’s flaws and traumas, all it’s rolls and scars, all it’s wisdom and warmth. We are so blinkered to how much we have access to, we over consume online and miss so much that’s right in front of us.

Over the weekend at the festival and on that magic wander in the woods I kept thinking about how much easier I find it to be fully present when I have a camera in front of my face or a performance to be absorbed by or a painting to stare at and how the peripheries fade in those moments. I know that’s partly being AuDHD and hyper aware of pattern, sound and being a visual person. But it’s also a learnt behaviour that comes from always having to be on guard for the next attack. I cannot fathom how children in genocidal places function, how parents ever breathe, the air so thick with grief and fear. To think how close to the edge some things I’ve been through bring people like me but to be in some different level of endlessly just surviving purely for where in the world you happened to be, it’s unreal, it’s inhumane, it’s the darkest form of violent greed and psychopathy.

All forms of violence breed in the same ways, use the same patterns of behaviours, of gaslighting and enabling or propaganda, of scapegoating and dehumanising. The news is relentlessly full of Gilead style tales of male violence from medical staff being raped and brutally murdered by multiple strangers just passing by and joining in, brutalised to the point of having hip bone fragments in her eyes. Teenagers being gang raped on holiday resorts, again, just men joining in and filming it, not stopping to help. What the fuck is happening to the humanity of men when this and countless constant stories of knife and sword attacks on women and girls across the UK. As I finally faced the violence and coercive control I had experienced in my own home years ago I had an overwhelming fear of all men, a rage at all men, a primal need to shut down and keep the fuck away from them. And then there’s the visceral racism that has been bred through that ugly form of nationalism that generates some kind of rotten pride in flag waving colonialist roots… I don’t know how we fix the violence we face but I know that on a personal level opening up is the best way to take my power back.

I was at an anti racism rally at the parliament a few weeks ago, after the race riots down south. There’s a fella who’s very active in demos at weapon and munition factories who I’ve seen at all the anti genocide marches. He was speaking about having been in Bathgate outside a hotel where migrants currently live and how there had been some unrest with some racist locals turning up. He’d asked them why and they’d voiced concern for the safety of local women and girls so he’d got some of the Kurdish guys who stay there to come out and chat and they’d ended up having a good conversation, no violence, some honest exchanges that helped to diffuse the situation. He said he’d overheard folks who felt fearful telling each other to stay safe, to lock their doors. And he’d said no, that’s the last thing any of us should do, we should all open our doors. We need to let each other in more than ever when the powers that be try to divide and conquer cos our strength is in our numbers. We are the many, they are the few.

I’d thought about keeping these images just for me, I don’t have the energy for online trolls, for judgement, don’t ever want those violent characters to have any access whatsoever to my body. But also, I think it’s fucking tragic to rape and abuse then stalk people, all the while pretending to be a good upstanding member of your community. What a pantomime waste of a life. I don’t give a fuck anymore about misogynistic arseholes or shallow opinions. I care about healing with others who’ve been in similar places to me, I care about how fucking amazing it feels to be in this headspace of creative play, of freedom of expression, of defiant optimism. There’s literally nothing negative anyone could say to me about me that I haven’t at some point already beaten myself up about a million times over anyways. I think I know quite a few women who could say the same. Probably time we all just said fuck it and gave ourselves more freedom and fun. So here’s to my massive tits and yeah, it’s a family show.

Thank you to the talent, wisdom and kindness of Jannica Honey for seeing me and giving me space and time to see myself too. Wild she kind of knew I’d change my mind on the full moon too…There is magic in those woods for sure. Protection of the Rowan. I can’t explain how deeply healing the experience has been. I’m very grateful for it.

Photography by Jannica Honey

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Opening all the doors wide.

Come to my house and my studio for a chat. A call to arms in the good sense. Come see me so we can sort out a play soon. I’m opening up my flat, a middle finger to the nasty wee stalkers who tried to make me feel unsafe while I struggled through healing their violence. A full stop to letting the fear dictate anything. A sea change, a new chapter.

xx

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ART WALK PORTOBELLO

ART HOUSE 8, 30/3 Bath Street, Portobello

Open 7/8/14/15 September 10-6pm

Some of my self portraiture work from a couple of projects, along with things I’ve made with the sun and sea and a few surprises

HOME: A RESIDENTS’ SHOWCASE

Out of the Blue Drill Hall, Dalmeny Street, Leith

Exhibition 10-20 September, 10-5 (except Sunday)

Free evening events:

Wed 11, 6-8 - opening evening with inhouse djings and vino

Wed 18, 6-8 - Resident performers & Woven Whisky showcase (some acoustic music, performances and drams)

A Sea Change

Most of my writing on here has come from a place of trying to make sense of or at least process and let go of painful experiences. So here’s the story of a very physical and literal way I’ve started to do that.

In November a little perfect combo arrived by chance. I’d started doing Iyengar yoga again after many years of not. I love this form of exercise, it’s the only kind I’ve ever managed to keep doing for more than a few weeks since dance classes as a kid. It’s the type of yoga that feels very cleansing. It has all the poses of types that work through salutations and a little of the ethos of the more spiritual elements but it’s somewhere in between, focussing on alignments within the body itself. I’ve always struggled to get out of my head and into my physical body and this is one very slow and considered way to do it. You aren’t sweating and overexerting but you are learning and strengthening. The next day is when you usually feel it.

I also, cos my back is fucked from regularly carrying camera gear that weighs the same as the average 4 year old and I have little core strength from years of zero exercise and a c-section literally slicing through anything that was there to begin with, I get monthly hot stone massage. Highly recommend Hannah at Ultimate Wellness to any locals needing their aches and pains sorted. From around November she suggested we work a bit deeper and added in some deep tissue massage.

Also, after a visit to Hamburg where my friend Laura said it might be time to get stuck into the female rage that comes with watching Handmaid’s Tale, I was also binging my way through the 5 or so series of that whenever I had downtime.

And one night a character said a line that just hit a nerve and I started balling my eyes out. I didn’t feel sad, it was a huge purge. But my entire body started to shake and twitch as I lay there weeping. I’ve never in my life experienced anything like this at that point but I went with it and let out as much as I could.

And soon after I was all over a google rabbit hole which lead me to learning about somatic release. I’d basically had one by accident I think because of the combo of the 3 things I mentioned. It’s essentially allowing a release of tension and trauma from joints and muscles within the body, a massive purge of the build up of cortisol that comes from living in a state of fight or flight for too long. It’s an amazing thing for anyone who has ADHD, Complex PTSD, trauma or stiffness in specific areas of their mobility.

It was a wild feeling and kickstarted a bit of a physical ‘healing journey’ (gross) after all the traumatic experiences that surfaced last year while learning to accept and explore that I am more than likely AuDHD. I think I’ve mentioned these things before, along with journalling and sometimes chucking myself in the sea or attempting to jog a 5k without dying as ways that have helped me to process stuff. But this is like a whole next level experience that I feel like we should all have and know about. It’s a bit scary, your body is twitching harder than a nosy nan’s net curtains but if you can just let yourself work through it, the sheer physical release is amazing. It helps folks who tend to ruminate and not really know where they feel emotions in their actual body to recognise exactly that and to breath through it.

So for the last month I’ve been gently working my way through a somatic exercise programme designed for folks with trauma and/or neurodivergence and it’s the most amazing experience. I did some reading and watched a shitload of tiktoks and all that before I found The Workout Witch and she made sense to me. I struggle to form routines for anything but the goth weirdo in me is way more likely to stick to things if I can persuade my brain I’m creating a ritual more than doing a routine and that’s part of the system she uses, hence the witch chat. She’s a survivor of narcissistic abuse, with a degree in psychology and training in pilates for injury so she knows her stuff.

“Trauma, anxiety, stress, and emotional experiences are all connected to the physical pain and unexplained health conditions we’ve been generationally programmed to just “put up with.”

By utilizing somatic exercises, she’s helping today’s generation heal from the unexplained pain that doctors can’t treat, be free from the trauma you’ve been putting off, and introduce you to the way your body is supposed to feel.”

— The Workout Witch

Today’s yoga class comes after some hip and back releasing stuff (the online courses are very simple 10-15 mins a day exercises building new neural pathways and slowly teaching awareness of specific joints and muscles much like the yoga I love but more with a view to unlocking the tensions and traumas held there) and it felt genuinely blissful at points, I felt I could reach a deeper place within a lot of the poses and that I’m getting better at correcting my awful posture to have better alignment.

Might all sound kind of woo woo but it works and I know that our gut and brains are connected, I’ve nearly died from suspected Crohn’s Disease symptoms which have disappeared since I’ve been single and not in any toxic relationship so I think this is the next step, releasing all the held emotionally pain from my pelvis and neck mostly, unclenching the jaw and being grateful as fuck.

Anyone who lives in a state of anxiety or tensions of any kind I’d highly recommend even just reading up about this in general but I like to share all the things I find cathartic and positive as I know some folks out there resonate with the difficult experiences I’ve been through.

I’ve said this before and I firmly believe that we’re not meant to live in our wounds. The shame and guilt for being human that stops us from openly talking about difficult life experience sometimes is bullshit. It’s put there to stop us from healing that shit in healthy ways, it’s programmed in us so we reach for the less healthy coping strategies, stay in a societal set up that really enables a heap of abusive behaviours while victim blaming. We end up staying stuck in places we deserve to grow past. Everyone makes mistakes and it’s the ways we take responsibility for them and grow that counts. I wish they taught shit like this in schools, I feel like way less of us would be living from places of fear or inadequacy projecting our struggles onto others and internalising things others say and do if we had healthy ways of getting to the nitty gritty as rituals in our daily lives.

We should all be frolicking in fields and feeling brand new.

xx

Are You The Key master?

So, feeling as awkward and great as ever, I’m back on my soapbox again. This time with a hopefully empowering rant about quitting gatekeeping and policing ourselves and embracing all the things that make us cringe a wee bit. One big thing I still struggle with after all the recent ranting and ravings is being hypervigilant around people I don’t know very well and when I’m knackered out I feel those feelings of looking over my shoulder start to surface again. I don’t want to let rejection sensitivity and crap past experience with folks on the wrong side of creepy to cloud opportunities. I’ve been learning loads lately about these things and moving past them…

I joined a bunch of socials and linked facebook back up again, logging in to the app for maybe the first time since around lockdowns when I used it for some workshops. I’d deleted my personal facebook and twitter in 2016 and hadn’t missed them. But instagram is dying on its arse and meta is getting more rightwing and misogynistic so I’ve also joined the kids at tiktok, youtube and have started posting a bit on tumblr and pinterest. I’ve even got a linkedin account which is way less uptight than I thought and I’m gathering a really interesting bunch of creatives.

And the password has been lifted from Lost and Found, this very blog. The password was there for a bit for good reason. I know it can be damaging to overshare traumatic stories to anyone and everyone but I only really touch on the surface of things that I already feel I’m getting on top of on here. It can still be quite raw and feel very vulnerable but it’s curated and I am in charge of what I share, that feels like a huge part of the healing process when people have done horrific things to you without your consent. To be the one that decides what is and isn’t in the open. Despite instagram banning me for sharing my abstract nudes, I decided to make them and show them and empower myself over which parts of my body others get to see through my gaze. All of this stuff is part of a wee journey of healing that is so cathartic and enriching.

The biggest hurdle that I’ve come up against as I’ve been working on healing them traumatic experiences and looking at things from the perspective that I’m more than likely AuDHD as fuck and how did I never know it when I think I’m so self aware and I’m always banging on about the psychology of stuff has been how I relate to others online. Award for the longest sentence/bad grammar, ta.

My whole adult life I’ve been stalked by predatory men. And I realise that predator isn’t even the right word cos in the wild predators are useful but it’s what we use so. Even before I had regular internet access I was stalked by my high school boyfriend. He’d turn up at clubs and bars that I was at with pals and just stand outside looking in like a right sad case and stuff like that for a couple of years. That seems to have started a trend for weak asshats creeping around trying to get attention or to make me feel unsafe. Last winter and spring I really struggled with it as it turns out the more you call out misogynists the more they all form an orderly queue to act like the prick. So I had a few months of feeling really fearful of all men and all that stuff which I’ve written about already.

Lately I read a couple of brilliant books which touch on all the things that have been plaguing my vibes. Strong Female Character by Fern Brady, Unmasked by Ellie Middleton (about her late diagnosis for ADHD which talks about being consistently ostracised by groups and colleagues, and Women Don’t Owe You Pretty by Florence Given which talks about misogyny and privilege, centering ourselves and letting go of societal expectations for the roles of women. And I’ve been thinking a lot about this last hangover I have where I struggle with social media and the internet and all the reasons why. I hate being misunderstood cos I’m a very direct and honest person and the ways people bend your words, actions and intensions often drives me nuts cos how can you be accused of being so honest it’s rude and yet still have your words twisted but that’s how it seems to often go.

I’ve noticed that the more you open up about things the more folks who you’ve not spoken to in a long time come out of the woodwork. Sometimes it’s long lost pals and lovers and that’s nice and comforting to know they still check in to see how you are getting on despite losing any regular keeping in touch. But mostly it’s folks who know they did ye a dirty at some point and it very much feels like they’re panicking to see if you are speaking the truth about them or they feel that vulnerability is a weakness and they’re sitting tight with popcorn and a snide wee grin hoping that you are being vocal about difficult things cos you are about to slide into complete meltdown so that they can say, ‘see, I always told you she was crazy’ or whatever fits their agenda. So aye, I basically hate being perceived at all even to the point that my self portraiture, which has been a great way of processing a lot of crappy stuff, is still really just me playing dress up and wearing a mask of sorts.

My weird aunty on tiktok chat so far is me swearing at cheap paint rollers and a wonky ladder and some ramblings around this issue of how to let go of all the weird feelings I have about being seen and misconstrued or being stalked by people who I know hate my guts. I’ve very guilty of having human behaviour as a special interest, probably since being bullied by my whole class in primary school. They didn’t really beat me up but mostly they, my entire class, all gave me the silent treatment for a full year which is a really long time when you are 11. Since then I feel like I’ve always sat back when I’ve been mistreated to avoid confrontation and focussed on trying to figure out their why instead of focussing on how their actions affect me physically and mentally. So I could go months or years in a toxic environment (and it’s happened in work, at home, in friend groups and every sphere) just being fully aware of someone’s manipulation, gaslighting, passive aggressiveness, smearing and all that and just be wondering why instead of getting the hell out of there.

Now I think I’ve gone to the other extreme and I’ll just presume anyone and everyone who pays me any attention has some motive to cause me harm unless they clearly state otherwise and even then I’ll question it. Which is a shite state of affairs but it makes sense based on a lot of past experiences. But the horrible part of it is that I will become hypervigilant around anyone that pays me attention that I don’t know or anyone who I can’t figure out or when my gut instinct and their behaviours don’t match. And that is purely a habit my brain and body have come up with to try to protect me because I have for so long been a people pleaser and done the whole ‘hurt people hurt people’ thing of trying to figure out how to help folks who’ve been unapologetically abusive instead of walking away.

I like gentle direct communication. I love a creepy flirt but genuinely don’t ever think anyone is flirting back, I mainly presume they’re after shooting me in the side of the head if they respond at all. But maybe they are if they can’t say otherwise?! Wouldn’t be the first time. I think I just need to accept that I’m a communication shambles, despite having a BA Hons degree in communication. Folks who want to be around always let you know so why bother constantly trying to psychologically understand folks’ motivations when they don’t? What a waste of time trying to figure out everyone else when I could be dancing on the beach at sunrise and other antics that fill my heart with actual gleeful feeling. All those books I mentioned have an overarching message that centering yourself and trusting yourself is how you grow and live a fulfilling life. I’m so lucky to live the life I have, I hate that there are things that I allow to hold me back and make me small. I think it’s something that is ingrained in all women from early childhood, that we are to play specific roles in society and serve others. We police everything we say and do to not offend and yet just existing sometimes we do. You cannot win. Whatever we do is just <that monologue from Barbie.>

“The more authentic you are the more you irritate people for no seemingly logical reason. Some people will ADORE you and some people just won’t like the way you express yourself. It has nothing to do with you. I think that’s why we mostly avoid being ourselves. We’re afraid of people finding us cringey. But to attract YOUR people, you must ALSO repel people. Like a magnet. It’s the price you pay for authenticity and you cannot take it personally.

We must ALSO question our own cringe towards others. I have to do this with myself all the time!!! This does NOT obviously apply to people who are being intentionally annoying. As long as someone isn’t harming you or anyone else, just let them be. Try to hold back on making that snarky comment your ego is so desperate to make about someone. It’s hard. But the inner peace and growth it provides is delicious.”

— Florence Given

So I’m attempting to quit policing myself, I won’t hide away or stay quiet around things to make others comfortable in mistreating me. I won’t gatekeep myself anymore. Just going to keep ranting about stuff as it helps me to process it and let it go. I can feel my confidence growing as I lean into all the things that fill me up. I love that all the survivors who I spoke to last year after calling out that rapist are all growing and thriving too despite what others did to them without their consent. It fills me with so much admiration and ambition to keep going. They burned the witches for a reason. Even through the nastiest struggles I see these women figuring it out, often with little support in the spaces that would be most beneficial. You are all fucking amazing. Keep going.

Expect me to get even more cringe cos as Florence Given says, ‘being cringe is a public service’. Watch this reel and suck in all it’s juicy patter, it’s a perfect way to reframe all the internalised negative chat if you’ve related to any of my experiences and to instead focus on belonging to yourself and centering yourself. The haters get something to hate and you get to thrive and love your life, win win. The less time and effort we waste trying to make those determined to dislike us to change their minds the more time to focus on those that already love what we are all about or to make space for new connections that might be even greater.

THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU. x

5 years, no booze

It’s been a whole 5 years since my last hangover. A wild milestone.

I wanted to quit drinking for a long time before I actually managed it. I’d get the worst anxiety and wake up with palpatations, often be black out after only a few and never ever capable of just one glass. I didn’t drink that often over the last few years as, working mostly as a wedding photographer and being primary care giver for my kid, I barely socialised anymore. But when I did I couldn’t not get hammered.

A year before I quit we lost our pal Scott, the cause of several of my worst hangovers in the couple of years before he died. Realising all five foot one and a half of me often tried to match six foot maudlin indie musicians whisky for whisky, gin for gin, drink for drink for most of my adult life hadn’t been great for my mental or physical health. Most of the times over that last year that I got drunk it was one on one with a friend, a glass of wine being the plan and several sunk, along with a few chasers would always be the result. I was relying on the alcohol to numb some of the grief that had surfaced for everything ever after he died and I went into grief therapy. Alcohol had started to make me feel suicidally depressed.

I had a few false starts to sobriety. I read The Artists’ Way, a 12 week programme for creatives who let the fear stop them from creating. Turns out that it’s basically the 12 step programme the AA uses, re-written to focus on creativity over addiction. I struggled with the ‘god’ element throughout the writing but it actually helped me to find a connection with nature and I started to swim regularly in the sea, make cyanotype prints on the beach with the sun. It’s true what they say about swimming in baltic water giving you a rush of the good chemicals. It definitely helped me to stay sober doing that and forming some little healthy rituals. I also kept up the ‘artists pages’ element of the programme which is essentially journalling 3 pages of A4 a day. I think you’re meant to keep them to refer back to, to see how far you’ve come or where you get stuck but I’d just let out all the darkest things and rip it up, which felt like releasing it.

The first wee while after you stop drinking is difficult for a bunch of reasons but most of them are other people. Anyone you see socially makes it the topic of conversation. Nobody can just grab you a soft drink, no questions asked. It makes it really hard work going out and spending time with anyone. Then, a couple of months or so into it, all the big feelings you’ve been numbing out start to surface and that’s the hardest bit all together. I think I’m lucky that I’ve always needed to process those alone or through talking it out with friends and that’s easy enough to do through sending them depressingly long personal podcast voice messages on whatsapp instead of in a pub with a bunch of alcohol.

If someone you know is trying to quit, don’t make it about you and your drinking habits. Nobody that’s quitting drink is asking you to change your own habits around alcohol or judging you for them, they’re too busy trying to manage their own anxiety and the social pressure to succumb. If they were struggling with how you drink then they wouldn’t spend time around you.

I only knew I could stick to it when I figured out how to sober dance and I’ve got a bunch of opportunities through wedding work to have a wee dance in a room full of drunk strangers most weekends so that made it easier for me to figure that out. I started taking myself to lots of gigs and driving home, maybe stopping in my favourite bar near home for a tea before going home (which wound them up but felt like a super power, although that place closed and I didn’t replace it).

Quitting drinking will cost you friendships that you thought were for life. I very much felt like a social leper for a good long while. I work most weekends or have my kid, I barely go out aside from gigs and as a single person and a weirdo neurodivergent I’m rarely invited to any social gatherings that involve couples or to any parties any more. I felt very isolated and I struggle to make new pals anyways. But time reveals who your folks are and there are plenty of people who love music, who love dancing, who love art, who have similar lifestyles and who don’t care if you are drinking or not. So now I go out a little more but it’s different to before. I take myself to gigs and have a lovely crew of folks who I often see at them, go to pals’ dj nights and a little bit of time with neighbours on the beach. I have good friends scattered in other cities and countries who I try to visit as regularly as I can and we rant and dance and overindulge in good food, dancing, art and hugs.

I miss restaurants a bit and I’d love more road trips but I’m still learning to juggle work and life. I think my own social plans always come last as I struggle with time management and exectuive disfuntion being inattentive adhd. I have to manage all that for each client booking and for my kid first and then my few of nights off a month I end up realising I forgot to make plans for myself. I’m working on that these days and I’m filling my time with things that bring me joy - making art, learning new alternative processing photography techniques, doing workshops with like minded folks, dancing with witches, making time with loved ones…

It takes time but you figure out who has your back and the folks who have similar interests that you can get overexcited with. I’m still learning to put my physical health higher up the list of tasks, I basically HATE routine and desperately need to figure some out at the same time. But my diary is different every day and I’m travelling around for work a lot and I’m thankful to not have a 9-5 type of life as it would make me miserable.

And folks who read this will already know that I spent a good solid year or so processing the big feelings about a lot of diffcult experiences through the lens of realising my brains are neurdivergent. Letting yourself feel all the feelings without numbing them out with toxic crap like drink, leaning into using healthy creative outlets instead feels huge and wonderful. I feel like a totally different person to the versions of me that used to drink. I enjoy dancing sober in a room full of drunk people cos they don’t remember anything anyways, just can get away with being your weirdo self and nobody barely notices, all the things I used to be so self conscious about don’t really matter at all.

Autistics and folks with adhd are typically more likely to binge drink. We are implusive and use alcohol to mask our traits and to try to fit in socially. For me, it was a really useful and unhealthy tool for helping to unmask socially, self medicating to manage struggles with exhaustion and bad decisions. Alcohol just brought out the impulsiveness in me that often put me in physical and emotional danger with people. When you already struggle with things like executive dysfuntion and rejection sensitivity along with some sensory issues, adding your bodyweight in Glens vodka isn’t a great idea.

The only time in the last few years that I’ve really missed alcohol has been when I’ve felt really worn out and down, or sometimes I missed a hot toddy in the winter. But I realise that it’s just not a drug that works for me at all. It’s so deeply ingrained in our society - bad day? take a drink, something to celebrate? take a drink, on a date? take a drink, weekend? take a drink, eating dinner? take a drink, sunny out? take a drink…it’s actually wild how much pressure there is to imbibe a specific poison. It hugely made me feel ill how booze shops were allowed to stay open over lockdowns while everything aside from food outlets were closed. It’s a con that we’re indoctrinated into as kids and that’s as close to preachy about it as I like to get. It’s just an empty way for folks with ADHD to chase dopamine, like any other addiction and there are way more fulfilling and creative ways to find that which enrich life instead of making you feel physically and mentally unwell.

For folks who are reading this cause they’re curious about quitting I cannot explain to you in words what a hugely positive difference to my life stopping drinking has made. I’m so much more aware of where in my body I hold onto tension and emotions, so much better at processing big feelings, investing in the things that bring me joy, saying no to things that don’t feel right, I have time to recharge and properly rest when I feel exhausted and overwhelmed and I know my social battery has limits. I consciously live from a place where I notice the little glimmers and appreciate genuine connections. Alcohol numbed out so much of the things that make me feel really alive and really myself. To figure out how to let it go is very much worth it. I’m happy feeling everything deeply. Find the things that the kid version of you loved to do that you gave up on and get stuck in about all of them to see which ones stick.

a Year On…

THIS COMES WITH ALL THE TRIGGER WARNINGS.

No pretty pictures, just some heavy words but with a happy and hopeful ending. THANK YOU for engaging with this, oversharing on the internet gets you wondering if you are doing it as a trauma response, if you are trying to appeal to those who won’t listen or who you’d like to speak to but they aren’t there, or if it’s something else. For me, it’s worth looking like a hot mess as it’s brought me some amazing connections. I’ve found it hugely helpful, I’ve found despite some naysayers that mostly I’ve had incredible conversations with people through all of this. It might have looked like I was properly losing my shit but it has felt like the opposite, despite being hard and exhausting.

When you’ve always been told how you think, act, feel is wrong, when people try to shut you down, gaslight, gate-keep, ostracise and misunderstand you it feels amazing to put all of it out there, in my writing, on social media and ultimately through my self portraiture and to try not to worry about how others take it. Slowly chipping away at the people pleasing tendencies and putting myself first too. And as difficult as it is to know that what you are saying it highly triggering for some, it’s also letting others know they aren’t alone in their difficult experiences and feelings. Just to feel like while you are really going through it that somewhere someone appreciates that you are saying it out loud really helps to stick with it and push through instead of pulling back and reaching for another way of numbing or coping that isn’t healthy. THANK YOU to everyone who’s supported me, who’s validated and believed me. Even when I’ve not been in a place to really talk about it, thank you to the men who say ‘who the fuck did that to you?’ instead of turning a blind eye. Thank you to the women who’ve said they’re proud of me and to keep going, I love you.

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Some of you will know that it’s been a year since I named my abusive ex boyfriend on the internet. I met that guy when I was 17 and we lived together for around a year in my mid twenties. Ever since then he tries to get in touch every couple of years or so. He’s predatory. I’ve since found out he’s a serial rapist, sexual and psychological abuser and stalker.

Over the last year I’ve been processing what really happened fully for the first time. I started to realise what I’d been through because of chats with a much missed friend a few years back. There was a lot of cross over with what they were experiencing at the time and it woke me up to what had really gone on. After we lost that friend I foolishly spoke about it with someone I shouldn’t have, a local guy who was having his own struggles and that ended up being a very difficult experience too. I’ve been wondering why a lot over this last year. I think when multiple dark things happen and you are the common denominator it’s very easy to blame yourself. You see people you had a difficult time with go on to have outwardly healthier relationships and you question all the things they accused you of, all the things they projected and you wonder if they are all true, if you really are a piece of shit person. It’s very easy to internalise all of it and beat yourself up. But you can’t live like that for very long.

Having friends who are diagnosed ADHD reach out to say, pal, I think you have ADHD has very much rescued me in many ways. I knew nothing about neurodivergence before the pandemic really. I was aware that I have a lot of symptoms of complex post traumatic stress disorder and I’ve always just put that down to these abusive relationships but spending this last year really focussing on a bit of self reflection and seeing how different daily life was during all those lockdowns, made me realise that I’m very much probably autistic as well as ADHD and that a lot of the struggles I’ve experienced are a part of that.

For example, why did I get into that situation with the abusive ex? Aside from the fact that it can happen to anyone, I always liked being a bit of a tom boy and I hated being judged for my appearance. Him and his friends shared a love of similar music to that I loved, I would say that music has always been a special interest. I’ve not been fanatical about specific bands or genres researching about them since I was a school kid but I’ve always needed music, always loved gigs. I worked at them for years for a reason. And I’ve never fitted into social groups. I’d be adopted by groups of girls or women and sooner or later ostracised. Mostly for reasons that I realise now were ableism (she’s too intense, she’s weird/blunt/rude/aloof…) or for no reason they ever chose to share. There would be individual pals I’d get on great with but never groups for very long. I’d be the one left out every time. In primary 7 my whole class, bar the shortest and tallest girls, refused to speak to me for a full year aside from the odd snide comment. So I was very vulnerable to a daft friendly bunch of lads who liked dancing and their tunes as much as I did. That group was made up of a few folk that I think was pretty oblivious to the behaviours of the others and the others were up to disgusting shit. But they normalised that misogynistic behaviour and I think it took me years to face that I wasn’t complicit in it at all, that I’d fully been taken advantage of and abused. There was a slow and consistent systematic removal of my consent. Knowing now that my brain works differently I spent a lot of time over this last year grieving for that version of me and how low she got. I was living in passive suicidality but to the outside world I probably looked like I was having a wee rock n roll party to myself. Most folks around us were pretty hedonistic too and I think in hindsight a lot of us were lost in similar ways.

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A year ago he tried to add me on instagram again. In the past I’ve ended up deleting facebook, twitter, multiple instagram pages have been started and deleted and started again. I’ve made playlists, galleries and all sorts private. I don’t share images of my kid…

I called him out on instagram as I didn’t feel like there was much else I could try. It’s been a long time and I was done with my nervous system being thrown into a state of fight or flight and feeling like I’m being hunted for sport. So I named him and blocked him. The next day he sent a typically patronising email to my work address just as a reminder that I can’t hide anyways. Oh and to condescend to me about my writing. I think knowing he’s a huge exhibitionist and narcissist it was also in the hope he’d stay relevant in my chat as he probably gets off on any form of attention at all. I found it wild how an orderly queue pf misogynists decided out of the blue to try to contact me over the last year. These creeps all share the same smug entitlement and complete lack of accountibilty for their actions. But I won’t be bullied or gaslit by any of them.

A year ago, I ended up feeling intensely triggered, a flood of horrifically painful things started to surface. I’ve never really fully admitted to myself what he did to me. I’d always blamed myself. I told myself I was somehow complicit. I told myself I was self harming staying around for so long. Maybe to a degree that is true but my consent was taken away consistently and my mental health plummeted. I told myself a heap of things that helped me avoid ever really looking at what I can remember of that time and the people involved. It’s disgusting to think about and it affected my psychology deeply for a long time.

I had so many people reach out and tell me their own experiences once I spoke out. I wasn’t really prepared to hear so much violence. But the patterns of behaviour were so similar across so many experiences. It just compounded my fear of all men. But I’m so glad to have given those people a safe space and to know I am believed. Cos that’s a big thing. When you live with gaslighting and constant insidious abuse and coercive control and you live in a state of people pleasing and codependency you don’t even know who you are half the time and you don’t trust yourself at all any more. You spend most of your time in a state of overwhelm, desperately trying to appease the urgency of abusive behaviours to get some respite and invariably leaning heavily into all the unhealthy coping behaviours you can.

And so as this all surfaced, I became incredibly fearful of men I like, fearful of male friends, fearful of strangers. I got angry. Finally. I think I never let myself fully get angry about any of it before. The last year all the triggers surfaced. I got angry about miscommunication and lost chances. Every big life experience, every lost friendship, every broken relationship, the lack of support, every bullying classmate or boss, my lack of boundaries, people pleasing, codependency, the way I dived into numbing myself out further and further. The ways I feel like maybe I did punish myself by staying around abusive people because I’d lost all self worth and self confidence. It all surfaced to be looked at again but with the knowledge that my brains work differently than I had known at the time. And then there’s the grieving for that lost person who just didn’t trust herself well enough to tell folk to f*ck off with their ableism and their bullying.

Did you know 90% of autistic women and girls have experienced sexual violence? 90%. (for context, it’s estimated at 30% for the general public). Did you know over 45% of women and girls will be misdiagnosed at least once before getting their autism diagnosis and that in Scotland right now there’s a 2 year waiting list for children and up to 12 year waiting list for adult assessment? 80% of female autistics aren’t diagnosed until they’re over 18.

If I’d had the knowledge of neurodivergence that I have now, how many of the difficult experiences that I’ve been through would I have walked away from? Would I have been able to build better boundaries with people, been able to overcome people pleasing and self advocate instead? I feel a lot of neurodivergent traits involve things like pattern recognition and a heightened sense of injustice and deeper emotional responses so I often find things like propaganda in the news triggering as it reminds me of specific gaslighting behaviours I’ve experienced and I find myself down rabbit-holes on things like cognitive dissonance. It seems we’d rather say things like ‘why didn’t she leave’ or even on a larger scale, ‘how can they support a genocide'?’ but we never really educate ourselves on the why. There’s always a manipulation at play, why aren’t we educating ourselves on the whys? It is just the relative comfort and distance of privilege that stops us?

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I didn’t name him a year ago cos I’m some kind of brave warrior, although being told that in the street by a neighbour on a rough morning was ace. I did it cos I felt it was the only option. I historically get sick when my body is in fight or flight for too long. I’ve nearly died from sepsis and suspected Crohn’s Disease. And trauma sits in your guts and mixes with the sh*tty brain chemicals and causes those illnesses. I’m a self employed solo parent, I can’t get sick like that and I’m not letting anyone bring me back to a state of depression.

And then last summer there was the 3 month wait for a blood test result to tell me if I had cancer or not and that was just too much for me at the same time as processing all of that stuff. Around that time a well meaning pal let me know they’d seen Richy was talking about being in Scotland over the summer and I was so so low. Just completely hypervigilant and I felt very isolated. I just thought what the f*ck do I do if he appears? How do I not lose it and batter him to a pulp while all this anger is rising cos he’d deserve it. But violence is never the way.

And as if by magic, a couple of weeks later once he’d disappeared again his old drinking pal, who I’ve also not seen in literally decades, starts sending me daily weird as fuck creepy long emails having signed up for my password protected blog. That’s when the police came round to read them all. It felt like a dark attempt to undermine any safe spaces I had managed to create in amongst it all.

Then some other guy who I met once started too, creating new instagram accounts that only followed a local musician and me after I blocked him when I found out he was abusive to my friend. There’s more to that story but it’s not really mine to tell. Then the Russell Brand stuff came out and people are defending him and spreading rape myths about how many men are wrongly accused and it has been a year and then some when you list all the things that happened back to back.

It’s wild to think that over that time I’ve had to tell myself again and again that I’m not a man hater. In response to the things I’ve shared online, I’ve been accused of being a hateful super narcissist. I don’t think I’m better than anyone or some paragon of virtue, I know all about the times I’ve overstepped and hurt people and I’ve always tried to take ownership of those, reactive abuse aside. I’m not sharing these things for attention, I’m not some fantasist making it all up.

Reactive abuse is a whole other rant but if you see someone out drunk suddenly arguing out of nowhere, looking totally overwhelmed maybe wonder where that came from instead of just presuming they’re being a difficult asshole and mocking them for their outburst. Often times for me being drunk was the only time I’d find ‘confidence’ to defend myself and reactive abuse is a perfect way for abusers to accuse you of being problematic or crazy, as nobody saw what led up to you snapping, they just see your reaction.

I’ve also had to remind myself that calling these men out for coming into my spaces online years after using sexual violence against me isn’t me attacking them or seeking revenge, it’s just defending my peace. I’ve been told maybe I should shut up incase I cause them to be ostracised as if I’m responsible for their previous actions and I’ve been told ‘maybe I should have gone to the police’ and you just won’t really believe the level of victim blaming that goes on. We barely believe survivors and if you live in a small city where you’ve had several shit experiences and everyone thinks they know your business it can be hard, you just presume there’s plenty folks who think they know what you are all about who’ve been told many tall tales. But as someone with rejection sensitivity, who’s struggled to maintain friendships, it makes you question yourself. It makes you blame and internalise. You are the common denominator in all the difficult experiences you’ve had so it just all be your fault, right? Well, no, none of it was ok and we can’t take the blame for things that others have done to us. And we shouldn’t be required to protect them afterward incase it makes people uncomfortable or triggers their shit too.

I didn’t expect for me talking about this stuff to make me some kind of open house for misogynists to try to knock down a peg or two. I didn’t expect to be standing in my living room hugging my pal and just weeping together while our kids played next door. But for all the difficulties that you experience as your body has emotional flashbacks and for the times you feel so unsafe that you might go mad and for the times that you rant and weep it’s very worth going right through all of it. Those that judge are usually just triggered too. There’s no shame in being human and pushing to be healthier and to defend yourself.

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So to anyone who is struggling or who I’ve inadvertenly triggered through all my ramblings about it all, you get to the other side of it and it feels amazing. I’ve got a place now where I’m healing my body, where I’m so much more aware of the subtle ways people try to gatekeep others and undermine your confidence as you heal your shit. I’m under no illusion that I won’t be triggered often but I’m so much more aware of my body and soul need to be able to let that pass quickly and without taking me down with it.

Women are allowed to be looking for confidence but it makes a lot of people very uncomfortable for lots of different reasons when we actually find it. It feels pretty great to be in that space now and if I can get here then anyone who’s experienced similarly traumatic things to me can, I think you just have to keep consciously looking for ways to build the tools you need.

Over the last few years I’ve chucked myself at all sorts - quiting booze, sea swimming, deep tissue massage, talking therapy, learning about neurodivergence, difficult conversations with other survivors, running, writing, making photos, collage, support pages on instagram, taking time to rest, yoga and the support of good people, I’ve needed combinations of all of these things to help me to process what I’ve experienced, a long with a lot of days lying in the dark. And it’s worth it to make that time for yourself, we shouldn’t be living in a constant state of anxiety because of past scars and wounds.

Another rant for another day but I’ve also got into somatic healing, I’ve become really aware of holding tension and trauma in my hips and I’ll explain all that in another rant soon as it’s amazing and a bit wild. And I don’t think for a second I’m suddenly cured of all trauma, I know there’s no such thing. I know even earlier this year I had a few days were I was deeply traumatised again by someone who sexually assaulted me at work getting in touch and gaslighting me as if nothing ever happened. That came up just at the same time as that strange fellow who was adding me on multiple instagram pages was playing on my mind and they just compounded each other. But it also made me realise, as much as I love live music, I have to listen to my body. While a year ago I was deeply grateful to be losing my shit on the dancefloor at a gig in a foreign city, making a crap attempt to make pals, I hadn’t fully realised that the reason I was so happy to be able to cry in a crowd while the bass was rattling my brains was in part cos I didn’t know anyone in the crowd and so I felt safer. Most gigs I go to there’s at least one guy who I know has been a shit to a friend or I over the last few years and never taken responsibility for it. That’s no exaggeration. So for something that I need and find so beneficial in my life to also be a constant reminder of the reasons why I need cathartic things is a bit of a double edge sword when I’m in the shit with things. Sometimes it’s ok to listen to your body and just not go for the sake of mental peace. So I flip between being adamant I won’t let shitty men rob me of my love of music to having to hide under a duvet and wish I wasn’t missing out. There’s a brilliant piece about misogyny in the music industry in the March issue of The Skinny which I hope every man that works in music will read and take onboard but I suspect will mostly be read by women who can already relate.

I think it’s important to also say that the exhibition feels massively cathartic, for accepting my neurodivergence, for reaching into creative play like I did as a kid and feeding my battered brains the good chemicals. But also just for showing all the past versions of myself that we got here, that leaning into creativity is ok. In whatever form makes sense it is something that we all have innate within us and just have to make time for. NOW LOVE. Make time for it. Write, sing, dance, bake, knit, collage, paint, whatever it is, do it. Our society kind of wants us all just on the verge but not quite at burn out, hating our bodies, our ageing and the rest, having to work and monetise all our time, stuck in patterns of spending on whatever type of coping we’re most drawn to. It feels like the ultimate rebellion to just play and to use that towards healing.

More rants soon on lighter feelings but in the meantime, I’m raising money for the Edinburgh Rape Crisis centre on instagram again (please donate if you are able to). I’m listening to the audio book of Unmasked, by Ellie Middleton, which is a very concise and generous book all about being a late diagnosed autistic ADHDer. It covers all the traits that assessment looks for and how they might present differently in women and marginalised people to the typical 8 year old white boy that all the diagnostics are still based on. It talks about masking, ableism, pretty privilege and how late diagnosis can affect mental health. It’s an amazing book and I’d recommend it to everyone.

THANK YOU. I’m honestly so grateful to the folks who’ve had my back over the last year or so while all of this big feeling stuff has surfaced. It’s felt really wild to so consciously have to face things but I’d urge anyone who’s struggling quietly with something to find whatever it is that can help you the way the big list of stuff above has helped me.

NO SCAR IS DEEP ENOUGH TO STOP US, IMPERFECT AS WE ARE
xx

hospital; a rant about poland syndrome

This was the time I was nervous about an operation until a rainbow chummed me…

Edinburgh Marine Gardens and Zoological Park was a sprawling amusement park, the first of its kind in Scotland, which contained a domed music hall (The Empress Ballroom), bandstand, rollercoaster, ice rink, billiard hall and outdoor cinema and theatre plus a small zoo with lion cubs. It lived along the shoreline from Kings Road in Portobello to where the Seafield Cat & Dog Home is now. It opened in 1909 and 3 quarters of a million people visited in its first year. Portobello had a train station at the time, along with trams and was a popular return holiday destination for families.

The amusements had a 3 tier rail ride, joy wheel, mountain slide, maze and river caves. The Ballroom and band court held daily all-star variety shows by the vaudeville and music hall groups singing, dancing, magic and comedy. It also featured a very Victorian and deeply racist Somali Village, where you could come and stare at families who were brought from Somaliland to carry out their day on display. At the time ‘human zoos’ or ‘ethnological exhibitions’ were tauted as educational entertainment but in reality they were a colonialist dehumanisation spectacle similar to the circus freakshows, popularised by the hugely famous Barnum circus, that toured western countries. A freakshow would exhibit ‘freaks of nature’ - those with biological rarities, heavily tattooed or pierced folks, along with those performing shocking and dangerous acts like fire breathers and sword swallowers

The park closed at the beginning of the first world war, all demolished except for the music hall which was commandeered as temporary accomodation for troops.

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My kid’s dad and I got keys to a 1930s bungalow which looked out over the car sales spots that now live on that stretch above the prom, that had once been home to the music hall and seaside vaudeville, on the day that our son was born. An old boy called Eric had lived there with his family since the house was built. There were photos of them all in the garden and their daughter had come to hand over the keys, she got all emotional thinking about growing up in the house, happy a new family had bought the place. I spent the first 2 or 3 months of being a new mum trying to project manage a bit of a renovation, with new plumbing, plastering, pals helping to paint rooms, new flooring and all sorts. We split when our boy was 2 and me and him finally moved out and into our flat in Portobello when he was 3.

Those first few weeks of being a new mum were stressful and weird. My entire body was different, my hormones fighting to do things parts of me weren’t able to do. I’d had a necessary elective c-section, something everyone seemed to think was their business. I had to have it because of previous surgeries (another tale for another day, all about how we store trauma in our gut). I’d been kept in hospital an extra day and my bladder and brain had fallen out when I was numb from the tits down. I was eventually sent home to my folks place with a catheter to drag around for a few days. I also was given an industrial breast pump as my milk hadn’t really come in. And finally she gets to the point of the tale. I have a condition called Poland syndrome. You wouldn’t know to look at me now but for the whole of my teens and for the first few years of being a parent it was painfully obvious to me. I didn’t get a name for it until 2019 (my kid was already 6 by then) when I had to get the first of my annual mammograms after my mum had breast cancer, which runs in the family.

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Poland Syndrome is a rare congenital birth defect. In boys and men it usually presents as missing chest wall muscle, a concave lopsided chest, sometimes a shorter arm, leg, hand. It can be different in different folks. In girls and women it sometimes, like for me, only becomes apparent when you hit puberty and suddenly your breast tissue only grows on one side.

Both sides of my family are short big boobed women. So the difference was very apparent. Nowadays I think girls are offered ‘corrective’ surgery as soon as the issue is made known with follow up surgeries if required but when I was a teen they made you wait until they thought your boobs were fully grown before you could get NHS treatment. And I know it’s not something that is universally available at all, it’s a postcode lottery in the UK and in other countries an incredibly expensive surgery or not an option without travel.

Spending the entirity of my teenage years with one massive boob and a tiny one on the other side had a huge psychological impact on me. I felt like a freakshow. A vaudeville side-show. It affected my posture, the clothes I wore, the activities I tried to avoid at school, I would skive off PE and any sports as often as possible so I didn’t have to change in front of anyone or take off baggy jumpers and cardigans. I would stuff extra padding into the left side of a wonderbra, which come with removable pads to sit under your boob to maximise their pertness. But I used one a size that just made my chest as even as possible and I wore other layers on underwear on top to try to hide under them. I avoided boys for a long time. I was/am awkward as fuck anyways!

“I’ve had a bunch of operations on my poor tits and ass for Poland Syndrome and Crohn’s Disease. There was this one time that I was about to pass out, high as fuck from pre-meds and my anaesthetic and I said, in a kinda posh English old lady voice, “I’m used to a whole different type of theatre, darling.” And I passed out hearing them all laughing.”

— instagram.com/solornothing

I finally got surgery when I was 19. I struggled through a couple of relationships feeling incredibly self conscious and with extremely low self esteem. I look at photos of myself back then and I was a beautiful wee mad thing but I really did not feel it at all in any way. I reached for many unhealthy coping strategies and now realising my neurodivergence all these years later, a lot of the more impulsive damaging behaviours have context.

I think I spent most of my teens and the years after surgery when I still numbed out that low esteem and getting into horrible damaging relationships with men in a state of passive suicidality. I really did not care for myself anywhere as much as a healthy confident human should and I got myself into a lot of toxic and dangerous situations. I’m no victim, I lived through them all despite the state of my mental health and lack of self care. But the lack of information about what the condition was just made me feel like a total freak and subconsciously I continued to punish myself for that. The surgeon I spoke to as a teen hadn’t given me much information at all about what the condition might be, that I wasn’t the only person in the world to have it or any mental health support to deal with the self hatred that lack of knowledge brought with it. And of course this was all before smartphones and instant access to all the information so I had no way of researching and finding out for myself until all those years later when a doctor at the breast screening clinic just said ‘Poland Syndrome’ in passing while checking on some mammogram images.

In the hospital for ‘corrective’ surgery I felt vain, selfish and guilty as I was in a ward with women who were getting breast surgery for cancers. I felt like I was there for ‘cosmetic’ surgery. At the time it was still the fashion with the women the tabloids brutalised and objectified to have big fake boobs. All the magazines we read as teenagers laid into these women as fake bimbos, as dumb shaggers. There was such a pervasive idea that women with cosmetic surgery were second class citizens, zero respect offered but miles of objectification and judgement as the male gaze and misogyny rule. We built up women like that only to treat them like they were lacking in intelligence and only capable of being sex objects. Lad culture reigned and with it big boobs meant you were a thick slapper. Feminist pals would talk of cosmetic surgery as falling for patriarchal demand and not as having ownership of your autonomy. Even after having the surgery and now having 2 big boobs I felt that I had to hide under clothes. I regularly saw people talk to my chest instead of my face and it horrified me.

After the surgery in my teens I was pretty self destructive for a number of reasons but I didn’t have the condition on my mind 24/7 any more. I felt a lot less self conscious for a long time although I still usually covered up and often lacked the confidence to dress the way I really wanted to to express myself. I think there was a brief time going out of a Saturday night when I’d dress up and feel good but I was surrounded by peacocks I thought were creative and interesting people but really they weren’t and they took advantage of me in many ways which is a whole different story which I’m also sharing on here soon (for anyone who’s been reading these for a while you’ll know I’m talking about my abusive predatory serial rapist ex and his pals and anyone else, trigger warning). The condition faded from my thoughts for a good long while, only reignited again when someone spoke to my chest or made some comment about my body or plastic surgery. It only really came back as an issue in pregnancy.

As a pregnant woman I received 12 pieces of literature in different forms all about how breastfeeding is best. Not a single one of them makes any mention of the fact that some bodies will not produce enough milk to sustain a baby, not one mentions that elective sections and not going into labour might affect things, not one makes any mention of how to protect your mental health as a pin cushioned exhausted sleep deprived new mum if you just cannot breast feed. Not a single one.

None of the midwives I saw shared any knowledge at all about irregular breasts or the possibility of being unable to breastfeed either. I spent the first 8 weeks as a mum, with those stitches permanently attached to an industrial sized hospital breast pump, or if on site at the new place speaking to the plumber, plasterer, flooring guys I had a portable pump with me. It was constant. My son also hadn’t really latched on. My boobs never got rock hard and full of milk like so many new mums moan about. I’d spend hours pumping and only get 10ml of milk. I felt like a failure as my body hadn’t been able to naturally give birth and wasn’t capable of sustaining my baby. I was absolutely shattered and felt like I had very little support. My mental health was in the toilet for a lot of the time despite being one of the lucky ones that bonded straight away with my baby.

Attempting to breastfeed and I guess the changes in hormones from pregancy meant that once again my boobs were completely different sizes. The right had grown and dropped and the difference was probably greater than it had been in my teens. I again just hid away, wore baggy stuff, didn’t let anyone see me naked.

This lasted a few years until a therapist I was seeing suggested maybe visiting the GP about it again after I told her the whole story. And so the week before lockdown I had a breast reduction operation.

In January 2021 I made a self portrait, kinda of my boobs being reborn through my velvet curtains, as a wee lighthearted way of dealing with my experiences. I also just pushed myself to write about it and I shared it on instagram. I’ve since archived all my posts to start again and to be able to share this space and my exhibition in a more concise way for my scattered brains. But I wrote a lot of what I’ve said here. I think it might be the boldest thing I’ve ever done for myself. I found it to be so healing. I’m so glad I just laid it out and shared experiences online when I first made that image as it opened up so much for me.

I had zero idea so many folks with first hand experience, either with the condition themselves, parents of children with it or charitable organisations looking to empower those with it and to spread knowledge of it would get in touch. I also find lots of the folks I work with through my wedding photography are health care workers and for them to read it and hopefully talk to colleagues about it feels very important.

Let’s skip past the whole pandemic situation for now and just say that the last year or so, as I’ve unravelled so much of myself through accepting my neurodivergent brains and letting all sorts of past trauma surface I’ve been making naked self portraiture to really regain my autonomy from all the traumatic experiences. I’ve been swimming topless in the murky sea at Portobello. Reclaiming the waters from the Victorian freak shows and dancing on the sand in honour of all the vaudevillians of the past. I’d fucking start a topless darts team if I could aim better.

Creative play has saved my life. I’d urge everyone to make time for it in whatever capacity they like. Creativity is innate in all of us, society just slowly tries to educate it away. A free, solo expansive never ending source of healing, growth and adventure and we often overlook it or leave it on a long list of some other day.

Here’s a link to the first of many black ans white self portraits made at home, developed and printed in a darkroom cupboard in my flat. There are more recent ones in the exhibition too.

NOW LOVE exhibition runs at Agitate Gallery on William Street in the West End of Edinburgh until 8 March, the gallery is open Tue-Sun 12-6

Thanks for reading, tell anyone and everyone you know who ever works with women’s boobs in any capacity!

x

Start Here

I’m really grateful to everyone who engages with my writing. It’s something I loved to do as a teen and only rediscovered a couple of years ago. It still feels like quite a vulnerable thing to share words which come from lived experience, feelings and hopes. I’ve found that every time I face a big challenging experience or share something I’ve kept to myself, that any difficulties around it fade and are replaced by empathy and community. So thank you and please keep the dialogue open.

We’re all here on this rock in ever expanding space and none of us really know what we’re doing. There’s nothing shameful in life being a double edged sword, we can write and if it touches someone or it helps them to feel less alone then what a gift we’ve found in amongst the chaos.

In this space I want to challenge myself to dig deeper with all my life experiences, to figure out who I am and take responsibility for my bullshit, to be the truest version of me. I’ve nearly died a few times literally and I’ve died a bunch figuratively. I’ve experienced abusive relationships, complex’s ptsd, neurodivergence, Crohn’s disease, Poland syndrome, single parenthood, crippling self doubt, moments of bliss and a lot of after parties (ha).

I’ve moved some old rants over to here too, feeling very protective of all the things I’m learning and the coven of legends they bring with them.

THANK YOU for reading, also comments should be on so don’t be shy. Everything on here has the original publish date so if you’d like to really begin from the beginning of when I started to blog just scroll all the way back.

x

Why all this music?

Another month, eh…

Hope everyone is doing well? It’s pretty wild out there.

Thanks to the folks who came to say hi at Good Vibes this weekend, was nice to meet you, hope maybe some of us can work together next year.

Thanks to Rowanjoy for having me.

I’ve been busy in the studio working on self portraits and bringing some of my photos off of screens and into reality with Art Director Wizard, Hannah Taylor…pray to the print and post office gods that I get them back in time for:

Out of the Blue Drill Hall Open Studios

Sundays 3 & 10 December

11-4

You’ll find me making a wee guest appearance with pals Lost Map Records in their studio, G49.

There’s an art market on out in the main space and also lots of neighbours work to have a nosy at. My studio is in a weird part of the building and I’d have had to get some door staff to bring folks up and down, in which case might as well just hire in a PA and build a bar…or sneak into a pal’s space and make a mess there instead.

I’ll have some images of gigs/events I’ve shot for Lost Map over the last few years, along with a few performer portraits I made on Eigg last year at Howlin Fling. But I’ll also have a few prints to sell, maybe the stuff Hannah’s been putting together (definitely by the 10th).

Would be great to see you if you are free so fire along and say hi, bag some prints, records and merch…

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I’d also love it if you joined the gang at LOST & FOUND.

It’s a private space on here where I write a bit. Mostly so far it’s been about a bunch of heavy stuff over the last year but I’m so bored of talking about that stuff and of trying to process traumatic things. It’s all a bit too woe is me. I’ve not written on there for a while as it’s all been a bit intense.

I was in the bath earlier thinking, why do I waste my time sometimes getting all maudlin about past lives I know I don’t miss. I don’t want to be cynical and hold all this tension in my body so maybes it’s all resurfacing just cos my body and brains know it’s time to alchemise them all…So I’ve started writing some short stories to add into the mix. Might be based on life experiences or mythology, who knows. Sue me.

I’ve promised some folks to write a bit more about my experiences of things like Poland Syndrome and kicking the booze so I’ll still rant on about that too I guess but I want to lean in to the tasty stuff. Also maybes get to share some stories from the old days about all the characters I’ve met and their weird and wonderful ways…Come along with me, no salacious scandals just some cathartic larking about and sharing tales to get to know each other better?

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This last month has mostly been getting involved in my kid’s obsession with the beautiful game, visiting my lovely pals in Hamburg and avoiding them turning me into a cat lady, staring at art as always and having a wild old time on a lantern parade with a bunch of little kids.

Visiting church in Hamburg on a Saturday evening is a surreal experience which I didn’t know I needed and highly recommend. A woman was riding a hobby horse, pretending to be a male saint, while the weans sang some hymns about this saint fella hiding out in a goose shed. Praise be. After their lantern parade we had a wee band with a light up xylophone and marching drums play some tunes for us while everyone drank tea and ate goose shaped biscuits. Sonder. Perfect entertainment for space cadets who don’t speak German.

There’s also a lush exhibition on about Otto Dix’s shared influences. I fell in love with a black and white surreal film by Julian Rosefeldt, called Deep Gold. It’s a short made in 2014. Set in 1920s, it explores sexual morals, gender roles and the similarities in politics then and now, all set in a tiny Berlin nightclub. It’s like a shot too many of absinthe.

Oh and I also fell in love with poet Gregory Orr. I’ve been a fan of his work for a while, short and succinct lyrical gems. I watched him tell the story of his life (he killed his brother in a hunting accident as a wee kid, was tortured for demonstrating against war and all sorts) and how his art saved it and he’s just a very cool old boy. You can read a bit about his history here. He’s developed this whole world for his work in which he says there’s a book that contains all the poems and lyrics ever written, he calls it the beloved, and it’s a library where everyone has access to the magic of all art and words.

““I believe in poetry as a way of surviving the emotional chaos, spiritual confusions, and traumatic events that come with being alive.””

— Gregory Orr

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I’ll be adding some prints to an online store on here over winter too. I’m also really bored of instagram and avoid all the other social platforms entirely so come join the regular old mailing list and I’ll remind you when I’ve word vommed on here again or when I’ve succumbed to the pressures of capitalism and done some offer on prints or when I’ve found my baws and sorted an exhibition or whatever…?

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PORTRAIT TIME??

I’ve carved out some time before the wedding work in 2024 so I’ll be in the studio being a weirdo but I’ll also have a little time for portrait sessions so hit me if you’d like to come along and make some images together.

SAY CHEESE

Speak soon xx

Took a Mini-retirement/Spiritual Retreat…

Hey folks

Just realised it’s been another month since I wrote on here. Time flies

I shot my last wedding job of the year at the weekend, a wee beauty at one of my favourite spots, Netherbyres House in Eyemouth. So there’s no excuse for me not to catch up on some of the personal work I keep threatening to make. I’ve been busy getting stuck in about lots of research and ideas...

I’ve been on a mini-retirement in the big smokes. Kinda, I did end up shooting some soundcheck and gig shots and a couple of portraits for a band my pal’s label are looking after. But mosty I danced at an old school indie disco till 4am, went for a couple of runs and filled up on my favourite things. Dear pals fed me delicious food, which is a treat cos I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me that wasn’t catering at work or the chippy. I also cut about a bunch of exhibitions at Tate Modern, Tate Britain, The Barbican and The Royal Academy of Arts.

I loved Re/Sisters at The Barbican, a very beautiful exhibition about some really depressing things. The exhibition explores environmental and gender justice as indivisible parts of a global struggle. It starkly shows in many ways how the patriarchy and capitalism are murdering our increasingly precarious ecosystem. Mostly photography and film, the work explores how women’s understanding of our environment has often resisted capitalism through various forms of protest.

Also loved A World in Common: Contemporary African Photography at Tate Modern. Khadija SayeI, who died in Grenfell, made the most beautiful wet plate collodion tintype self portraits using symbolic items to represent traditional Gambian spiritual practices, exploring the ideas of surrendering to a higher power for solace, of human soul and of virtue. They’re very delicate and powerful.

I also had my usual wee daunder around their collection mostly to stare at the Yves Klein blue and surrealist stuff. They’ve changed it up a bit since I was last there so good to take in some new beauty.

We also visited the Sarah Lucas exhibition at Tate Britain. There were several of her works in the Michael Clark exhibition a while back at the Dundee V&A which I felt showed off her work better. This felt like it was just loads of boob chairs. I reckon it must have been fun sitting in some cold studio in the 90s hot glue gunning fags to toilet plungers from the pound store and proclaiming they’d be at the Tate one day. Was good to see her massive tabloid pieces and wanking chairs in the flesh though. And we had a laugh at how the boob chairs have gone from being made out of cheap tights like characters try to sell you in the pub next to the Barrowland to being cast in Bronze (probs for Elton).

And I’ve always loved Marina Abramovic, particularly her performance work with Ulay. So I had stiff nips at Royal Academy wandering through the huge screens of them and thinking she’s hard as fuck for the endurances she’s put herself through physically and mentally.

The piece, Rhythm 0, is brutal. She laid out 72 objects representing pleasure and pain, from a gun to feathers, for the audience to use on her as they wished over a 6 hour performance. The photos of the audience slowly becoming more and more violent - they wrote on her skin, stripped her clothing, held a loaded gun to her neck…at the end of the 6 hours as she began to move the audience all left in a hurry.

“The experience I drew from this work was that in your own performances you can go very far, but if you leave decisions to the public, you can be killed”

— Marina Abramovic

Marina and Ulay also famously walked from opposite ends of the Great Wall of China as a performance piece that was meant to end with them marrying in the middle. Instead their relationship fell apart in the years it took to arrange, as China wasn’t open to foreigners at the time, so they did it to say goodbye to each other and didn’t speak again for 20 years. They walked 2500 km each. From the walk there were rubbings of stones and cystrals from the path, which then inspired the next period of work Marina made which focussed on the healing power of crystals and creating transitory objects. I hadn’t seen any of that type of her work before, mostly just video of performance pieces and some stills.

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Not to self aggrandise but to segue into enjoying when the universe is having a right fucking laugh, it was wild to then receive a message right after seeing all of these, from a friend to say her abusive ex had once again contacted her. The police had already spoken to this guy about relentless stalking and harassment for months, but he sent her another message anyways. This time he was laying in to me for posting self portraits on the internet and hating me for basically existing. I spoke to this guy once ever, a year ago at a gig. I’d blocked several of his instagram accounts after I found out he was harassing my pal and he sent me a creepy message saying he was ‘a sensitive soul’ Aye, nice. He’s in court soon so I can’t show you just now but some of the tirade deserves it’s own t-shirt. Synchronicities and burn the witches vibes all over the gaff.

I feel like a lot of the weight of what’s happening across the world boils down to the systems we live under promoting and rewarding narcissism and entitlement, mostly in white men. Most of the art I saw came with the same messages - that there is hope for other ways of life but the patriarchy and capitalism are killing us and our planet, that peaceful protest can make a difference, that we need to build on community and spirituality which respects that we are of the earth over control, destruction and extraction for profit and political individualism. Right up my street stuff. On the train home I listened to The Other Side: A Journey Into Women, Art and the Spirit World by Jennifer Higgie, which I recommend too.

All feels like it’s leading nicely to Samhain or Noz an Anaon as my Breton ancestors would call it, when the veil between the two worlds is thinnest. A time to guard ourselves from harm and to show our respects to and learn from the dead, to celebrate the passing from harvest to winter. Light a fire and candles, let go of all the things that no longer serve us and vocalise hope for the coming year. Place gifts at the altar and let go of those who wish for us to sacrifice our true selves to feed their anger and hate.

Maybe that all reads a bit serious but then the world is burning to fuck so what you gonna do? I had a great mini retirement. There was red velvet everywhere but that’s another story. I’ve got another one coming soon.

** these are all phone snaps so don’t judge me.

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I should probably also talk about some upcoming work, eh?

I’ll be joining Rowanjoy at her sample sale in Good Vibes, Leith on Saturday 25 November. Hit her up for a spot. I’ll have the last bits and bobs from our old Elopement Society online store, which is mostly candles and candlestick holders (ideal for wedding day decor or as xmas gifts). And you can ask me anything about my wedding and elopement photography work, local elopement design too.

And I might be joining my neighbours at The Drill Hall for a studio open day (but I’m in a tricky part of the building so we’ll see). Either way, I’m hoping to get my act together to have a series of prints for sale over the website soon. More about that once I’ve finished my last couple of wedding edits and got the cameras out again…

In the meantime, peace and love

x

Cheers for Now

Here’s to fresh starts and new beginnings.

THANK YOU to everyone who made and came along to the resident artists’ exhibition at Out of the Blue Drill Hall. Cheers now for the dairy box too. Delicious.

It felt really good, despite being a last minute chaotic scramble to pull something together at the same time as moving studios and busy work and all the usual. I was a bit shy about putting them out there, they feel like wee bites from a feast I want to cook. It’s been sweet to hear positive things and to have conversations about how others have interpreted things too. 

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I’ve been purposefully erratic on some of my corners of the internet of late. I’ve been smoking out the unwelcome. Can confirm they lurk like stale farts pretty much everywhere. I’ve been speaking to the platforms about safety and basically they don’t give a fuck. You can’t really block them and they’ll just make a new account if you could.

So the only thing you can really do is just be more yourself and shout more for and to the people you want to communicate with. You have to learn to just ignore the fact you are also being hunted for sport by multiple predatory folk. It sounds insane to even type it but the police have confirmed to me that I am not crazy. And I don’t relish speaking to the police. Enough about all that for now. I think it’s been a necessary and annoying part of the process of letting all of those triggers for feeling unsafe go.

I’m changing up the password for folks who read Lost and Found soon and I’ll write about how recent news and experiences have helped me to find some confidence. I’m just needing some space from all of that for a bit.

Lost and Found is a private blog where I gripe and grumble a lot but usually it ends up positive and hopeful cos, well, I’m fucked if doesn’t.

It’s been lovely to realise I’m not paranoid, (not massively) delusional, I’m not a burden, I’m not even that chaotic. I’ve just been an easy target for a lot of other people’s anger and difficult feelings and I’ve internalised a lot of it. I’ve shamed myself for the ways my body reacts now to try to make sure I’m safe. The things that people who’ve been in abusive relationships internalise and can hold on to is wild. It does create depression, anxiety, symptoms of complex post traumatic disorder but you have to learn to manage those things as best you can. Learning to stay present is a huge thing for me. I’m prone to dissociating and brain fog and all that stuff. Iyengar yoga, running, swimming in the cold sea, dancing, it’s all helping to bring me back to the present when things get a bit fuckin much, which it’s been doing a lot lately, if you read the news.

I’ve been talking a lot with friends who’ve gone through similar experiences and we all have taken a long time to unfurl the projections we’ve been convinced are ours to carry. It’s the most amazing thing to hear these pals recognise their worth finally. Very proud to know some beautiful souls who, despite true violence and untold amounts of bullshit, refuse to give in to bitterness and they just carry on being kind humble legends.

“I can accept your faulty perception of me.”

Always coming back to that powerful phrase and keeping the faith. I refuse to let any of it make me bitter either. I’m a lover not a fighter and all that.

So I’ve been gathering all this intel, these experiences and feelings to make some work this coming winter. Too many ideas, as always. But looking forward to being able to create positive things from shitty places. It’s a superpower using our creativity. I found the dafter stuff I put together for the exhibition, like my unfinished concertina book that won’t stay folded and my wee flipbook that fell apart more times than it worked, put a soppy grin on my face and that’s a nice place to be. The Drill Hall is a lush space to work from. You’ve got your own wee private space to hyperfocus and get through your workload and there’s always a friendly face in the cafe for a chat too. It’s been really good to meet new neighbours (and some pals who have spaces here), along with some folks I know who have classes in the space and friends who’ve popped by. I feel like I’m in the right place to expand and grow and be the wee weirdo I am. 

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Getting stuck in about finally sharing some of the summer’s work and I’ve uploaded galleries for a couple of events with the lush wee team at Aetla. I’ve more to share soon too. There’s also a couple of brand commissions and I can’t remember if I mentioned on here that there’s also a gallery of promotional headshots from a shoot with social activist and author, Emily Kenway so I’ll just say it again. Some links on the buttons below to most of the new stuff.

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Love is real.

Trust your gut.

I still believe in people.

The world is burning but it’s full of magic.

We’ll always get there in the end.

Cheers for now.

xx

cherish me or leave me alone in my wee magic world, thanks

How’s tricks?

I’m on my third round of midgy bite welts of the summer, genuinely feel like I’ve lived a solid 5 lives since Spring.

I’ve not blogged any of the many photo jobs I promised to blog yet…

I’ve been working, galavanting and frolicking this last month. And no, I haven’t seen Barbie or Oppenheimer. I don’t want to sit in a dark room for hours in the summer when it’s the only time of year we have like a 15% chance of blue skies outside for about 10% of the day…unless someone I like is gently fingering me and whispering delicious things in my ear, which have nothing to do with either of those films, in which case I’d think about it, depending on the weather forecast. Quite the opening gambit. The link is to Hollie McNish reading her poem about fingering to Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You which, as a music snob, I am very conflicted by every time I read it/see her perform it, which I did the other day because August has got off to a busy start. I’ve also been dancing and working with lovely folks. I’m a wee bit overtired.

I’ve also been offered a new studio in Leith. So I’ll be back by the walk from early September.

This week’s my kid’s 10th birthday too, always blows my mind how time travels through being a parent. And inevitably I spend the few days before looking back. I’m so fucking glad I got the hell away from his dad. I know it’s not always the best for every family in the shit to split, it takes time to figure out what you should do when it feels like the end. It was the healthiest move I ever made. The person he was when I knew him was not a good person to be around. I think there’s 2 types of father, the kind that’d do anything for their kids, even potentially put themselves in the shit and there’s ones who’ll rip off their kid’s mum and be an asshole in front of them. I know which kind of person I’d rather be around. But you have to forgive yourself for the things you used to tolerate. And I don’t mind being the scapegoat. Things are really good in my life, I’m learning when to hold em and when to fold em, ya know.

Like most parents do, I reckon my kid is really beautiful. He’s way more emotionally intelligent and self assured than I was at his age but still a wee guy, slowly reaching for some independence. I’m so proud of him. It feels weird that he’s growing towards those strange teen years but I can’t wait to see who he becomes as I’m pretty sure he’ll keep being a legend. I don’t really like to share photos of him online but here’s a couple of old ones.

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I took my boy of a 4 night holiday to Barcelona since I last delighted you with my mediocre lexicon.

The hotel has this huge round pool, it was mad hot (or as the sleazy waiter put it, ‘it’s hot out here today…looks me up and down… and also there is the sun. wow) so we didn’t do much except some crazy golfing and cheating at Uno. But that pool, just floating around, looking up at the blue sky and palm trees, being so thankful for a minute away from everything, feeling like Tony Montana in his massive bath. Good nourishment.

Then I got the flu off some filthy animal on the plane home and ended up sick in bed for just as long but swings and roundabouts yeah.

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I had a very rare negative experience at work lately. I don’t want to dwell on it but I have been on tangents around what is and isn’t ok. It got me thinking all about different types of communication, how we show love, love languages and how some take advantage of others. Some people have a habit of appearing from nowhere when they are in crisis but rarely treat you as a friend in good times. I’m not very good at creating boundaries for myself around that type of thing but the more I write and share online and become aware of all of these things, the more I’ve realised how many times that’s happened to me. I’m done with always feeling like there’s drama at my feet that’s fuck all to do with me. If you don’t include me in the light, I can’t help you with your dark.

And while I’m at it, when it comes to relationships, just naaaah to disinterested men. Expecting to be chased like a delicate little prince just makes me think of those funny wee shoes and knee high socks on posh boys in massive old paintings and then do a wee bit of a vomit in my mouth. Effort, communication, reassurance is sexy and breadcrumbs can fuck off. There’s nothing sexier than a man who does everything he can to make sure you 100% know he wants you (and I’m not talking about those love bombing sociopaths, but steady, slow, consistent, delicious patter). Men that value connection get it and they recognise that women are loyal and grateful creatures when we’re treated right.

Grumble grumble, eh?!…All of that from a night at work. Wild.

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“Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.”

— Sylvia Plath

I’ve been appreciating the folks who show they value me, who create little gifts, who share stories and experiences, who offer acts of service, who try to figure out what I’m all about, who don’t judge…I’ve had times when I think things have been lost in translation, where I’ve felt I let people down cos I’ve not been fully aware of the conversations we were having. Probably happens more for us creepy types who get a bit creative with communication then forget to actually just talk. I don’t want to go back to that horrific feeling of letting someone down through miscommunication so that’s a huge part of why I write all of this. I needed to push myself into being a better communicator, to understand myself better and to be able to love others better.

The more I read about neurodivergence, about rejection sensitivity and about dissociating the more I forgive myself for past situations and feel better placed for future ones. I’ve always been fascinated by human psychology but probably never really been that aware of my own neurodivergence. I always just kind of internalised things as personal failings. I think ND folks are consistently told we’re doing things wrong and how we feel is too much and that we take things too personally. Space cadet. Lazy. Rocket. Weirdo. Whatever…Many of us need to give ourselves a break and also maybe be more patient with folks sometimes. But then there’s a big difference between letting people walk all over us and finding where we put our boundaries around communication. I realise sometimes we’re all crap at communicating, sometimes we’re just fully in the shit and need time to figure out what we want, who we want to grow to be, what that entails. I’ve got a new quest for myself, I reach out once or twice and if I get nothing back I let it go. So any pals who haven’t seen me in ages reading this and realising, yeah, it’s cos you never got back in touch to make plans to rant/dance/rob billionaires on space stations and it’s your turn. We all know now so you better make an adventure that’s worth the wait, yeah.

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Right, so schools go back next week and I move into the studio soon. It’ll be good to not be sat in the corner of my bedroom staring at photos of folks kissing like some creepy wee boy. I’ll get to posting all the new summer work and Autumn is quieter with bookings so I’m here for portraits, editorials, brand shoots and collaborations. I’m shooting an event this week with a jeweller who’s work I love, it’s full of mysticism and surrealism. I’ve got some wedding editing and gigs coming up, elopements to help plan and the usual juggle but it all feels a bit less frantic and more manageable. I feel like I’m in a way better place still, feeling calm and happy, letting things flow, excited for what the rest of the year is bringing.

I feel like I'd like to throw all my clothes out the window, whitewash my flat from floor to ceiling, shave all my hair off and start again from the very beginning x

Ok, so NOW I’M HAVING FUN.

Heyyy

I thought for folks who follow my ramblings I should write a little update on how I’m doing after all the big things that have kicked off and surfaced the last wee while.

I’ve had a huge shift in my thinking, flipped a switch somewhere and it all feels really good. I think I’ve come out of the other side of healing a lot of horrible things and I feel really calm, my confidence is coming back and I feel at home with myself. For anyone who can relate to my darker experiences, it does all change and it will come good.

July is my busiest work month of the year and also the school holidays so should traditionally mean stressy juggling nightmare but I’m feeling so good right now. I just feel way more myself. I feel things are flowing and I feel myself relax and smile more. There’s still that thing of ‘where’s the catch? When does it come crashing down?’ but I’m managing to ignore it for the most part. Thank you to the legends who have stuck around, listened to my rantings, let me cry it all out, brought me their own truth, which helped me feel human. All the love to the guardian angel who chased away abusive stalkery types with their tail between their legs. What can I say? I’m a sexual powerhouse, they all come back for more or try to hate me to death for cutting them off.

I know, I know, those abusive things aren’t anything to do with sex, they’re about violence and control. But they deeply affect how you view sex and your own desires, your own body. But it feels truly amazing to have gone from feeling completely stressed out, worried about my physical health and so profoundly raging at how my body still reacts to the past that I couldn’t even bare to look at handsome faces, to feeling calm and confident. It’s been very much not fun to go through. I’m proud of myself and I’m very very grateful for you folks.

If you are wondering what I’m talking about, you can join Lost and Found, where I’ve moved all my previous posts to. It’s a space where I’m sharing some writing about things that stick in my mind, that I struggle to process and that make me feel very human. I go full circle with things a lot, I still struggle to listen to my gut and to follow my instinct. Thank you to the pals who keep reminding me that it’s ok to trust myself. I’m writing about how the hardest part of carrying this difficult past experience is how difficult it makes it to believe that good things are real. I’m taking my time to write it but will share it on Lost and Found some time soon-ish.

The things that some of my pals and I have had to endure lately are wild, all the things I’ve spoken of on here are just scratching the surface. I wish we all spoke more openly about abusive behaviours, were taught about consent and boundaries in school, treated everyone with the same respect, didn’t think we had the right to lord over the autonomy of anyone else, for whatever reason.

The whole Jonah Hill thing is very interesting to witness, although it feels like it’s mostly women paying attention or asking if there actually are any resources for men to read about misogyny and all that. Learning about my own entitlement and reading about rejection sensitivity are definitely helping me to move my thinking habits to healthier places.

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I’ve got some processes I want to learn and play with and actual tangible things I want to make and hold in my hands. But I need to get July’s work all done first. There’s more time from August to get stuck into things. Can we go dancing and staring at paintings that you aren’t meant to touch but really want to? I hate to wish away time and especially summer, I want to savour any sun we get on our flesh. But I’m also bursting to get stuck into some creative work and all the ideas are piling up as ever, my constant frustration. Need to work on my constraints. The more of those the better I guess or the ideas just keep coming and coming and then the overwhelm and nothing happens. Making more with less and all that. Also I need to just stop being so impatient with myself, winter will be long enough to do all the things I don’t have time for right now.

I’d hidden loads of old posts on @solornothing to give myself a hard time about not getting stuck into a specific project but being all scattered all over but I added them back the other night and it was wild to read the peaks and troughs over the last couple of years. I probably make more sense now with more context.

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Last weekend was a busy working weekend. Saturday was one of those deeply emotional little weddings that just blow my mind. Wedderlie House in the Borders is a beautiful venue, it’s basically got everything you need for a fancy party and they run a tight ship. The ceremony was held in a little walled rose garden, in full bloom, the weather was wild and the vows were off the charts beautiful to the point that their celebrant and half the guests were also in tears. I lost it and cried 4 times over the day. Some couples just have amazing chemistry and don’t let their shyness dull it down. They promised to always support and challenge each other to pursue their dreams and to make life an adventure together and it was fucking great. I loved it.

It rained during their meal but we sneaked out for a quiet second after it stopped, just hanging out on this tennis court cos the ground was less muddy (the grounds are a total playground of possibilities too). I chucked on a song and put my phone in the groom’s pocket and let them have a second. They were both in tears by halfway through the song and I heard him say, ‘this is your favourite moment, isn’t it?’ and then I lost it. We had a big cry and a group hug. The power of music. One of their lovely guests then told me to remember it’s a good thing to be in tune and to give myself permission to lose it cos it’s all love and joy. Then the swines had the band play Into the Mystic and oooft. Aff the charts dopamine surge, followed by some gentle times in the sun after work on Sunday, just kind of being in awe of some of the things I get to witness and be a small part of. I had to literally roll about in the sand with some tunes on to ground myself, felt like I needed someone to squeeze my soul back into my body. I went for a ‘swim’ with my pal Danni. We sat in the murky minging water which I think was mainly overflow from the heavy rain and some human shit mixed with jellyfish but hey, so long as you don’t drink it you’ll get a wee rush.

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Back to Aetla for another shoot tonight. I’m having a good time working with this little creative team, they’re so so good at what they do. We’ve worked a bunch together lately and I’ve been loving every minute, can’t wait to share some of it soon. Then my kid is back on Saturday. This is the longest he’s ever been away and it’s very quiet around here. The mice are missing his crumbs. And I’ve got about a dozen shoots to add on here, not including any wedding work so I’m chasing my tail as ever. We’re going on an adventure for a few days soon so work can wait for a second.

I’m just glad to feel a lot calmer and happier. I’m feeling intensely grateful for the folks who let me be the toxic wee asshole for a second, who let me rant from one extreme to the other about things and then meet myself somewhere in the middle, who don’t judge me as I work through it all. Most of you are kind of far away and I can’t wait until you are near for some long tight hugs and maybe a few good tears x

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WORK WITH ME

Digital and analogue photography portraiture ->

portrait sessions

Crack yourself wide open like a nut and butter the world with yer alchemy.

How’s it going?

Did everyone go through the good news portal with me on Friday 9 June? Obviously out there is abject misery mostly but I’ve had the fucking best time since I managed to rob those test results and stop fretting.

Last week was really incredible for conversations with amazing folks, very inspirational chat, my brain’s been whirring away with ideas. I really enjoyed working on a brand commission and some portrait sessions. Best of all, I gave myself a proper treat of a road trip. Mostly thanks to an offer from some clients to guinea pig their new holiday home. I spent a few nights away from home and just indulged myself in all the good stuff and some summer cliches. I’m a not nonchalant as fuck wee thing, I feel everything deeply, including all the good stuff when it invariably comes back around. I feel so very lucky. I had a few days were I felt like I wasn’t in a constant state of fight or flight, that I could just be. I’m very much trying to keep it that way.

Anyways, I swam (peed) in 2 seas, a pool and for the first time, in a loch. In the loch, it was just me and a beautiful little blue dragonfly dancing around my face. It was shallow so the water was warm, the colour of a fine malt but very much did not taste like one. Well slidy rocks though, no sultry way in or out of that bad boy. Geologied out ma nut in there till the thunder came.

I spent a whole day in my pants on a remote beach, making cyanotype sun prints, shooting some film, swimming and writing. For me, I struggle to get into a flow with making things, my time is all as scattered as my thoughts and I’m shit with routine even thought I need discipline, so little rituals help a lot. They help me to ground myself, to self regulate when the nasty stuff surfaces from nowhere and to focus. I was having such an idyllic time I had a ‘fucking rob and sell everything that’s not tied down, get a fancy winnebago and fuck off into the sunset’ kind of vibe going. Then I got stuck behind one for like 8 hours on the road home and ugh.

I stayed at a hotel one night last week which was overrun with grumpy old couples sitting eating in silence. It was amazing. You could hear a pin drop in the restaurant. Well, except for this one old boy who was British but speaking in French and only really at the other guy’s wife who I’m 100% sure he was trying to seduce. His wife was livid. The other guy silent. It was delicious to watch. The wife eyed me up and down later on and I just beamed at her. I fucking love that type of people watching. That’s not even the observation. The point being literally all the men in a small town like that will look at you with the hungry eyes as they usually only get to chat to grumpy pensioners.

I’ve been hatching plans to bring some of my personal work together into one tangible thing but I’ve not made it yet so sssh. I love how I only ever figure these things out just in time for busy work time and school holidays. The idea involves learning some new processes. I need to give myself a challenge so it’s all good. I want to take my time with it all but I’m also self aware enough to know that if there isn’t a deadline it could take forever.

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I’ve been doing all the growing (mostly my belly thanks to the depression diet of the last wee while). Here’s my random recent anecdotes/observations:

I went for a run one morning last week in the heat. I’m really not very fit at all, exercise always come last in our busy house. Also I prefer dancing and shagging. But there’s nothing like a cancer scare to get you moving. I always have the tunes on loud to drown out the wheezing. I must have been proper puffing and panting cos some grandad stopped gardening to stand and clap me on. Not really the sign of a passing athlete.

The whole time I’m thinking, ‘fucksake, I can’t do this, I’ll never be any good, I’m not good enough, I can’t’ etc etc and then I get to the Mussel sculpture that folks always seem to say is a clam but hiya, it’s Musselburgh. And the penny drops that I’ve done halfway despite telling myself I can’t. I’m already doing it, despite myself. I’m already doing it. And the rest of the way back I realise I do this about most things in life and now I just need to tell the anxious thoughts to shut up and listen and watch cos I’m already fucking doing it. So that’s my new mantra, every time I feel myself start to ruminate or catastophize. Pipe down hen, you’re already doing it.

As high priestess Ru Paul says, “Don’t let your feelings sabotage your experience in this life. Do not.” I think a lot of the anger I was carrying was cos I’ve been so frustrating feeling like past experience being stuck in my nervous system was the same as self sabotage but it’s not, it’s just my body learnt to protect me, which is amazing. It just takes more time than for some to learn when you are safe. So I’m not going to hide away from anything anymore and I’m not going to blame myself for being human.

Why would you not chase after dreams, like why the fuck would you not? We’re here one time. It’s only small minded people who would ever tell you not to go after something that filled you with joy. I had this amazing conversation with a client who I’m delighted to have worked with a couple of times recently and will again soon. Having been in relationships with men who try to keep you small by undermining your creative voice or self expression or personality or confidence… they’re maybe doing that cos they’re intimated. Perhaps they have to be the creative one as a lot of it is just posturing and not from a genuine place. Those types of men are not open to being collaborative as they come from ego and also they just think women have a place, a supporting role, making the tea, being the good little wife or a dirty hoebag, whatever. When I was younger I mistook narcissistic peacocking for real self expression in some.

I think creative people are generally full of wonder at things and want to see others create and express themselves freely as it’s inspiring and magic to witness. But there are just some truly vapid talentless pricks out there, that you maybe meet as a naive teenager, who have always been cringe but have no idea how funny their attempts at songs are. Music really does heal in very wild ways sometimes. Ask me for the link, it’s like a brutal parody, pure car crash and it’s very very cathartic to genuinely laugh in the face of your rapist.

Also stay the fuck away from people who think speaking your truth is being dramatic or openly sharing struggles is being miserable. Nothing and nobody is perfect and it would be dull if it was. We’re all shit at times but to grow and be kind with ourselves and others has to start with us being honest about the depths of who we are, what we feel, think, want. And we have to push past comfort to really thrive and take responsibility for our actions. But also to talk about difficult stuff in any detail you have to have got to a certain point in healing yourself from the hurts of it all. To be in your joyful times you have to face all the crappy ones. I’ve never appreciated good times more than I do now, I’m living a life I always wanted to build and it can be hard but it’s worth it all.

Crack yourself wide open like a nut and butter the world with yer alchemy.

And for anyone who’s been following my recent chat, I still haven’t officially heard from the doctor. Lost count but sure it’s been 3 whole months. I’m so glad for women who break the rules or I’d still be anxiously waiting to see if I then needed to wait on a scan to then find out if etc etc…that’s a whole other rant about protecting the NHS and not treating public services like assets to strip for cronies’ gains.

Some of the stuff I made on the beach and my travels will no doubt show up on here soon enough, I’ve still to develop the film and all that stuff. This week I’m catching up on edits, trying to schedule some posts about all the work I’ve been doing (swearing at fuckin apps), along with a couple of shoots. In the meantime, a very lucky little beach witch is sending you all some good times x

sometimes you’ve just got to get your hands dirty and get stuck in about doing the work

And to think not that long ago I was banging on about nearly dying choking on toilet roll…

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On Friday I went full scale private detective and just kept calling different folks at the hospital to try to find a number for someone who’d give me my blood test results. It’s been over 2 months and I couldn’t really face the thought of another full weekend with no way to try to chase it up. I’ve got a busy week of work this week and no time to meltdown about it all. The consultant’s secretary’s line is just always an answerphone. Eventually I got another consultant’s secretary who very kindly broke the rules for me and found my results. The marker in my blood has reduced (not quite to the healthy level but low enough to know it’s not cancer). She said it could be another couple of week’s before the consultant writes to me to explain but for now it’s good enough. All the emotions, ooooft. I had to go for a run along the prom and coast path to give the mussel a wee stroke (hey now, it’s a sculpture at musselburgh beach) and back again.

I’m a very self reliant person but the thought of having cancer and all the treatments, how to look after my boy and everything on top of the stuff that’s been going on just felt too much for a while. Could still do with a healthy nap to get over that wild pandemic, to be honest. My energy has been stinking so I’ve been hiding.

I’ve had a lot of days in bed, missed some fun things I wanted to do cos I just needed to lie down in the dark. And of course literally everyone I know, even folks who don’t like music, have been out at gigs while I was lying in the dark. I missed Beyonce, The Boss, Interpol, Le Tigre, Hidden Door, Primavera but I hope you all had a great time and that’s not even sarcastic. I only had Hidden Door tickets so I’m being a bit dramatic but still. It was a wee kick in the ass to figure out ways of getting out of my head and into my body that don’t involve being in a crowd. Hence the attempts to run (my red face, hair and nails clash when I do vigorous exercise and it’s a vibe), getting in the sea again, amongst other things.

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Then there’s the fear of men thing (here we go, she’s on her pure lying on a therapist’s sofa chat). It kind of mutated while I was feeling so down into this deep guttural anger that I’ve never allowed myself to feel before. But then two mad things happened (weirdly, about the consultant I originally saw and rapey Richy) that made the anger boil over and made me laugh my ass off. I got to thinking what if it’s not men I’m afraid of all the time but sometimes it’s my own fucking boundless potential because of how men I’ve known had treated me. (I donno how to add the fingernail emoji but just imagine it’s here, This is the bit where you punch the air, give me a wee clap, holler ‘yaas, bitch’ or whatever). Maybe I get really small, try to hide my weird neurodivergent stuff and hold on to questions and get frustrated with myself. Hmmm…

There’s also all the judgements around women who openly talk about male violence which informs the anger. It feels like a lot of people find it way easier to label us as difficult, mentally ill, covert narcissists, man haters, doormats, a bit stupid, demanding, jealous, fantasists, uncouth for airing dirty laundry etc than to hold the men accountable. Everyone thinks they know your business in a small city, even though we all carry these old versions of each other around that have no baring on who folks are now. Except abusive men don’t seem to evolve at all. Their situations change but not their behaviours. And nobody gives a shit unless it’s them at the end of the abuse. That makes places like here feel so small and suffocating at times. I’ve had strangers DM me to find out on a scale of 1-10 just how abusive an ex was as their friend was dating him. Zero fucks for how that question might affect me. And I bet if I had a partner they’d back off because they all see women as objects to own. Fucking seething again going down this train of thought…like how women just know it’s easier to get rid of unwanted attention by saying you have a boyfriend over just saying fuck off, you creepy prick.

I love men. I’m a tomboy, I’ve always loved time and conversations with groups of men over with groups of women. I prefer solo time with female pals, the conversation is always very different to how it is in groups. But I’ve had too many heartbreaking conversations with women lately. I know there’s some kind of art project brewing about it that will feel cathartic, just need to process the cancer whitey first and then it will surface, no doubt.

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Tanatsei Gambura, ECA degree show

Frankie Egan, ECA degree show

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I had been wondering if me openly unravelling all of this messy human stuff was just harming myself but I think it’s the healthiest and sexiest thing I’ve ever done.

I figure those who agree will stick around and those that don’t leave space and time for others. So long as I hold some gratitude for it all I’m good. I’m coming through the other side of it all but it’s not an exaggeration to say it’s felt like a fuckin dark night of the soul round my gaff lately.

But sometimes you’ve just got to get your hands dirty and get stuck in about doing the work. To really let all that stuff go you have to wade through it and I feel fucking great now. Hopefully it stays that way for a while. I’ve been thinking of lots of juicy transmutations for the anger and becoming so aware of all the things just allows you to process them and grow.

Above: top: Alex Osborn (ECA degree show), Eduardo Paulozzi, Alberta Whittle, bottom: Eileen Agar, Alberta Whittle, Marina Abramovic, Salvador Dali.

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I’m trying to organise my time better to catch up a bit for the time in bed. And when I fail I’ll remind myself that time as we use it is a relative concept invented to make us all work for the man. Going to try scheduling in some work posts on instagram and the like with the app I pay for and never use so I’m not on there wasting time consuming endless ads. This week coming is a busy work week with a couple of portrait sessions, finishing up a brand commission and a road trip north too.

I’ll write a bit more on lost and found soon for the hardcore goths and the folks who find my rambling touches a nerve.

First, my chat about all the glimmers and treats I’ve been finding to be gentle with myself - basically getting high on art, rolling about in sand and on grass, hugging my boy extra tight, taking in the small things and big old rants with pals. I spent the rest of this weekend visiting the degree show, the modern galleries, getting a cheeky discount on camisoles at Herman Brown, ranting with a couple of pals and worshipping the sunrise at the end of my street with just a very early metal detector guy and the birds around. I’m so lucky to be right here and I’m glad I’ve figured out healthy ways to fill myself up when I’m struggling so I don’t feel like getting on the sauce. I still find ways to self medicate but they work better for me than booze ever did. Sitting about drinking is boring as fuck after a while, it always just made the minx in me want to break into stuff and get a bit too lairy as some of you will recall. Not really things that help get anxiety out of your system but I’ve got a load of ways to do that these days. Some of them I need you to come with me though.

x

We Have A Code Red Situation

Right right right, not to be too dramatic but we have a code red situation. It’s even a kind of double difficulty.

This last couple of months has been excruciating. I’ve been waiting to hear about some big life stuff on top of processing all the yadda yadda stuff, learning more about ADHD and rejection sensitivity dysphoria and how much people pleasing has played its part in those dark things that have happened to me.

At the start of April I was recalled to Gynaecology at the hospital. Turns out that shit consultant I moaned about at the time (over a year ago when I was bleeding out after getting the covid vaccines - he told me I must have been reading conspiracy theories on Mumsnet, I mean, know yer audience, pal) hadn’t followed up the fact that there were markers in my blood that could indicate ovarian cancer.

Yup. So when he said he didn’t want to send me for the scan my GP requested because ‘if I send you for that scan then old Doris doesn’t get hers and what if she has cancer.’ I sincerely hope he didn’t scare Doris off from getting that scan. It’s up to a torturous 8 week wait for the blood test result. That’s a very long time. As a single parent you find yourself begging the universe for good news so your kid doesn’t have to go through seeing you get treatment or worse. It feels fucking tough right now. Even just getting your head around the idea that as a freelancer and solo parent, how would you deal with the logistics of treatment and looking after your kid. But I’m trying not to dwell. I’ve been on operating tables before, I’ve nearly died a few times and I’m pretty good at dissociating so I’m sure if it’s shit news I’ll get through it. It’s how you do that for yourself and reassure a wee kid that I’m struggling with when I think about it all potentially being crap news.

And this all kicked off at the same time that I realised I am literally terrified of men, even ones I feel safe around and want to spend time with, I’ll either freeze up with mad anxiety or avoid spending time with them at all right now. Turns out the nasty part of getting through all the shite men stuff is that you start to remember so many specific things that you buried and you have all these difficult conversations with other women so basically nowhere feels safe from these bams. Like fuck can they keep my swagger, though. I just need to take my time to find enough of a sense of safety that the panic dissipates. But that’s also tricky cos apparently rapists like to be in Edinburgh in the summer and you aren’t meant to lynch them.

I’ve always struggled with the feeling like I’m a burden. And here’s what this ramble is really all about. I’m sure other folks who had no idea they were neurodivergent for a long time have gone through the realisation that you aren’t too much or too intense or whatever, you are just fucking neurodivergent. I see myself starting to isolate from folks cos it doesn’t feel like a fair thing to be asking for attention when your mental health is in the toilet and you have this huge thing hanging over you, I appreciate we’ve all got shit to deal with. But that’s usually when you need people the most. Meh. I’ve had days when I’ve been really focussed on making daft art to distract myself, I’ve been pushing forward with work changes that had been in the back of my mind for a while but there’s nothing like a cancer scare to really make you face what is and isn’t working for you. Some days have been really hard going. It just feels like there’s a replacement bus service and it’s taking a really shit route.

So looking for the positives and all that, it’s really made me look at all the things I do with my time. If you’ve ever seen The Twilight Sad live you’ll know James Graham’s onstage patter is incredibly honest and always filled with gratitude. I saw them a few months ago and he spoke about how real success in life is having time for the things and the people that fill you up and that’s why he’s always so vocal about being grateful when they play. And he’s right. I love that I have managed to build a wee life for me and my kid off the back of my creativity. I don’t take that for granted in any way. I know so many incredibly talented people who struggle to make any money out of their art and I feel like a fraud for pulling it off through shooting lots of weddings.

But at the same time, I’ve been working for myself shooting mostly weddings since I was pregnant and my kid will be 10 this summer. To even do an average of a couple of weddings a month over the year you tend to have to shoot a heap of them over summer as it all slows down and there’s way less work in winter. So effectively you are missing all the sunny times and working solidly through the holidays, you are working when everyone else is socialising. Then you are twiddling your thumbs over the bleak months. And as a single person coming to terms with some shady past experiences to spend nearly every weekend (or over the last couple of years some months I was shooting 8 or 9 weddings) in that heightened emotional environment, hearing all these lovely vulnerable things about partnerships and love and to go home alone every night after them for like a decade is not so great for your mental health!

This year I’ve way less wedding work than usual and I’m putting some limits on the number of jobs I take on in the future. I’m still here for them just not in such high doses. And I’m still doing the Elopement Society stuff but I’m also simplifying things there as I’d put myself under financial and time pressure to promote other people’s work. I really need to focus on me and what I want. And that is time with good people, it’s getting into some good trouble, making art and collaborating, dancing at gigs, being on the beach for some summer, making happy memories for my son before he’s a teenager and too busy to hang out with me.

I’m a bit nervous about pulling away the financial safety net a bit but I’m also very excited to see where things go with my photography work. I’ve been doing way more portraiture and some brand commissions lately which I really enjoy, bring me all of those, please. And there’s a something with my personal work coming at some point once I’ve wiped all the shite off the fan.

So yeah, everything has my anxiety off the charts, I don’t want to burden anyone cos I know we all have our shit going on and I also really need people but am exhausted. A great cycle of social terror going round in circles in my head right now. Ppppft, heavy isn’t it? I’m not very good at asking for help but I need adventures, I need hugs, I need music, I need good folks around. And the anxiety stuff all just takes time I guess so bring me all your kindness and patience, please. I’ll keep trying my best to be present. And I think I share all of this stuff cos I don’t see any shame in it, life isn’t all good times but I’m also not a negative person. You have to face the past to get past it or whatever the saying is. Que sera sera and all that. I’ll stop grumbling now but for real, what the actual fuck, eh? I feel like I’m always just on here for a piss and moan but actually I feel lighter from just typing it so maybes it’s ok. I will regain my funny wee guy status one day soon. Law of averages says I’m due some big laughs.

Thank you to the handful of folk I’ve been talking to about this. I wasn’t sure it was something I should share but fuck it, I’m bored of wandering about with my face tripping me. Wish me luck in the rest of the wait cos I could lose it (and if I do, I hope I go for the fur coat and fags on a swan pedalo vibes, I reckon I could pull that off as ‘just a bit eccentric’) x

I’d rather sit close to you

THANK YOU for being here.

So I guess it’s a bit of a heavy opener but the last few months have brought a lot of difficult, violent memories and aggressive experiences to the surface. I’ve been writing a lot and trying to make some sense of it all to let it go.

This is maybe an example - listing the things that have surfaced during hard conversations with other women, writing them down and burning the paper as a physical act of letting them go. I hope there’s something cathartic and some strength in sharing it, maybe helping someone else.

I often think it’s wild how we carry old versions of each other around. I’m sure there are plenty people who met me when I was drinking and struggling who still think I’m that total nightmare. We just see that last version of someone we saw in our heads even as we’re all constantly growing, evolving and that is a surface version of a person most of the time.

And there’s the idea that you can only let go if you forgive. I don’t believe that to be the case. I think that’s victim blaming dressed up. You don’t owe anyone who hurt you anything. You owe yourself the chance to grow, to work past it. You don’t need to take responsibility for their problems, their pain or anything. We’ve all got shit happening all the time, we’ve all got difficult experiences however big or small that influence our behaviours and patterns of thinking. None of that is justification for purposefully harming someone else. You don’t get to hit, rape or gaslight and call it love. When someone does something shitty and they show you behind closed doors or out in the open that they have no remorse for how they hurt you or that they’ve not changed their behaviour in any way despite acting different in front of others, get the fuck away from them. The men who’ve abused me are still trying their hardest to be shits to me. And who the fuck cares.

It takes time for your body to catch up though. I’m not scared of my rapist, he’s a coward but my body is still terrified of being alone with men, for all the above reasons and many more. And it makes sense, it’s trying to protect me. When I shut down, dissociate a little or physically freeze that’s so I can hyper focus mentally, become aware of everything that could be a potential threat. It’s exhausting. I’m a busy wee guy, I want to make time to let that stuff melt away but it takes a hell of a lot of kindness and patience.

I’m so aware that so many other women have had similar experiences, also with multiple men. The men I know who’ve been in abusive relationships haven’t experienced these things time and time again in different forms. Misogyny is rife and it’s the men that quietly benefit from not even thinking about it who we really need to start calling shitty men out. Ask yourself if you feel scared to walk around in the dark on your own? Do you ever hold your keys between your fingers? Have you ever held back on sexual desires or on intimacy because your body is in fight or flight due to past experience? Have you been celibate for a while because of the ways other people have treated you? When you meet someone new do you not only have to be painfully aware of their actions and words but also think about if you’ll be safe around the men they spend time with? Cos women do. Many of us have experienced things like being watched or filmed without our consent. Or assaulted at work in bars and clubs. Or by the pal of a pal at an afterparty…the things that have been done to me aren’t rare in any way.

It’s been very cathartic to be writing about specific examples of violent acts along with some of the more ridiculous moments of coercive control and gaslighting. Isolating them can be quite surreal and pathetic - like I keep thinking about how I spent ages planting wildflower seeds only for my angry ex to storm outside and dig a big hole in the ground right in the middle, which felt like such a childish metaphor for it all - but at the time it’s just difficult. But to remember and let it all go through writing is taking away any residual power.

It’s not sane to email someone you repeatedly raped to give them your review of their writing. And it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that an ex I try to avoid is all of a sudden regularly jogging past our street at school drop off time and it’s not ok for my kid’s dad to keep reminding me that the legal minimum maintenance he provides for our kid is for him and not to somehow fund extravagances for me, after he financially abused us for years.

These are not healthy things. They’re also not mine. They keep appearing in my spaces and I’m not entertaining it. It’s their baggage, not mine. They aren’t welcome in my spaces, I’ll call it out and let it all fucking go. It’s now in Lost and Found. I know that I deserve better. And there are men that aren’t like that.

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I feel like I’ve been writing about this so much while also wishing to just not have think about it anymore but it’s not that straightforward. To let it go you have to acknowledge all it has meant and all the ways it has affected you. I’ve found the last wee while frustrating, I don’t want to be stuck in dark places, I don’t want to blame myself for not realising my how my own brain worked. I’ve been going down endless rabbit holes around things like rejection sensitivity dysphoria but you can’t rush moving past these things when those men keep attempting to reappear.

So I’ll just lean in to the creating of things, lean into the gratitude for the good ones and the hopeful feelings and the genuine support and understanding. I’ve been looking back at lots of old collages, photos and words from an old instagram account that I deleted at the start of lockdown. It felt very tied to grief and I needed to let it go but sometimes it’s good to look back and realise that things really don’t stay the same for too long. It’s also been good to see some of the ideas I was starting to make and how they’ve stuck around and evolved into other things. I’ve been using them to inform some stories and words for you here so will start to share them soon.

Make safe spaces for others to share. I’ll be back again soon with some hopefully more upbeat and entertaining patter but thank you for being around while all of this stuff passes through.

x

LADS, THERE’S BEEN A PERFECT STORM

…well, maybe more of a staring-death-in-the-face epiphany.

No word of a lie, I nearly died choking on a raggy bit of toilet paper I accidentally inhaled while blowing my nose and I was like, well fuck it, you can literally die trying to keep yer nose clean so now I’m going to just do whatever.

Since then I’ve moved out of my very expensive and lonely studio space, sorted closing my wee online store, I’ve had a (pretty much) secret birthday and really enjoyed a migraine, started getting petty and snide whenever anyone who I don’t want around annoys me so nothing crazy but I feel great. Yet to rob a bank but give me time…

“I must change my life so I can live it, not wait for it.”

— Susan Sontag

I get annoyed with myself for all sorts of things, mostly for the way my brain can’t really prioritise so instead I’m constantly aware of every single thing that needs doing to be a functioning adult. It’s noisy in there. I start mumbling about pandering to the machine and wishing I could go and laugh my ass off on some moss. Some of the stuff we need to do just cos we’re alive so it means we owe folks money is wild isn’t it? And while the French are setting fire to everything we’re just sitting about moaning.

In my own wee world I’m doing a consolidation dance cos I had given myself too many plates to spin and it feels really good to start to see the space. From this weekend, I’ve got a rare 6 days in a row kid and paid work free to get some of the ideas that have been bubbling away actually made so I’m looking forward to losing my mind when I can’t get things to work the way I’d like or I break the one bit of kit that brings it all together. Come and distract me so I can blame you for my procrastination (best put in a disclaimer: if you are someone I want to see). Trying not to overcomplicate things, which I tend to do but I have some other ideas I’ll be sharing with folks soon. Speaking of which, I knackered my neck from trying to lift heavy as fuck furniture and ended up with a migraine. The opiates and anti-nausea medication had me in a wee writing frenzy from nowhere, a whole day of frantic typing and then a nap, type and nap. It was a very enjoyable mix of physical pain and emotional joy. Said like a true masochist.

So yeah, I recommend nearly dying choking on toilet roll. I’m now focussed on using magic and sarcasm to steer me towards my dreams. This year has been nuts for me, I’m getting a handle on a lot of things I’ve never really faced up to before and it feels good but there are still stumbling blocks, I still find myself on guard when I don’t want to be or questioning my abilities. I realised I still very much communicate as if I’m a burden to people instead of being direct about what I want and need. Finding my baws and giving them a wee feel all the time.

My birthday was wholesome fun this year (as a vampire I lost interest in birthdays many moons ago), just me and my son, eating fried stuff outside on the beach, visiting our favourite places in East Lothian, being pals with nature, moaning at the crap vinyl in the charity shops of North Berwick. We were outside for 10 hours on the bounce which is the first time this year we’d been able to do that and it felt so good we’ve done it again since with pals. We’re so lucky to have all these beautiful beaches right by our home. Eating way too many chips though.

I had lunch (no chips) recently with a pal who always gets me thinking about things, she’s very good at gently pushing me towards the creative work I’m always flapping about instead of just getting on with. We were talking about the old saying ‘comparison is the thief of joy’ and I think in some ways it’s actually how I always end up communicating. I don’t really compare my photography work to my peers that much cos I’m too much of a space cadet to pay attention to anyone else but I tend to try to connect to folks by talking about my own experiences that relate to their chat as a way of saying I get what they’re on about. And I think through comparison I’ve also learned loads about my own unhealthy cycles of behaviour to be aware not to fall into them again and to notice the differences in situations.

Conversation thread curve but I also found yet another Natasha Lyonne podcast interview (she’s my religion) also talking about creativity and collaborative work. She spoke about how she’s found her work is now mostly just play with her friends that evolves into bigger ideas and projects. There’s also chat about how we should all just play more like we did as kids and how much easier we are around each other before the world jades us all out. I love that bit of getting to know someone new where you can’t yet tell if they’re totally taking the piss or stone cold serious so you both end up throwing some curves to test the water. I wish we all just played like kids more. I think we all spend way too much time worrying about what other people are thinking or doing and we gatekeep ourselves too much and just be a weirdo cos seeing how weirdo (I’m not talking charles manson weird) brains work is the best. So I think I just contradicted myself once again there but we’re all multitudes eh

Since my unglamourous near departure I’ve promised myself to stop beating myself up about my faults, to stop letting people mess with my psychology and to just be the full scale five foot one and a half legend that I am. Just vent and then get back to living the dream. Remember we’re floating in space and nobody will care what Japandi means or what Elon Musk is doing with his blue tick when the world blows up so live laugh love and all that. Choose smut and shambolic decadence, maybe some sleepy chaos.

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LET’S SHOOT THE SHIT

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word soup

My kid and his friend, Gus, have so far today been to the fair on the prom, written a tune in garageband, made a video for it in the shared garden of our tenement and uploaded it to youtube. I’m ashamed by my own procrastination…so here’s some word soup.

I’ve been a bit shy about sharing these on here even though I had posted them on instagram, sort of feels more vulnerable to bash them up here. I wanted to challenge myself to write more frequently and consistently so if I shout about it maybe I’ll actually do it…

I can still hear the echoes of distant shitty boys telling me I’m no good on days when I’m tired out but they’re getting drowned out most of these days. Pursuing creative ideas is, to me, the heart and soul of us being here, however much some fuckers would rather have us tied to desks or warehouses 24/7 so they can go to space. Our much missed pal Scott took to giving me paternal pep talks for a wee while and one of them was all about how you can’t let anyone else shut down your creative voice. He said his music teacher at school had told him point blank he couldn’t sing but then every time his band released a record the guy felt the need to facebook a critique. He talked about how there’s not much point in a life where you don’t fully commit to expressing yourself, to trying to connect to something bigger than yourself, to say the things that are sometimes hard to say but make people feel less alone ‘and fuck what anyone else thinks about it.’ He was a smart shambles.

I swapped reading poetry and most of my favourite forms of self expression in favour of shit boys and cheap vodka when I left school but swapped back thanks to a therapist I saw for a while a few years ago, who encouraged me to feed the inner wean. I took up mark making and reading poems again. I’m shit at reading fiction cos my brain goes off on tangents and I’ll read the same page 5 times and retain none of the chat so I like poetry cos like lyrics there tends to be something more immediate in there. I like biographies and art books too. Maybes a wee bit too much, I’ve an overwhelming number of them staring at me every time I sit on my sofa and I’m lucky if I’ve read the first chapter of most of them, should really get to that.

I don’t really know about what’s supposed to make writing good or bad and who gets to decide those kinds of things but I think it’s a cathartic way to express desires, to process emotions and to remember shared moments.

I’m still guilty of being a big fan of all the rebellious writers that we’re probably supposed to grow out of loving, the beat poets, Lou Reed, Bukowski, Hunter S Thompson, all the scoundrels who’d rather slip through to another dimension where the outlaws are left to follow their own rhythms. I feel like we should all be listening to them and reacting to their forms of protest song more than ever.

Another banger of a pep talk involved drunk spitting and finger wagging in my face telling me to stop wasting time placating boring men and how I deserved to have fun with someone who’d challenge me and like I say he was a smart pal to have. I miss those chats, some very funny times. So here’s to all the good ones who genuinely encourage and support us to keep growing and enjoying life. Shitty people drain the joy out of everything and it’s only when you get some time with good people that you realise how much lighter everything feels. An honourable mention to our English teacher, Cameron, who used to invite us round to his place in Porty and we’d drink gin, smoke and watch films of the books and plays we were reading in class. Probably not the type of antics that should go on but it always felt like a safe place and apologies that we got him back on the cigarettes.

I’m not always great at finding the words I want to say when I want to say them so I’m glad writing helps me make sense of the magic and mischief.

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Don’t be a stranger

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