The UK Government have launched a new obesity strategy with a raft of measures, including restricting junk food marketing on TV and online.
Source: New obesity strategy is a ‘landmark day for the nation’s health’ and our ambition to beat cancer
New obesity strategy is a ‘landmark day for the nation’s health’ and our ambition to beat cancer
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Back Where I Belonged – Alienation In The Birth Family
Writing a memoir in one’s fifties can be liberating, cathartic and even therapeutic.
But to experience the isolation that emanates from enforced alienation can be as painful as the traumatic events that led one to write the memoir in the first place.
First comes the numbness, and the shock, that the truthful account that is now accessible to anyone who cares to search for it, is actually offensive to certain members of the family you were born into.
Next come acutely painful feelings of rejection, as family members shun and ignore.
Night terrors follow. Screaming in the night. Sleep walking. Aborted, and abortive
therapy. Nobody understands your truth. They say it’s all a fantasy or all lies.
Branded as a fake, there is no where else to hide. Panic ensues. Short gasping breaths and horrid flashbacks, smells, sights, sounds, odours, blood, mucus, slime.
The clang of the hospital trolley the alarming pressure of the blood pressure monitor.
The terror cannot be controlled or silenced. The noise of the silence is deafening in my ears. They call it tinnitus. But it’s my brain going into sensory overload.
Then come the tears. Pouring, dripping, seeping slowly, sprinkling quickly. The exhaustion of crying is strangely comforting.
But now, I’ve come back to my true self. The little girl, shuddering in fear, lower lip trembling. Fists clenched. I must not cry. I must not breathe. I must not be.
Here I am seven years later. I finally psyched myself up to make the call to a bereavement counsellor. I almost needed a stiff drink to make the call, but through dry lips I whispered my grief to a kind lady who promised to post me a leaflet and said a specially trained counsellor will visit me in about three weeks’ time.
I’m clinging on, hour by hour. Saliva is returning now as the neuroleptics leave my system. I’m ready to talk now. I hope they listen.
© Judith Haire 2015
Don’t take my voice
I wonder how many people are tired of the Harvey Weinstein stories in the press? I wonder how many victims of abuse are not tired; who are silently hoping that the tide will rise and the voices of victims will finally be heard, not just in the US but worldwide? Are we being listened to and really being heard though? I think not. You only need to listen to the many victim blaming statements that spill from the mouths of people who have no idea what abuse feels like. From celebrities and newsreaders on television and in the press. From the general public who comment ridiculous, ignorant statements under news stories in social media – things that people will never understand unless they have been there. Social media can be a means for some victims to finally have a voice but it is also a vicious platform for bullying by…
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Far be it from me - 