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dxmedstudent · 6 years ago

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Dx’s Dating Tips #1

I was going to put this in a giant masterpost, but then I felt pity for your dashborards. Basically, I’ve had a crappy week or two, and giving advice is something that relaxes me and makes me feel happy and useful, so I thought I’d get round to expressing some of the thoughts I’ve had. I have to admit I did a little reading around before I restarted the whole dating thing; some advice out there is really good, some is common sense, and theres stuff out there that is just plain... manipulative.

So we start with a few things I noticed about dating that rarely get acknowledged; mainly that it’s actually important to get yourself into a good mindset before you start.

The Dating Mindset:

Dating requires accepting that your life will change. In order to date, you need to be open to the fact that you’re interviewing to fill a position in your life, and that this will slowly change how you live as someone becomes a bigger part of your life. That position doesn’t have to be the same for everyone; one person might only want a casual relationship, whereas someone else is hoping to find the love of their life or the mother of their children. What matters is that you understand that the change you desire will also affect your life. You can’t expect to live exactly as you do as a single person and also have a life partner; that’s not fair to them; people are not accessories that slot into our life at our convenience. people who want to date without any effect on their life may not be ready for an actual relationship or have less than realistic ideas about what intimacy with another person will be like.

Dating is also a gradual process; it’s important to focus on and enjoy the here and now, and take each stage as it comes. It is not about what someone might be to you in a year’s time (or ten years’ time). Sometimes people get very enthusiastic early on, but it’s important to have realistic expectations from the outset; that you just don’t know what will hapen. This means accepting that right now, your romantic life is a WIP. You aren’t in a relationship, you aren’t loved romantically and that there’s no guarantee you’ll find someone. For lots of people, this can exacerbate feelings of loneliness even more than being single because you’re actively focusing on that deficit, and when you go through unsuccessful dates or short relationships, it might feel even more raw because you’re trying so hard. When you’re happily single, it’s easier to accept that romance isn’t a part of your life, and fill your life around it.

Dating is a process that requires self-reflection about who you are, and what you need from a relationship; you can’t find what is right for you if you have no idea who you are and what you need. This will probably mean confronting some home truths about yourself. For example, I realised that I am much more of a homebody than I like to admit; but that’s fine because there are plenty of people who are OK with that. It’s not about blaming yourself or thinking badly of yourself, just appreciating what your strengths and weaknesses are, and what makes you tick. A good partner is complementary to yourself; similar enough that you have things in common, but can also work with your weaknesses rather than exacerbating them. If you’ve had any recent breakups or deep relationships that have left lasting impressions, it might also mean reflecting on how they affected you, and what things you don’t want to replicate in future relationships.

Along a similar vein, dating means recognising that what you were doing before is not working for you. No exceptions. After all, if it was working out great, you’d already be sipping tea with the love of your life, right? This is not a personal criticism of you; it does not make you a bad person. We can all have patterns that make our lives more difficult or don’t quite work for us as well as we hoped. But what it does mean is that if you keep acting just as you do, and being as you are, it will be very hard to get different results than the ones you’ve been getting. Perhaps you never make the first move; you’ll miss out on so many people who might be interested if you worked up the courage to let them know you were interested. Perhaps you call too often and scare people away because you are a bit intense. Or perhaps you don’t call enough and people don’t think you’re that interested so they don’t keep it up because they don’t know you like them back. Perhaps you have a ‘type’ that never works for you; try to figure out if there’s a reason your type is not working out, and whether it might be good to try to see people who differ from that mould. This doesn’t mean doing everything wildly differently,or trying to be a completely different person. It does mean that you need to stop making excuses, and start working on creating healthier thought patterns and behaviour. For example, I’m pretty shy, and I’ll never be out there snogging strangers on the dance floor. But I grudgingly had to admit that I have to assert myself more than I’ve done in a while, and make my feelings and intentions more clear, if I don’t want interesting people to pass me by.

This also means thinking about what would genuinely make a good match for you. My tip is this: you want as few criteria as possible, to avoid excluding people who are perfectly nice but might fall foul of some minor criterion. Focus on what you feel would really make someone impossible for you to be with, and what you feel is most important to you, and try to be as open minded about as much as possible. For example, mine were something like: 30s because I want someone with similar life experience. Nonsmoker; sorry, it makes me cough and feel sick). Someone who is compatible with my political/religious leanings. For me, it was important to find someone who writes/speaks well and enthusiastically and has a similar sense of humor. And someone who accepts or shares my interests and nerdy hobbies because nobody wants to be with someone who views the things you enjoy with frustration and contempt. My life is pretty busy, so I thought it was important for them to have a life of their own own (friends and interests) because I am a busy person and needed someone who can enjoy themselves when I’m working or out with friends. I have an idea of the kinds of personality traits that might work well with me, as well as ones that might not, but really you have to get to know people to see how well things work in practice.

Talk to your friends and family, but be aware that you are all very different. There is no universal ‘right person’ for everyone; what everyone would consider right is actually pretty different. What your friends need and want out of a relationship or partner is not the same thing that you will need and want. So whilst their advice or opinion may be very useful, bear in mind that nobody can choose for you. This is why your friends and family can sometimes (with the sincerest of intentions) set you up with people who are totally wrong for you; they are thinking of what they think is important or suits you. For example, my relatives almost always try to set me up with people who they think are attractive, financially comfortable and just a bit taller than me, because that’s what they think I want; I care little about height, don’t necessarily share their opinion on looks and pretty much expect most people I date to earn less than me.

Dating requires optimism and acting in good faith. You’re gonna meet lots of people, with the aim of having fun, getting to know people and maybe meeting someone special! It’s exciting! Try your best to engage other people seriously and with sincerity, and without letting negativity from prevous dating experiences weigh you down. I found it so demoralising when I’d be messaging a guy and he’d start talking about how he never had any luck with this site/app or dating in general, and the entire conversation or date becomes negative because the focus ends up on why dating is terrible. When you start off talking, you just want to learn some fun things about someone and get to meet them.

Be prepared for the long haul. Finding the right person takes time. You might be lucky and meet the love of your life on the first go, or you might be in for months of meeting people who aren’t quite right, so don’t pressure yourself to get it right first time. It’s OK to get excited if you find someone you quite like, but remember that it’s still really early. Remember that it’s also a learning process; you’re gonna learn more about what works for you) and doesn’t work for you) the more people you meet, and the more things you don’t work out. So you never really lose. Unfortunately, it does also mean that you might get hurt, but that’s the price of being known, and of caring. There’s no way to get to know someone deeply without also being open with them, and gradually becoming vulnerable. Unfortunately, that can mean things hurt more if they don’t work out. I have no advice on how to dodge that particular bullet, I’m afraid.

You are enough, by yourself. You are still loved, and valuable, and amazing whether you have a partner or not, and don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. A lot of my friends are coupled, but honestly that has not made most of them treat me any differently, or make me feel awkward about it. If anything, I just feel that some of them are couple goals. However, some of my single friends report that their coupled friends can be difficult to socialse with as singletons, and within the context of a society that often aggressively pushes romantic love as an essential part of our lives, I can see why some people would feel really bad about it. Dating isn’t about completing you as a person, and it won’t fix your life and it brings with it a whole new set of challenges. If there are issues in your life that need improving, you’ll still need to deal with those and honestly, that’s easier to do before you start dating because dating adds another layer of drama. However, even a fun life can be improved if you meet someone who enriches your life, makes you happy and you enjoy spending time with. Spending time with a cool person that you like is a great feeling. People feel differently about being single. Some people are happy with it as a state, others aren’t, and most of us flip between the two depending on what’s going on in our lives. As someone who was happily (or even, indifferently) single for a long time, I’m all for positivity about being single. However, it’s OK if you feel unhappy about being single. It’s OK if you crave attention, or affection, or sex, or want a life partner, etc. Many people find that they feel a need for deep human connection. Regardless about how you feel about being single at any given point in time, it still doesn’t make you any less.

Feel free to add your own.

#dxdates #dx dates #dx dating tips #this is so much more relaxing than worrying about my health

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socistudies · 6 years ago

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tips to fight procrastination

we’ve all been there - that awful feeling when your brain gets hazy, your body heavy, and all you can really do is lie in bed berating yourself. here are some tried and true methods I use to get back to work:

Use a physical activity to reset. Dump all your study materials in a corner and forget about them for 5-10 minutes. Listen to the loudest/most inspiring music you can find, vacuum your room, take a shower. Something that overwhelms the senses and starts your system going. Yesterday, I was in a slump post-breakfast and used BTS’s Don’t Leave Me to reset, and it worked perfectly (I alternate between rock, kpop and musical soundtracks). It doesn’t have to be motivating, as long as it’s energetic and emotional enough to break out of the haze. Dancing to them is even better.

Get out of the bed by breaking down each step. I’m a morning person until the weather gets colder and the bed’s too toasty to get away from. First thing, I try to break down the process - get the blanket off me, sit up, swing my legs over the bed, stand up (or roll off, like I do sometimes when it’s particularly difficult to leave). Breaking it up into the smallest chunks and just going step by step works wonders - whether you’re still sleepy or in a funk.

Get out of bed by setting a time when you wake up. I usually wait for a good number to get out (say I wake up at 8.24am, so the time I’ll be using is 8.30am). The trick is to start moving before it gets to 8.30am; by 8.28am I’m pushing myself up and rolling off the edge - it’s kind of a fun little thing to race against myself and be out before 8.30am. Note: always get out as fast as possible. Don’t even let yourself think about how nice and warm the bed is; when you’re awake you should move, or else you’ll be stuck for the next 2 hours.

Dress for the occasion. Particularly during breaks, or by virtue of being in university, you might find yourself at home a lot. I’m fortunate enough to have a nice enough room to do work in, so I end up staying at home for 1-3 days straight studying, writing, cooking, etc. It might be tempting to be in PJs throughout, but this just puts you in comfort mode literally all the time, and is counterproductive when what you want is to get in The Zone. Brush your teeth, shower, have breakfast, then change into something cute, make a tea or cup of coffee, and get to work.

The first step to writing almost anything should be a brain dump. I’m studying a essay-heavy course, and the biggest thing that makes me spend a whole week on a single 3000-word essay draft instead of 2-3 days is the fact that I always feel like I need to read every single thing I can find on the topic, organise that information, and then start. That’s incredibly demoralising and just the perfect reason to procrastinate. Instead of that, I’ve learnt to type out the essay question on a blank document, and then approach it as if it was my professor putting me on the spot and asking me the question in a lecture or class. If you have no idea what the question means, limit yourself to googling the definitions of certain terms, but don’t check for sources yet. Do it creatively and as best as you can so that you have at least one topic sentence, and then go find your sources. That way, you’ve already cleared the biggest step of the essay process, starting, and have also gotten your brain going without dealing with 27 tabs first.

there are so many tips in the community about how to fight procrastination and get cracking, and I love every one of them, so I decided to compile the things that work for me best. let me know if you find these tips helpful/if you’ve got another way of doing things! will probably do a part 2 in the near future 💕

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ievani-e · 6 years ago

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Additional Thoughts About My Birth Name, and Why It Was So Dysphoric

I’ve always hated my birth name. Always, always, always. (I wholeheartedly apologise in advance for anyone with the same name; I’m sure it’s a great name for you! I just didn’t like it for myself.)

The one and only reason I stuck with it and put up with it for so long was because I didn’t know what to change it to. It took me a long time to come up with “Ievan” and find that one elusive name I was totally comfortable with. But I wanted to try and delve into the reasons why I hated it so much; why it elicited that level of deep discomfort and dysphoria within me.

For those who don’t know, my birth name is “Stacey”. Not “Stacie”, as many people who know me may be more familiar with. Changing the spelling was something I did later on, to try and exert some sense of control over it. But I’ll come back to that.

As far back as I can remember, hearing or seeing my name provoked a generic, non-specific sense of dread and discomfort deep within me. For the most part, I didn’t really know why; it just did. I just didn’t like it. My loathing of my own name was a puzzle I wasn’t able to solve; but now, I have a few more of the pieces.

I think the first time I can remember feeling that discomfort came in the form of discovering that “Stacey” (or any variations/ derivatives thereof) could be a “boy’s name”, as well. I didn’t personally know any boy or man called “Stacey”; but I knew of men called Stacey, through friends of friends of family. When I, as a young child (this would have been primary school age, I think), first heard that Stacey could be a boy’s name too, I was mortified.

I was mortified to be associated with boys in the same sort of way that some of the worst homophobes are closeted homosexuals themselves; or that some of the worst sexists against women are women themselves. (I, too, was guilty of the latter.) I was mortified because I was insecure. I took the fact that “Stacey” could be a man’s name as an attack on my own femininity — a thing that was already under threat.

It’s not that I thought boys were inherently bad. It’s that I thought that being a girl who was like a boy was bad. Being like a boy, when you were not a boy, was bad; because as a girl, I had to be a girl. I had no problems with other boys being boys, or other girls being girls. My problem was with me, and not knowing where I fit in.

I was a “girl”, and thus, I was expected to be a “girl”; and as such, I already felt a lot of pressure to be “like a girl” and be “girly”. I was already struggling with trying to live up to expectations for my assigned gender, and already felt bad that my own behaviour was more boyish; like I wasn’t good enough the way I was, and was failing in some way, because “being a girl” wasn’t something I excelled at. Having a boyish name (even if it’s not actually that boyish; just unisex) felt a lot like yet another nail in the proverbial coffin: it was another thing I had to struggle against to try and prove that I was “feminine enough”; that I was good enough, the way I was. I saw it as another thing counting against me.

I couldn’t put those feelings into words, of course; it was not something I could identify or understand. There was just that unconscious association that being a “girl who was like a boy” was bad — that I should either be “a boy” or “a girl”, except that I couldn’t possibly be “a boy” because I wasn’t born male, and therefore I was stuck with being “a girl” instead.

My name being associated with masculinity in any way seemed to fly in the face of my already-laboured pursuit of the feminine. So that was one reason I hated it.

And it’s weird, because none of the beliefs I just referenced about what it means to be a boy/ a girl were actually mine. I had just internalised them. I don’t even know for sure that they belonged to any one person I knew in particular. But that is what I thought other people thought I should be like, and I censored myself accordingly. I didn’t have anyone to tell me that I was okay, the way I was.

Getting into it more specifically, there were lots of little things I didn’t like about my name. I didn’t like the way it looked. I didn’t like the way it sounded. I didn’t like the letter “y”. (Again, my apologies to anyone who has a “y” in their name!)

I didn’t like the fact that my name didn’t hold any specific meaning or emotional significance to my parents when they picked it for me. My parents simply couldn’t decide what to call me; they couldn’t settle on one single name they loved. So they both wrote a list of several names they liked well enough, and cross-referenced their lists for names that appeared on both. I guess that does still count as a story behind the name; just not one rooted in sentiment. It’s almost as if my parents knew; as if they experienced some portent or some foresight that I would be difficult to define, and that doing so was beyond their capability. And how could I fault them for that? Before I came to terms with my identity and realised I was non-binary, it had been beyond my capability as well. I had been looking at it the wrong way — not only the wrong way, but focusing on the wrong thing. But I digress.

I didn’t like the way there were so many different names which all sounded similar to Stacey. I didn’t like the way that no-one ever knew how to spell it, and people always spelled it wrong. (Contrast this to “Ievan”, where the freedom and flexibility in playing around with the spelling and the derivatives thereof is something I enjoy.) And that’s because, being a socially anxious child, I didn’t like how I had to have repeat conversations with adults about my name; especially when conversation was something that I hated, and my name was something that I hated, too. (Whereas now, I like my new name, and thus, like talking about it.)

It was humiliating and embarrassing that adults insisted on engaging with me, and yet repeatedly failed to understand me. It was frustrating, and demoralising, too.

I remember this conversation with one of the supervisors at playscheme, when I was signing in for the day:

Adult: Hi! What’s your name?

Awkward and shy child me, in a whisper: Stacey.

Adult: What’s that? Tracy?

Awkward and shy child me, trying to raise my voice and feeling very uncomfortable: No, Stacey.

Adult: I’m sorry? I still didn’t catch that. Did you say Daisy?

Awkward and shy child me, on the verge of tears: No, Stacey!

Adult: Oh, Stacey! Well, why didn’t you say so? *Proceeds to write it down incorrectly.*

Awkward and shy child me: But that’s not — That’s not how you —oh, nevermind… *trails off miserably*

That was one specific exchange, but I have had to have many similar ones; all variations upon the theme of, “Let’s all talk about the name ‘Stacey’ for five minutes, despite the fact I hate the name ‘Stacey’ and would rather not be talking about it at all.”

Eventually, something happened to at least shift some of the discomfort I felt with my name. In 2003, singer and songwriter Stacie Orrico released a song called More to Life. I was 12 at the time, and in my second year of high school. I was obsessed with this song. It spoke to me on so many levels, capturing the melancholy and despair that I was feeling at that time; resonating with me with the idea that surely, there has to be more to it than this. If there isn’t, then what’s the point? Looking back at the lyrics now as an adult, it seems to be about drugs and a battle with addiction, depending on substance abuse as a means of distraction from an otherwise-empty life. That is not how I interpreted at the time, though: I interpreted it as being about how life was empty and devoid of meaning; about the endless questioning about why life was the way it was and trying to make sense of it; trying to make it better.

It was also the first time I had seen a celebrity with the same name as me. It was the first time I had heard of anyone except family-friend-Stacey-who-was-a-boy who had the same name as me. Immediately, I wanted to change the way I spelled my name from “Stacey” to “Stacie”, to be more like Stacie Orrico. And doing that helped; a bit. I got rid of the “y” I didn’t like, and the “ie” combination looked far more visibly appealing to me. (That “ie” combination is found in “Ievan”, too! That is the one tie between my old name and my new name, and adds another level of significance to the name “Ievan” and why I like it.) I felt like I got some control back over my own name, by at least choosing how it was spelled.

But it didn’t alleviate much. After all, how my name sounded was no different. It remained a name I had not chosen for myself, but one my parents had picked for me and thrust upon me. Additionally, changing my spelling presented a new problem. I knew how I wanted to spell it: but when and where and how could I actually do so?

At school, even if I said I preferred to spell it as “Stacie”, all my records and legal paperwork would still read “Stacey”. I became incredibly anxious about the potential confusion it might cause; that it would just lead to more conversations about my name, or about the correct spelling of my name, if I turned in a piece of work to my teachers with the name “Stacie” when the official record said otherwise.

I honestly don’t remember how I first broached the subject with my high school teachers. I do remember that I did end up having to have a lot of conversations, about how “it’s spelled ‘Stacey’ on my passport, but I prefer to spell it ‘Stacie’.” But eventually, everyone in my high school got used to it. There had been a discrepancy at first; but by the end, they knew that “Stacie” was me, and I was “Stacie”. That was fine. That worked great. However…

When I left high school and started university, I had to go through the whole process again. I was moving to a different country; I was registering as a citizen in another land; and I needed to send across photocopies of my birth certificate and my passport. Even on a day-to-day basis, using my passport as my ID was frequently necessary. So when I was signing up as a student and getting my student ID, I felt compelled to revert back to the name “Stacey”, so that it was spelled the same way as it was on all my legal documents.

Unlike high school — where all my teachers knew me personally and got used to me and my preferred spelling — university was highly impersonal. There was little to no interaction actually with the teachers. I sat in a lecture hall of 300 people, taking notes. All our coursework was online. Everything was processed digitally. I didn’t think the system would take very kindly to the idea of me spelling my name in a way that was different from all of my identification, both online and in paper.

So, reluctantly, I went back to spelling my name “the legal way”; not just in university, but in my day-to-day life, as well. I got so used to spelling it that way whenever it came to do with university or immigration, it spilled over to other aspects of life as well. I changed my Facebook page, which I created under “Stacie”, to read “Stacey” instead. Otherwise, the friends I met at university might have been confused and not recognise me when I added them online.

I never actually had a conversation with anyone else about what I should do about spelling my name a different way. I never actually had a conversation with my university or with legal authorities about what approach I should take, or if there was a way to operate under a “preferred name” instead of my legal name. Again, I was censoring myself. I was the one who assumed it would be a problem or cause issues. It was due to my own anxiety and my own internalised pressure to conform — to not inconvenience anyone else — that I tried to just blend in, be “normal”, and get by with as little fuss as possible.

Luckily, reverting to “Stacey” didn’t last very long. As soon as I was out of university, I switched back to “Stacie” and continued using it once more. I still didn’t like “Stacie”; but I liked it more than “Stacey”. In that one small way, I did want to stand up for myself, now there was no longer the need to use “Stacey” on a daily basis in the form of signing in to university. (And yes; a lot of confusion was caused along the way.)

At around this time, one of my friends from high school announced that she wanted to change her name. For privacy reasons, I won’t name her. But she, as a person, is an incredibly girly-girl kind of girl. She loves make-up and fashion and cute, frilly clothes and she is obsessed with pink. (Seriously, you should see her bedroom! It’s wall-to-wall awash in pink and very many pink and cutesy things!) She is a girly girl, and loves it. And that’s okay! I say this not to pass judgment; we are very different people, and while the whole girly-girl aesthetic isn’t for me, it suits her very well. Rather, I tell you this for context.

See, this incredibly girly girl had a “boy’s name”. Not in the same way that “Stacey” could be a boy’s name, but wasn’t often used as one; no, her birth name was ubiquitously “boy”.

I, as an outsider, thought that was so cool. I thought it was so cool, to be a girl with a boy’s name. I absolutely loved the idea. (Yes, this does seem contradictory to what I said before, about viewing having a name that could be in any way associated with a boy as an attack on my own femininity — but remember that I only felt that way due to being insecure in my own femininity to begin with. And also remember that I tend not to apply the same tolerance, love and acceptance to myself as I do to others. Hence why, as a child, I didn’t like that my name smeared me as “less than” in regards to being “a girl”; but as a more mature adult, I actively envied the possibility of having what was more typically a boy’s name.)

But my friend herself didn’t like her own name. She wanted to change it to one which sounded more feminine. I respected that; I respected her right to change her own name for her own reasons. Though I did personally like her birth name, I felt it was important to be respectful of her choices and show my support, and so I switched over to using her new preferred name straight away. I still slipped up sometimes, of course; but I caught myself, corrected myself and apologised, and she didn’t mind because she knew that I was generally on board with the idea. Now, a few years down the line, it’s actively more difficult to use her birth name, because I’ve become so used to using her preferred name. That is who she is now, and I can’t imagine thinking otherwise.

At the time when she first made the change, I applauded her courage and her conviction. I thought, wow! That’s so cool. I wish I could do that.

But even while rooting my friend on as she changed her name, I didn’t know what to do about my own name. I knew I didn’t like “Stacey” or “Stacie”, though the latter was still better — or, I should say, not as bad. But I didn’t know what I did like.

There was only one thing I did like about my birth name: its meaning of “resurrection”. The theme of resurrection and rebirth was an important one to me; especially in my teenage years as I fought my way through a difficult place, struggling every day for my survival. Eventually, I came out the other side even stronger. But it was particularly relevant for me at that time of my life when I was dealing with death and thoughts of destruction. It became a central theme for my stories; the idea that I, too, could make a new life for myself and be reborn, just as my name suggested. The importance of this can be seen in Chapter One of my story, Evani’s Awakening (also known as Headstory, under its working title):

Evani took a deep breath. “If you know everything, then…” She hesitated, nervously twisting the material of her skirt in her hands before continuing. “Please tell me why I am here. Why was I not sent to the Seventh Circle like the others…?”

“Ah. Well, you are part of a prophecy,” Lucifer replied. “‘The wayward son will fall into the darkness, but the Lord will raise him; and from the darkness, he will bring new light. His physical body will be raised again a spiritual body, and he will return to the world of man a Saviour.’ That is your role. You will not be punished for your suicide, for you will return to Earth to realise your true purpose […] That is why I said the name ‘Stacie’ was fitting, for it means ‘resurrection’.”

—Excerpt from Chapter One of Evani’s Awakening

That emotional significance was the reason why, when I was searching for a new name, I also searched for names with a similar meaning. But I hit many dead ends. There are many names which mean “new day”, “new life”, or convey a sense of “new beginnings”; but none of those names appealed to me. None of them hit home.

Luckily, I had a good friend to talk to about it and bat ideas around with. I told him I had looked up names which also meant “resurrection” or “rebirth”, and he agreed that it was a perfect sentiment. His response was, “Omg, that’s perfect! Look at it and your situation!”; but he also agreed that finding names which meant the same and still sounded right was hard. So then he came up with the idea of “What about redemption instead of resurrection? I think you already resurrected, no?”

I liked that idea, because it seemed apt. I had gone through a period of darkness and rebirth. I had come out on the other side. That was now in the past. I had no need of resurrection anymore; it had already happened.

Together, we cycled through some more ideas where nothing stood out to us; and came back around to the idea of doing something with “Evan” or “Evani”, given that those were already names for myself I did use and did like. He said that he liked “Evani”, and that it suited me: but he also asked if it felt perfect for me; whether it called me; whether I felt it in my soul.

I answered with, “It's more my name than anything else”; and that it could very well be that nothing else seemed to fit because I already had “Evani”. We talked about names some more and he talked about online names and character names he had come up with for himself. When I said how much I liked his name because of how it suited him and the symbolism/ associations I had with it, he said, “You make it sound prettier than its origin story! You’re great at stuff like that [finding symbolism], so I’m sure you’ll find yourself a great name.”

We ended up talking about names for a long time, but he gave me a lot to think about and a lot of inspiration. Thanks to him, I stopped looking for names which were like “Stacey”. I stopped looking for names which meant “resurrection”. I stopped looking for names which tied me to the past, and instead looked forward to the present. I looked at the names I had already chosen for myself at various points in my life, and what they represented for me and the symbolism they held.

And all that led me to picking “Ievan”, a rearranging of “Evani” — the name I used as my online handle. I liked the name “Ievan” because it could be paired with “Evani”, and either be used separately as a counterpart or put together to form “Ievani”, creating an amalgamation which incorporated both distinct names wholly and completely and yet could be read separately, which featured a lot of overlap between two separate-but-similar personas.

Now I am very happy with “Ievan”, in a way I never was with “Stacey”. Now, I smile when people use my name where I used to cringe.

My friend who changed her name had to go from a “boy’s name” to a “girl’s name” to find happiness. For me, it was the opposite: I had to change from what was typically a girl’s name (with some masculine connotations), to what is typically a boy’s name (with some feminine connotations — ie, the extra ‘i’, which I consider to make the name appear more feminine than it would without it.)

Before I could find my name, I had to find myself. Now I know I would never have been happy with “a girl’s name”, because I am not a girl. I had to accept myself, proudly and fully, as non-binary, so that I could find the right name for me not as a woman, but as a person. To lessen the dysphoria, what I needed was something that was neither exclusively feminine or masculine, but a blend of both. “Ievan” is an unconventional name for an unconventional person; and that is why it fits me perfectly. It replaces all the dysphoria I had previously felt with euphoria instead.

I just had to open my mind and actually allow myself those possibilities.

#genderqueer #nonbinary #dysphoria #name dysphoria #queers on tumblr

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alittlepieceofmytiredmind · 6 years ago

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Changes.

Part of me almost doesn’t have the heart to write this. I guess it almost feels like I’ve forgotten about the past year. Too much has happened, and it’s all stayed inside my head I guess. I’ve been inside my head for most of 2018.

I’ve changed so much, I think I have anyway, but this is because everything that I would have deemed unrealistic, or very unlikely to ever happen to me, happened. It’s scary, but the changes haven’t stopped since we broke up, and I’ve come to a point of accepting that this is life. Back then, I had hoped that I would go through these changes with you, that I would grow with you, we would grow together. Life took me on a different course.

I was letting you go for so long, it’s the hardest thing I’ve probably ever done. I was in complete, utter denial for a long time. I refused to believe that we, as a long term couple, were over. I refused to truly accept that you were never going to be in my life anymore. Yet, it was happening, and weeks became months, and it’s coming up to a year without you. I never wrote because I, just wasn’t ready. My thoughts were far too chaotic to process, so I’ve left it, about nine months later, to write to you.

I was in the darkest period of my life after our break-up. I was so sad. I was so unhappy that I could never find a way to make us work, that we never found common grounds. My heart started to accept that there was never going to be a way, and that the answer would never be with me, with us, and in turn, our relationship, and I became so toxic. We couldn’t be together, not at the way we caused each other to fall apart. I won’t forget our relationship, I don’t think badly of us at all, but I will also associate the damage caused, that I almost couldn’t recover from. The relationship made me a very damaged person. Maybe I put far too much pressure on you, maybe I expected too much, but I was in love. I’m an all or nothing person, and I put all my faith into us to work. Perhaps, this was was an extremely unhealthy and unfair attitude to have, but it’s all I knew. I fell apart when everything ended. I know you saw most of this happen, but I chose to never tell you, I chose to step away.

Something changed in my mind, something clicked. I knew I couldn’t be with you without hurting myself more and more. I had to be alone. I had to fix myself. I knew you couldn’t fix me anymore, you wouldn’t and never let me. There was no way of breaking through to you, to make changes happen. I know it’s horrible to say this, but you were just too late to realise what you’re seeing now. I really followed you, and tried as hard as I could, I held out for as long as I could, until I completely fell apart. December 2017 was the worst year of my life. I let myself be unhappy because I had hope, hope was all I needed. but the hope never paid off, you never came back to me. It just got worse and worse, more damage, we were ruining everything that took so so much time to build up with, in what seemed like without any effort. It seemed like we were better at hurting each other than loving each other. I shut down, it was too demoralising to continue. I hated myself for being stuck in that situation, for not being able to find a way, to be the way, to be enough for you. I really did. I lived with sheer self hate for myself for months.

but that’s not the focus of this letter. I don’t owe you, or anyone what I went through. and probably no one is going to understand it anyway, except for me. I did my best to live onwards, as a broken person. I did my best to put myself back together. I met Cloud in the process. It wasn’t too spite you, it wasn’t for any of the reasons you’ve probably thought about. I did it for myself. I understand your/anyone’s complete bewilderment and shock as to what I’m about to say. It’s still a shock for me to think of to this day. I wasn’t expecting to ever come back from the darkness that I descended into. I didn’t think I was going to get better. but I did. I’m still in that process now, but I know I’m no longer that broken person I was nine months ago.

I focused on completing my Second year, and I passed. I focused on my friendships. I went travelling abroad with my best friend for a month. I went to two festivals. I had the best summer of my life. I had a summer I had only previously pictured with you in it, but you never gave me. I started casually seeing someone else, and that developed into me falling out of control, but deeply, in love with him. I’ve rebuilt my life now. I’m not happy, but I’m not where I used to be, and I don’t owe anyone the details of what my life is like now.

I feel sad reading and seeing how you’re doing, seeing what you portray to me. It makes me sad seeing you write. It makes me sad seeing things I needed to see nine months ago. I’m not so sure if I believe you anymore, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter anymore. We are over.

You tell me details like trying to make new friends, trying to change, trying to fit in, but it just reminds me back to the times where you did all of this behind my back, leaving me to feel alone, and like I didn’t deserve to be a part of your life. I still can’t take a lot of the things that you told me, about your exes, about the people you’ve been involved with. It’s completely ruined my ability to even consider approaching you. It’s difficult to describe, but I’ve just had enough of it all, and I can never go back to that. I feel scared still by the insecurity that it reminds me of, that was part of my daily life a year ago. I’m grateful that you’ve learnt to respect that I’m not capable of seeing your social media, that I don’t want to, that I can’t, look to see how you’re doing. It doesn’t matter now, but I’m grateful that you protected me from seeing that when I was fixing myself.

I just know I was never meant to be with you. If things were meant to work, and we were meant to be together, then I would have been enough for you there and then. I wouldn’t have had to reach suicidal lows to prove myself. We wouldn’t have had those extreme verbal arguments we had. We wouldn’t have fought the way we constantly did. I wouldn’t have made you feel the way I did. I wasn’t good for you. Maybe I came into your life to direct you to live better ways, maybe this is all a lesson to show you how to treat people. but this wasn’t a lesson for us to come back together. We wouldn’t have drove each other apart if that was the case. It’s too late, for you to realise now. I’m incapable of giving you any more chances. It wouldn’t be fair on you, because I just don’t believe in us anymore. All you’ve realised, are lessons, and principles to carry forward to wherever life takes you next. But I know for sure, that we weren’t meant to be.

I wasn’t sure whether to write this. Because I don’t owe anyone anything. but I still believe in closures, I still want to be accountable. I don’t want to leave you wondering. I still want to always remain transparent in what I stand for. I don’t want you to be angry at me, I don’t want you to hate me. I want you to just understand that this is all too late, and it’s all too sad to think of, when I did everything that I could at the time. I was mourning the loss of our relationship for months before we even properly broke up. I didn’t know the person I fell in love with for months. You were a stranger to me for so long, you were unpredictable in your actions all the way till the end, almost like I was knowing you less and less as time went on. I lived in the name of hope, for months, for the chance that you’d come back to me, that we’d stop being sad, that you wouldn’t be angry, that we’d at the very least, reach a place of understanding, but nothing ever came to me, nothing ever gave through, to save our relationship. So when it was over, I had to fix myself. The rest is my story, my changes, not ours, anymore.

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millenialstudies · 7 years ago

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If you’re a student, it will happen. And 75% of the way through a crisis of such, I decided that it was only right to get the bad stuff out there, so you can take it, and fight it. You browse Tumblr, and see the pristine notes and the productivity goals, the occasional admittance to studying late, taking more caffeine than regular or being wracked with nerves for an upcoming exam and the workload it embeds into us students- but you don’t see any of that sheer, frantic rushing when some disaster or another throw you off course. It could be a family issue that has left you distracted; some recent general lack of productivity has pitted you several days behind; you’re having social issues, or some natural disaster forces you stay away from your school, college or university for more time than regular- there are thousands of things that can put you behind, and the catch-up is shocking.

Of course, I understand why people don’t regularly post about these mishaps and the partially reckless things they are forced to do to get back into shape when worst comes to worst- if you are beginning a crisis, you can sometimes seem disheartened and pessimistic, and who wants to read that for ‘inspiration’? But, being an optimist and being able to make light of all situations, I thought it would be reasonable to do so here, by recounting a current miniature disaster in blunt reality, and then presenting the reason why the occasional desperation downfall isn’t really so bad.

Here’s the situation: I’ve been ill for 3 weeks, with a horrible virus and my lack of immune system leading to me contracting a rash on my lower face. We’re finishing our last load of content, rushing through before we break up for Christmas and the torrential snow plus the fact we are all a little behind in our classes anyway means these last two weeks? They’re going to be crammed with heavy writing and classwork.

3:30 AM: I had a cup of coffee and chugged it down, hurrying to finish the next day’s Christmas cards in time for me to post or hand them out to my peers in the educational day ahead. I haven’t had any sleep, because I realised I had so much work, both social and educational, to get finished, and my head was pounding from my already debilitating illness. No, I shouldn’t be going to school tomorrow, I am too ill- but I can’t risk the time off and lack of work being given. When I’m done, I return to my room and look at the daunting mess of my most content heavy subject- history- and the 3 weeks (aka, 9 pages) of homework I’ve been unable to finish due to being bedridden- and revision for 3 other subjects. It has to be done.

4:30 AM: My heart at this point was genuinely racing. I felt awful and energised at the same time. Call me crazy, I had to stop myself shaking due to my body fighting the caffeine and how easily caffeine affects me by simply talking myself through the day ahead. I’ve pulled all-nighters before, and so I already know how I’m going to feel later on, and I’m mentally prepping for it.

5:30 AM: I’ve finally done my history and I know the rest will only take me an hour and a bit. I have to be ready to leave by 7:15- I can take 20 minutes at some point to grab my second cup of coffee (safely timed to be about 3-4 hours after the first, which is not bad for me, considering it’s only the second cup) and get myself prepped.

Right now it’s about 6:02, and I’m happy I’ve made it this far. I know I’m going to have a massive load of work thrown at me today, and that taking the day off and sleeping in would be much easier. I DO NOT recommend that you get yourself into the situation where you have to pull an all-nighter to work. It isn’t something you should just do, so don’t take that from this post. But this is the message I’m trying to convey by posting this:

Sometimes, things get bad. You get caught up, you’re depressed, you have just fallen behind in the race. And that’s okay- your situation could be a lot worse than this, or even a little easier but still hits you hard. When you feel that much pressure and know you need to do something fast, it is okay to endure an irritable night of study, lacking sleep, so long as you don’t get into a routine of it- learning and studying, at whatever level, is difficult. But the important thing about when you feel like you’re hitting a rock bottom with studying, or work, or anything- is that no matter what you think you have to do, you do it, and you persevere. You push yourself through your demoralised state and you keep writing, keep moving, keep calculating, even if you aren’t in your best form. Because however long it takes, after an hour, or five, it will be done, and you’ll be back on track. The feeling of accomplishment will help to alleviate some of that gritty hardship- and a day out of a year of feeling a little odd and not being as healthy for yourself as you might be normally is better than depressing yourself further.

Nobody wants to be in that situation, but it can happen, it might happen- let’s face it, it probably will happen. Just don’t give up, it won’t damage you once.

Mini Tips

• Don’t EVER make a habit of it. An all-nighter or general prolonged hours of study is fine if you know you usually are consistent with your work and rarely leave things too late or stray off tracks, but if you’re having to cram because you don’t have a study routine or leave things till last minute, I wouldn’t recommend doing this. Instead, I’d take a weekend to get your work straight then produce a routine so that you aren’t constantly cramming, because on a general it isn’t a good idea.

• If you need to cram for a test, then just don’t. You might be scared of struggling and not knowing as much, but cramming revision or pulling a revision all-nighter won’t be beneficial unless you’re producing revision material (such as flashcards) to revise from- if you’re trying to learn or memorise anything ready for a test in a few days or a week, it just will not process, and you’re better off with your current knowledge and the extra sleep/time in between.

• If you can find any other rational solution or something better than cramming, go for it. Some suggestions if you’re desperate but not quite desperate enough to do this:

>Between mass periods of work, do very small actions to keep yourself active and alert. Literally, go to the loo, brush your teeth, grab some water- 1-10 minute activities that barely take any time (avoid the phone though)

>Grab a 30-minute nap somewhere. It’s better than nothing, seriously. You’ll feel tired but you won’t feel brain-dead if you’re easily impacted.

>Instead of pulling an all-nighter, go to bed a bit earlier in the day and wake up early in the morning- though going to bed at 6-7 and waking up at 4-5 might be weird, you could find spending hours in the morning means you’re refreshed and will work for longer in comparison to procrastinating at the end of a day.

I know this is a weird post as one of my first- to be fair, I needed this as much as I felt like it would be beneficial to get it out there, and hopefully, it’s provided help of some kind! I’ll have more productive and optimistically viewing posts on study out soon!

Have hope, peeps!

millenialstudies

#all nighter #sleep #study #study inspo #realism #real life #study blog #studyblr

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twopedalpushers · 5 years ago

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Travel Update #4

Medellín to Ecuador

After a total of one month pedalling and one month sight seeing, we have finished the Colombian chapter of our trip and are now in Ecuador!

When I think about the second half of our journey through Colombia after leaving Medellín, it feels far less eventful than the first half of the trip. After 3 months in total on the bike by this point, we were now comfortable negotiating our way through Colombia and managed to avoid any silly mishaps.

After a few days in Medellín the overwhelming amount of pollution trapped in the valley started getting to me so I felt relieved to pedal onwards into the hilly, peaceful coffee region of Salento. Salento is near the Cocora Valley - home to the world’s largest palm trees! The whole region is kind of other-worldly and feels like it’s been ripped straight out of a Dr. Seuss novel.

We ended up having a peaceful Christmas here before cycling on to the loudest, brightest and most vibrant city in Colombia (in my opinion): Cali.

Cali is known as the ‘salsa capital of the world.’ I had a blasé attitude about this beforehand but I quickly changed my mind after a few days in the city. Salsa is life in Cali. It blasts out of every bar and restaurant. From 7pm onwards the streets come alive - everyone is out, even small children who stay up until the early hours of the morning, playing in the park while their parents sit down with a beer. Absolutely everyone knows how to salsa and clubs are bursting with dancing couples. We took a salsa class to feel like we fitted in but after an hour we realised that we were not naturally gifted at salsa. We salsa’d (clumsily) in the bars anyway and made up for our obvious lack of skill with passion.

We also happened to arrive when the ‘Feria de Cali’ was taking place - a 5 day festival from Boxing Day to New Year’s Eve where day after day, residents party and dance salsa on the streets to incredible live brass bands. It’s safe to say that Cali was a pretty entertaining place to spend New Year’s Eve.

Recently we have started using an app called ‘Warm Showers.’ It’s similar to couch surfing except that it’s only used by cycle-tourers looking to be hosted in the homes other bike enthusiasts. We arranged to stay with a lady called Laura in her house in Popayán - 140km south of Cali. In text messages beforehand she let us know that we would be ‘camping on her balcony’ as she didn’t have a spare room. Having done plenty of camping on the trip so far, we were happy with this offer and glad to have a night of free accommodation in the city. However, once we got there we discovered that her ‘balcony’ was her concrete attic space that’s main function was as a toilet for her two dogs. Being English and too polite to tell her that the space was unsuitable for human habitation, we set up our tent and tried to ignore the overpowering smell of years worth of dog urine. Almost a month later, the ground sheet of our tent still smells of the terrible aromas of that fateful night.

The one upside of staying with Laura was that she let us store our bikes in her house for a few days while we visited Max’s friends Dad, Fernando in San Agustin. The bad track and warnings of potential guerrilla activity in the region put us off cycling there so we took a bus. The track was so bad that it took 6 hours for the bus to travel 150km!

Staying with Fernando in the impressive wooden house that he built himself was incredibly peaceful and a good opportunity to rest and recuperate. We went on walks and ate fresh fruit and vegetables from his garden.

The road onwards from Popayán towards the border was where the real hard work started. We were now entering the Andes and cycled up to high altitudes proved to be quite difficult. Just as we would climb to 3000m altitude, the road would drop off and we would descend all the way back down to around 1000m. I understand that’s how mountains work but after half an hour of fun whizzing downhill it became demoralising to have to then climb all the way back up. The views of the valley below were spectacular which made all uphill climbing worthwhile. We took an alternate, quieter route through the mountains which had very little traffic, enabling us to stop and admire the green Colombian section of the Andes. Climbing a few thousand metres of elevation day upon day was exhausting but I could feel my body getting stronger. At the start of our trip in Costa Rica we would only travel 50km per day on a relatively flat road. Now we were managing 80-90km through mountain ranges, carrying more food and luggage than before. I was even starting to get used to getting out of bed when our alarm goes off at 5am.

When we reached the border I felt really proud. Crossing Colombia by bike had been the most challenging thing that I had ever done, both physically and mentally. Despite the weather, feeling tired or unwell we got up each day and got back on the bike.

After two months in Colombia, I was excited to see what Ecuador had to offer. During our last few weeks cycling we have seen lots of groups of Venezuelans on the walking with all of their belongings towards Ecuador to try and find work. It was the first time that I have encountered people in such a state of desperation and made me realise how lucky I am to have a home to go back to. Despite their situation, most had a positive outlook and asked us about our trip and where we were heading, before wishing us “buen viaje” - a pleasant journey on the road ahead.

Ecuador so far has been a whirlwind and we are now in Quito - the second highest capital city in the world! I will write about our journey through Ecuador all in one go in the next update.

Now that the Colombian chapter of our trip is over, I thought I would write a list of all the interesting things that I noticed about the country and its people during our two month journey. Its lifted straight from my journal so please excuse how colloquial it is. Here you go:

Mullets seem to be the most popular hairstyle for young men.

Colombia has an amazing variety of fruit I’ve never heard of before- Lulo, Guanabana, Maracuya (to name a few!)

A large amount of adults have braces. So many that it’s noticeable. Is dental care cheap?

Motorola smartphones are popular in Colombia. I didn’t know Motorola even made smartphones...

Lots of women work in construction. I say lots but I mean compared to the amount of women working in construction in the UK

The best fresh juices and free limonada with every meal! Limonada is a drink made of water and panela (refined sugar cane.) Colombians knock this back 24/7. I’m going to miss it.

Colombians have an overwhelming amount of passion for cycling. It’s admirable.

Little Colombian girls all have incredibly elaborate hairstyles consisting of braids, cornrows, coloured hairbands, glitter and the occasional bow.

Sweet things (dulces) are king in Colombia. There is a Panadería (bakery) roughly every couple of hundred metres. My favourite Colombian pastries are Chicharrons (puff pastry with guava jelly) or Pan de Bananos with apricot jam.

As usual, here is the link to track our progress http://share.garmin.com/DMB7R

Remember to hit “view all” and zoom out to see the whole journey. You will find us in Ecuador!

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noble-pro · 5 years ago

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Ultra Trail Mont Blanc (UTMB) - The journey that took 18months of long mountainous races

The journey for this race most definitely started months ago. Accumulating points in order to be eligible to enter took 18months of long mountainous races. I used the points from the CCC 100km, Laverado 120km and Translantau 100km in Hong Kong. The journey has just ended. It’s ever so anti climatic. Where did those 30hours go? All that hard work and focus and I crossed the finish line feeling so flat and devoid of emotion it surprised me. I wanted to write this as soon as I finished but we travelled back late on Sunday night. I was tired when my head hit the pillow at 2am and to be honest I’m still pretty tired. We collected the dog who then decided to be ill/ have a melt down which took a trip to the vets and an anti-sickness, a painkiller and a sedative to settle. I was then back at work. It’s only been today that I’ve felt emotional. I was cycling to feed a neighbours cat and got knocked off my bike. The shock made me cry for a good long while. I’m now done with feeling sorry for myself. There are lessons to be learnt for next year! Yes I need to go back! Training essentially started 12 weeks out where I shifted focus to gaining elevation from just getting some runs and miles in. I like to run fast so it was difficult for me to drop all my speed sessions so I kept a few in along with the odd park run. I cross trained on the bike. I slept in an altitude tent to acclimatise to the elevation gain at the top of the hills. I visited the area twice – once for the Mont Blanc Marathon (a great race) and then again for a recce which didn’t quite go to plan. I sprained my ankle at the end of the first day so had to limp it back to a bus and travel back to Chamonix. This meant I missed essential long training days at a key moment. I couldn’t run for 10days which in itself wasn’t too bad as cycling can be used as an alternative but the timing 4 weeks out was far from ideal. The rest of the training went well. Lots of uphill running on a treadmill or reps of a local hill. Probably could have got some fast hiking practice in but I didn’t. I would rather run! I tapered sensibly wanting to fully respect how long and hard the race would be. Being tired on the start would not be an excuse. Jon and I got out to Chamonix late on Tuesday. Wednesday was number collection. I felt pretty stressed for some reason – ok you may say well of course you would be with what is ahead but that is not really like me. Then my hormones kicked in a week early so that explained that (sorry but this is a real life blog). Thursday and Friday kit preparation and relaxing. They enforced the cold weather mandatory kit as it was forecast to be minus 10 and wind chill. My crew was Pete from SCOTT Running and Jon, my husband. They were brilliant. It was so good to see their friendly supportive faces at the permitted checkpoints, saying all the right words of encouragement and providing me with all I needed. As the race went on I really felt like I was letting them down. The runner is just the person on show- none of these ultra races can be achieved without support on and off course. The race departed Chamonix in the rain at 6pm. I was ready for this beast. Well I thought I was! Photo Credit: Tom Wilkinson Photo credit: irunfar.com (Bryon Powell) I started off doing what I felt was a comfortable pace. It was difficult to judge as the first 10km is essentially road and flat trail to Les Houches. I climbed well but never pushed. The first check point was 31km in. It was manic as everyone was still really close together. I could not find Jon so started to fill my pockets with apricots/ cheese/ cake etc from the aid station. Then I did one more check and he spotted me. Rubbish out and more food in (komfuel selection of gels, chews and Tailwind mainly). I was smiling and enjoying it immensely. It was properly dark when I left and with 650 lumens (Ledlenser NEO10R) on my head I had complete vision so headed up the road happy in my tunnel of light. It was wet and cold. I had my warm gloves on and some waterproof ones over the top. My buff on my head and of course a waterproof jacket. In my pack was all the mandatory kit so I knew I had another 2 warm layers top and bottom if things really were bad at top of Col de Bonhomme (2329m). In hindsight maybe I did keep pace here but I honestly didn’t feel like I was pushing it. I caught up with Cat Bradley and then tried to stick with her but I probably should have asked myself what am I doing this far up the field. People told me running 100miles is like a lifetime lived in one day. But what I learnt is that you don’t get a second chance. I was cautious descending Bonhomme as this is where I sprained my ankle. Running at night was magical. I could see ice flake patterns forming on the rocks. The moon was so bright when it appeared from behind the clouds. The clouds were keeping us warm because when the wind picked up it was very much chillier. I sailed through the compulsory kit check at Chapieux. On leaving there my stomach decided to let me know that 52km of running into the night was not the right thing to be doing. However, energy felt good so being a tad lighter as I ascended Col de la Seigne (2516m) wasn’t so bad. I was pleased to be running this bit as I’d had to hobble it on the recce.

The top was shrouded in mist and it was hard to see where to go but I figured this was good as it made the pace steady. I was soon running on a track as the bad weather has re routed us around Col des Pyramides Calcaires. My focus was Courmayeur. However, I could sense I was descending into the town not feeling as I wanted to be. My stomach was still complaining but the odd stop here and there was no real excuse for such a slow pace. I had been running for 11hours and it was 5am. I swopped my tights for shorts and ditched my extra clothes thinking as the daylight arrives so will the warmth. What a stupid error! The wind picked up and it was freezing. Unbeknown to me many dropped out due to the cold weather. I left the aid station only to return as I had forgotten my poles. Doh! I ate and replenished my pack but as I write this I have read what other runners ate and I’m beginning to think I did not eat enough properly food. I was still on gels and chews and eating a bit of rice pudding. On leaving Courmayeur it was the climb up to Bertone which really highlighted how lethargic I felt. I wrapped up at the top as the wind whistled around me.

Photo credit: Reme Fabregue As I climbed towards Grand Col Ferret (2490m) my little legs turned pink and my fingers lost their feeling. I didn’t hang about it was up and over. I could not collapse my poles as my thumbs could not apply enough pressure to the button. Descending into La Fouly should have been enjoyable but I was getting frustrated with my performance. I kept willing my legs on. I remember a runner asking me as they passed if I could not push on through the discomfort of my quads but I really couldn’t. I shouted out loud but still no response. I felt deconditioned, I guess. Missing out on my recce and its long days was taking its toil now. I was passed by many. I kept recollecting my pace throughout this part of the course when I did the CCC in 2016 and the contrast was really demoralising. Heading to Champex Lac was a case of putting one foot in front of the other. It was pathetic. I didn’t feel the need to hang around for too long at the aid stations. I just wanted to keep going. Jon has finished UTMB in 40hours so what excuse did I have? Photo credit: Yann Audouin At Trient I hiked in and hiked out. I’m not a strong hiker but it was faster than my shuffle! At Vallorcine I changed my shoes and Injinji socks. I had badly stumped my toe (and then obviously again and again) and torn my Tibialis Anterior (shin muscle) so thought it might help reduce the pressure to go half a size up in shoe and it did. Amazingly for me I finished with no blisters either (just massive bags under my eyes!). Night arrived again and I began to hallucinate. I saw people having a bath and rocks turning into animals. Vallorcine, via La Flegere took forever. I enjoyed the journey of training and I felt the race end should have been a journey of euphoria but it wasn’t. I felt nothing. 170km, 10,000m of elevation. 30hours 16mins, 19th female. 128th overall out of 1778 finishers (783 dropped out). Next year I’ll feel more! I’ll achieve more!

Photo credit: Jon Meek Lessons learnt: Condition legs with more long days of training- get a good week in about a month out preferably in the mountains or just don’t sprain your ankle whilst trying to! Eat more proper food. Ideas I’ll try include peanut butter and jam sandwiches and potatoes. Go slower at the start…really slow. Ducktape works well to prevent blisters. WD40/ lubricate my poles so the button to fold them isn’t so stiff with cold hands. Be pleased to have finished as many didn’t and a DNF is hard to make peace with. Be grateful- the body is a wonderful thing especially considering what I put it through. I am recovering well although my torn shin muscle may take sometime yet. A massive thank you to all those who helped me through training and the race. I had the best kit (SCOTT Supertrac Ultra RC shoes and waterproofs etc; socks from Injinji); a great choice of nutrition from Komfuel; no sprained ankles due to careful footfall, diligent rehab and Rocktape; no altitude sickness courtesy of SportingEdge; great night vision from Ledlenser; great daily support from Symprove, Coffee Buddies, and Bounce Balls; inspiring crewing from Jon and Pete, great Rufus- dog care from my Mum, and during training Anne and Di; and finally great support from all those lovely people who cheered me on online and on route! Read the full article

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euprymna-scolopes-blog · 8 years ago

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Grad School Update

It’s been a while since I had time to come back here but it’s not abandoned!

Anyway, here’s how things stand now:

EMBL Heidelberg - Interview - Offer - Accepted

Francis Crick Institute - Pre-interview - Rejected

Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory (Watson School) - Interview - Offer - Declined

MIT (Biology) - Rejected

Harvard (Biological and Biomedical Sciences) - Rejected

King’s College London/Wellcome Trust “Cell Therapies and Regenerative Medicine” - Interview - Waiting list - Declined

Oxford DPhil in Chromosome and Developmental Biology - Interview - ?

Oxford Interdisciplinary Bioscience DTP - Withdrew application

I’ll talk about the individual interview visits in more detail later; here I’ll just cover the general course of things.

MIT and Harvard rejected me without an interview invitation, which wasn’t actually too surprising (just demoralising, in the case of Harvard... but then the invitation from Watson School came and I was overjoyed. MIT’s lack of invitation didn’t bother me at all.

The Crick rejected me after the pre-interview, which was kind of disappointing. But to be absolutely honest, the Crick and EMBL were the only non-rotation programmes I applied to, and between the two I’d go for EMBL in a heartbeat.

Before I’d heard back from CSHL/WSBS, I also applied to the KCL/WT CTRM programme in excitement, and two Oxford programmes under semi-coercion. (I was just encouraged really enthusiastically to apply; nobody held a gun to my head or anything!) I ended up withdrawing the IB DTP application almost right after they called me up for interviews, because I had received my offer from EMBL by then and didn’t want to waste their time (or go through another interview).

I accepted the EMBL offer on the day I received it.

I know, it sounds like a) I was desperate and b) I didn’t think this through, right? And in fact my internal rankings had changed a bit over the interview visits. But even though it was an incredibly painful decision, it wasn’t a difficult one. I’ll explain...

Before the interviews, before everything, EMBL Heidelberg had been my first choice. I never expected that I would apply to the US, let alone be flown in to interview at - and then receive an offer of admissions from - one of the most incredible research institutes and PhD programmes in the world. And even though I applied only to programmes that I could see myself attending (or at least I could before I went to visit), I had pretty much set my heart on EMBL. The only problem it had, I thought, was that it wasn’t really a graduate school, and there were no rotations. (I’m a greedy, curious person who wants to learn everything.) But apart from that, it would have been perfect.

But then my friend currently enrolled in the Watson School encouraged me to apply. I don’t know what he saw in me that made him think I stood a chance, but I sent in an application anyway because I loved everything about the school’s philosophy. It matched exactly with what I wanted in a graduate school. I remembered browsing through CSHL’s online historical archives and reading the transcripts of interviews with Dr. Winship Herr, and just falling in love more and more with the picture of WSBS they painted. I was head over heels when they invited me to interview (this even after EMBL sent me an invitation too!). It felt completely unbelievable to me that this amazing institution saw my application and found me adequate.

I flew to interview and absolutely could not have loved what I saw there more. The people were friendly and generous and willing to talk (and listen!) to me about their science. The environment was stunning. The atmosphere was the most open and collaborative I’ve felt. The students were quirky in a good way; so was the Dean, if I might say so... I enjoyed myself so immensely. Add to that the fact that I felt really good throughout my interviews; at least two people told me they wanted me here (in more roundabout terms, of course). At this point, I cautiously moved WSBS up to number one. I wholeheartedly believed that I would come here if I was accepted. The only problems I could see were that the place was geographically isolated (I can’t drive, but I thought I’d find a way around it somehow if I had to); I didn’t manage to find a Burning Question to work on (but I could leave that until after the rotations, I felt); and, of course, this was now Trump’s America. Who knew what terrors the next four years will bring? But I didn’t think these would hold me back.

Well, I didn’t count on falling back in love with EMBL Heidelberg.

If I thought I didn’t stand a chance with CSHL, I knew I didn’t with EMBL. There were four people recruiting from my unit of choice (Developmental Biology), and at least 20 of us vying for a slot. So much depended on me impressing a supervisor whose work interested me and whose style matched mine. And I had come from CSHL only a week ago, and my mind and heart were full of Watson School. Let’s just take it easy, I thought to myself. Make friends, talk about exciting science, go walk around this lovely German city.

Fairly unexpectedly, it appeared that they took a shine to me; I’m very certain they went easy on me during the initial assessment by the panel (probably because I was the last person and they wanted to get it over with). I didn’t get any difficult questions that I couldn’t answer at all. I had a really nice chat later in the evening with the head of the unit and other recruiting group leaders. And dangerously, throughout the entire process, I felt my wish to join EMBL grow stronger and stronger. (But the Watson School! cried a small voice, which was quickly hushed by replies of Dude, can we please focus?)

I spoke with the group leaders in more detail over the next days, narrowing down to two people whose work I was intensely interested in - okay, to be quite fair, for one of them there was definitely an aspect of “oh shit I don’t really understand this, but he is so smart and his lab is such cool people”. As for the other... I didn’t feel anything intense until I talked to the graduating predoc and just. fell. in. love.

It was the perfect project. I could investigate so many aspects of supracellular behaviour using this. Virtually everything was understudied, so anything I did would have a good chance of turning out novel and interesting results. I could learn advanced microscopy, biomechanics/biophysics, computational modelling, 3D culture, etc etc... all the skills I’d wanted to acquire over the PhD period. Most importantly, I could not stop thinking about the question over the next day of interviews. I kept searching for ways to connect what I was hearing about in the interviews to “my question”. At this point, I knew that I wanted to be here, and I knew that I also had a pretty good shot (one of the interviewers essentially said to me in private that she’d love to have me there - twice).

With the Watson School, I’d get possibly much broader and deeper training during the coursework and rotation year; I’d also have superior pastoral care. It’s also a much cosier environment because of the tiny class size and close interaction. But at EMBL, the predoc course is nothing to sneeze at, and my particular unit is small and close-knit. I suspect I would miss the environment/atmosphere at the Watson School more than the training, especially given that my potential projects offer chances to branch out laterally too. Opportunities-wise, both institutes are hubs for conferences gathering leaders across many fields, and at both places I’d have the same problem of too many opportunities, not enough time. So when all the Serious Factors were considered, neither EMBL nor WSBS was significantly in the lead (except maybe that my Burning Question(s) have been pinned down to a much better degree at EMBL than WSBS).

But then came the killer. Where can I see myself spending four years outside of the lab? Where can I make a home? I couldn’t happily do that at Cold Spring Harbor/Huntington, given the general inconvenience one faces without a car, whereas at Heidelberg the public transport system is inarguably superior. (I don’t care much for clubs and drinking, so the geographical isolation of CSHL from NYC isn’t actually a big deal for me at all. I even prefer it, because otherwise I would have to keep explaining that no, I really am a happy introvert, and I do like people in general, but please leave me alone because I can’t handle constant social interaction all day.) And, of course, in Germany there is no Trump. There are radical right-wing groups, but in general they do not have the same degree of power and legitimacy as they now do in the US, and in any case EMBL is incredibly international in composition (and on actual UN ground, what the heck). As a - and I hesitate to say this, because I sound like such a SJW now - queer Asian atheist/agnostic woman, I feel much safer in Europe than I do in the modern-day US. Yes, CSHL is progressive and so is NYC, but the general climate plays a role. I don’t want to live and work in a place where I might suddenly wake up to find that yet another aspect of me no longer has human rights.

(Of course, fingers very tightly crossed that Europe doesn’t pull some awful shit in the next four years... Le Pen is unsettling.)

And once I came to that conclusion, I gave myself no alternative by accepting the offer from EMBL on the day. If I hadn’t, the pain I am going through right now - writing to the Watson School to turn them down while crying intermittently - would have been magnified a thousandfold, and I’d have constantly been second-guessing myself and trying to justify one place or the other. So... for once... I was decisive and didn’t procrastinate... Thanks me.

I know that the decision I’ve made is right, but I also know that I shall be looking back on this day, ages and ages hence, when the Frostian mood strikes me; if I had taken the road not taken, would it have made a difference?

#Doctor Who now?#signalling to self

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shkid · 4 years ago

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Condensing posts:

he got a job, i had a panic attack

So last night I ended up going out. We had our last ever university class, and a bunch of us went out for food. I was ready to hit the library, to prep for a meeting with my dissertation advisor today, but a couple of folks were making me feel bad for wanting to leave. So I stayed and had a couple of drinks. I wasn’t feeling great, but was drinking vodka blackcurrant, because I didn't want anything fizzy. Gradually people left, and one friend started trying to manipulate people to stay out. Fair enough, she had gone to a great deal of effort for having a night out, and the people who said they were gonna stay out ended up bailing early. I kinda felt for her, because there’s nothing worse than having to go home when you’ve got a good buzz going on, and no-one else is feeling it. I promised her one last drink. One last drink turned into a few (inevitably), multiple keys, and missing our last trains. We walked home, talking over each other, and smoking. My mouth was so dry and I already knew that the next morning wasn’t going to be good. She left mine just after 2am, and I went to bed. I slept maybe 45 minutes before getting up with such a thirst. I sipped a pint of water, and was trying to force myself to sleep, but of course I was still wired. honestly must have got up to the toilet about 7 times. My stomach was absolute agony. kept falling asleep for 5 minutes at a time, and then waking up needing a drink, or checking my phone etc. I watched the sunrise which was cool. I had drafted out an email to my supervisor at about 6:30am saying that I wouldn't make it in. I was dry heaving, but there was nothing in my stomach to throw up. Felt like shit for a couple more hours and then eventually got about 45minutes from 9:15am-10:00am. I felt like a new woman. So i got my bag packed and headed into town. Getting off the train I started to feel sluggish, and anxious. I bought a sports drink to try replenish electrolytes but was moving as if I was wading through gravy. Stepped foot in my faculty’s building and my heart was racing. My fitbit said my heart rate was >120. I was sweating, dizzy and nauseas so went to the bathroom. splashed some cold water on my face and rubbed up my cheeks. I looked transparent, and needed to get some colour in my cheeks. I walked with gravy legs to my advisor’s office and she greeted me by saying “how are you?”. I just said “I’m so sorry, I can't do this. I’m not well. can we reschedule?”. I think she was pissed. she said “how long have you been feeling ill? you should have just emailed me to cancel. You look very peaky, I think you need to go home to bed. Maybe go to your doctor”.

I sat outside in the rain and watched my heart rate come down, and my breathing regulate. I emailed her to say I was feeling better and that I think it’s just anxiety. The only other experience I have of that feeling, was the one time I had a panic attack in school (and that was 4 or 5 years ago now)! I reckon it maybe was a panic attack, but probably my baseline anxiety wasn’t helped by the coke comedown, hangover, and dehydration. i’m kinda mortified. She emailed me back and suggested that with her “year tutor hat on” she wanted me to seek support from counselling or my GP for strategies to help. I came home and have just dozed all day. My high-achieving brother on the other hand, got a permanent teaching contract at the school he’s been doing his probationary work at. I’m delighted for him, but feel like it highlights the complete worthlessness I feel about myself. lol.

shkid

what’s the harm in talking about self-harm?

Today I talked to a friend in great depth about my past with self-harm. I’ve only known her for four years(!) Took me long enough. In my 8+ (omg) years, I’ve barely mentioned it to my nearest and dearest. I still have close friends and family who have absolutely. no. idea.

This is a good sign. I’m writing a paper about NSSI and discovering so much about myself, as well as the kids I’m advocating for! Learning to break down the stigma in my own head. We NEED to start talking about NSSI, even if it’s difficult. It needs to become less of a taboo. Too many kids are suffering in silence! If I could speak to my 16 year old self, I’d tell her to believe the people who say that it’ll get better. Learning to forgive myself, and trying to practise self-compassion.

shkid

Sack her, employ a new one

So today was only the second time I met with a student counsellor and it was fantastic. Well actually it was very difficult throughout the actual session but I left feeling so much better. I really struggled to talk today, but I think I've maybe identified what my issue is. I've always known that I'm a bit hard on myself and whilst this can serve a purpose, I think it's become somewhat debilitating. I've always been "a bit depressed" and it's likely because I am literally my own worst enemy. Or at least, my worst enemy lives inside my head as my self critic. I was able at one point throughout the session to be mindful of this and correct something that I said; "I'm no good at talking". Sylvia helped me acknowledge that I couldn't be so bad at it because I had seeked out help and had gone to the session despite knowing I was going to find it difficult. I said to Sylvia "I wish I could just sack her, and employ a new one!" My self-critic is very good at what she does. But I wish she could tone it down a bit. Since the session I've caught myself saying demoralising things to myself, that I would never say to anyone else! A quick google, and the self critic describes me perfectly - often engages in self destructive behaviours! That's me. Whether consciously or subconsciously I've always been one to put myself in destructive situations. Questioning intimate relationships and worthiness of these. Me. To a tee. Sylvia asked me to think of what ugly thing's inside of me that stops me from being able to be kind to myself. The first word that came into my head was "worthless" and no matter how I tried to think of something else, it hung about there. Eventually I said it out loud. And I started to well up as the word came out my mouth. Sylvia was aghast and said she felt sad inside. So did I. I always THINK that I'm worthless, it's just I never acknowledge properly how wrong that thought is!! Thoughts are not facts. When it's just in my head I allow it to be true. That I'm not worth loving. That I'm not worth friendships, a career, a life. But out loud that's ridiculous - Sylvia had me explore things that I could be proud of and take ownership for. I struggled to think of any examples to start with, but have managed to come up with a couple since.

shkid

i’m so irritable

every little thing is bothering me. Today I slept in, which was the first thing that pissed me off today. Fitting that I woke up already hating myself and with reason to. That’s a new record.

had to skip any sort of human routine, and rush to get a train to a class I didn't even want to go to. sat in the class and my group had literally done nothing for the group task. I suggested what we could write for each question, and when it came to the presenting back to the class bit, my friend, (although today feels like a ‘friend’) looked over at me and then to the back of the class where another friend was sitting and raised her eyebrows to give a knowing look of “oh look, C____ isn't going to present today, like every other week” (or maybe I’m just paranoid), so i fucking did present. as a massive fuck you to her and all the others in my group. then once I was done, I kinda juts looked down at my book and started welling up because I was so upset and angry at how my friend had acted with me all morning.

after class, I walked to the library with said friend, and she was all “oh sorry I’m going for lunch with ____, I mean, you can come if you want?” which I took to be an invite to decline her invite. so i went to the library for all of 23 minutes before leaving because I was upset and couldn't focus.

Come home, and think about trying to make a start on some assignment work, but my fucking flatmate (who I really dislike at the best of times), had moved my laptop and work sheets from the dining room table, and spread out her own work. this is annoying for a few reasons. 1) she whinged about wanting a desk in her room for so long that I gave her my desk from my room - so she has a bloody desk in her room and I don't. 2) I spend nearly all my time in my own room, but today was a day where I actually wanted to be able to used the dining room table to try and start on some work. 3) It’s the only fucking table in the flat that I can work at, unless I invited myself to use my old one in her room?!?!

So frustrated. So unmotivated. Still sad. Still lonely.

(but having a check-in with a counsellor tomorrow which is much needed and hopefully will be a good opportunity for me to be able to talk to someone rather than vent to a fucking blog that no-one reads anyway)

shkid

I was having a bad day, and then it started raining

And when I say raining, I mean a torrential hail pellets driving into your face downpour. And my jacket isn't waterproof, and my jeans were clean on this morning but are now soaked. I'm getting really pissed off. I have so much uni work to do and yet can't mentally focus to do it. I was sat in class today, completely not focused. No drive at all. I am REPULSED by my body and yet won't do anything about it. I have no motivation to exercise and find it hard enough to do some simple body weight exercises in my room. I use food as an emotional crutch but then feel even worse after I binge, than I did before. It's a constant Catch 22. I want to cry but my body doesn't allow it. I well up and feel emotional, and yet I can't produce enough tears to actually cry. I don't want to be around people and conversation requires so much effort and I get so irritated at irrational things, and yet I get so down about being lonely. More than anything, I want to self injure but I can't. I can't ruin my chances of being able to swim soon, or upset my boyfriend when he sees my thighs next. I've already "accidentally" burnt my arm on the oven too many times. It's so fucking difficult.

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postgradmelancholy-blog · 7 years ago

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22nd July, 2017.

It is 23:49 on 22nd July 2017, and nearly 13 days since I graduated from Royal Holloway University of London, with a degree in History and International Relations. Honestly, my time at university was not always enjoyable. In fact, when I think back, a lot of my three year experience is marred by indescribable homesickness and a desperate feeling that I had perhaps, made the entirely wrong decision. In amongst this, however, my three years were some of the happiest, most exciting, and rewarding years of my life so far.

For three years I longed to leave university, dreamed of the day I would finally be free of education, and resented the fact that I had come in the first place. At the end of each year, however, I would lament leaving, and think to myself, ‘next year will be different’. It rarely ever was. I was lonely, happy, depressed, excited, anxious, hopeful and admittedly more unwell than I let on, all in equal measures. But, when the 10th July 2017 came around, and I suddenly realised that this was it forever, a whole new wave of emotions hit me.

10th July, 2017 was Graduation Day. I can honestly say it was one of the best days of my life, and I would give anything to be able to do it all again. For one day I felt entirely special. It was my day to celebrate, not only the completion of my degree, but the fact that I had made it. I had made it through first year, when I made friends with the wrong people, and ended up spending a good three months entirely alone, and going home every weekend. I made it through second year, where I ended a toxic relationship, and started to discover myself again, whilst for the first time, actually enjoying uni. And, I made it through third year, which was the toughest, but most enjoyable of the three. I had made lifelong friends, and lived in a house where Nerf wars on the landing were a regular occurrence. I found people as weird as me, and I loved that (mostly). I went to a university of 9,000 students, in a small town in Surrey where everyone knew each other, and you would find almost everyone you knew in Tesco on a Wednesday buying supplies for a Wednesday night SU. But, this was it. The beginning of the rest of my life. For a moment I was elated, hopeful and excited. Then quite suddenly, upon returning home to Plymouth, I felt hopeless, desperately alone and terrified.

The 11th July 2017. I returned home knowing I needed a job, determined to get one, so that I could fund what I truly wanted to do in life; a passion, which for now shall remain nameless. However, it is now the 22nd July, and I am still without work. That is not for want of trying. Being reasonably well qualified, having worked part-time at university, and during summer holidays, and having achieved good GCSE’s, good A Levels and a good degree (a 2:1), I expected that finding something which would provide me with some money wouldn’t be too hard. It was. It is. I have applied for everything under the sun. Granted, Plymouth itself does not offer a lot, but I have applied for everything. Jobs that I should be getting, I have been turned down for. Jobs that I want, I don’t have the experience needed. I am 21, and have been in full time education (with the exception of a gap year) for 17 years, when am I supposed to have gained the relevant experience?! The feeling of demoralisation, hopelessness and not being good enough threatened to overwhelm me. It still overwhelms me. Not only that, but friends around me seem to be moving on. They live nearer to London, so are getting jobs. I recently watched one of my best friends get married. They have boyfriends who support them and are close to all their friends. I am a good 200 miles away from my closest friends. I can’t get work, and (pathetic though it sounds) I don’t have a boyfriend. I feel alone, and I cry all the time.

I write this, not for pity or sympathy, but to express how difficult post-grad life is. I could do a Masters, by a) I don’t want to, and b) THE MONEY! I need money to be able to pursue what I really want to do, but can’t get a job to pursue that, I can’t move away because I have no money, I can’t see friends because they’re so far away, and I have no money…the cycle goes on.

Post-graduate depression is a real thing, and I have come to understand that it is common, and not something of which I should be ashamed. Yet, as I write this (crying), I don’t feel like I am one of many. I feel alone. Isolated. Cut-off from the ‘real world’, and thoroughly unhappy. “You’ll find something”. “You’re young, there’s plenty of time”. But there isn’t. I am 22 in less than 2 weeks, and I feel time ticking past ever quicker.

I would, ideally like another year of uni. It was safe, and comfortable, and ultimately there were other people in charge. I am glad my course was only three years, and do not wish for another, but this period of hopelessness is terrifying. I have days where I am motivated and see myself living out the dream to which I so desperately cling, but these days are followed by weeks of crushing hopelessness and a reality that I might actually have to get a ‘proper career’, and live a ‘normal life’.

I could, I suppose, have entered a Grad Scheme, but this neither appealed to me, nor took my interest. Plus, they’re basically all in London, and would have had to find some way of supporting myself in a mightily expensive city. I don’t particularly want to do anything to do with my degree, but have worked out that if I don’t end up doing the thing I dream of doing, then I want to do something worthwhile. Though, this in itself, it not easy.

It is not necessarily the SU nights out and the cheap drinks that I miss, it is the sense of belonging, of having a purpose. Even on my darkest days at university, I knew where I was heading, and I felt as though I belonged. Now, I feel stateless, restless and lonely, more so than I ever did at uni.

#uni #graduation #graduate #rhul #21 #university

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