Tag: growing

To smell the flowers

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It’s been a funny few months. I say ‘funny’, but I don’t mean ‘haha’ funny. More like a peculiar, confusing funny. The ‘I’ll laugh otherwise I’d cry’ kind of funny, although I’ve still admittedly shed quite the volume of tears over the past few months (though some that know me would say this isn’t necessarily unusual for me). The point is, I’ve run the gamut of emotions in a condensed amount of time, and it’s left me feeling really weird lately. An emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. How annoying. 

It’s been understandably difficult dealing with my husband’s evolving medical issues, though I can say after more than 6 years of relentless, terrifying situations, I genuinely feel like we face these issues with much more pragmatic attitudes than ever before. It never stops being terrifying and emotional, but I’m immensely proud of the way we’ve faced recent events and pushed ahead with logic. Though we’d give anything (literally anything!) not to have to deal with this crap, in a twisted way, I’m grateful that we, as individuals and as a pair, have become better versions of ourselves off the back of what we’ve experienced. Just the fact that I can type this now shows that I’ve grown a lot as a person – that I can take a step back from the chaos and analyse it logically. And better yet, that I can admit that there’s any glimmer of a silver lining in the shitty cards we’ve been dealt in life shows how far I’ve come. Every cloud, eh?

As a quick update for those following this insane medical journey: we’ve found a private neurologist in the last few months who my husband describes as ‘the best doctor’ he’s ever had. And considering his medical history, you can be damn sure he’s seen plenty, so this judgment points to good things. The doctor treats us like human beings (gasp!), has a sensible approach to health backed by science (not always a guarantee these days) and genuinely seems to want to help. This is the first time we’ve not felt like lepers in a doctor’s office. It’s still early days in my husband’s current treatment, but we’ve got a course of action… and then several other courses of action planned should the first one not pan out. So in short: we’re happy and optimistic – something we weren’t feeling at the start of the year. Fingers crossed the trajectory continues this way.

Whilst all this was going on in the background, as is usual fashion for me, a tornado was wreaking havoc in other parts of my life too. I’m still waiting for the reality TV crew to jump out from their hiding spots, but until then…

The company I work for went through some major internal structural changes recently that left my entire team facing redundancy. It happened very quickly – we were told our roles were being made redundant, proposed new positions were explained, those who wanted to stay had to interview for these very few new open roles, then we were told if we were successful or if we were out the door. All within 30 days. As you can imagine, this was incredibly stressful and emotional. I went through every stage of grief, no lie, and I for sure had severe moments of ‘why now, why me?!’. Nevertheless, I pushed through the best I could, and I attribute that both to the strength I’ve found in past life experiences, as well as to the people who helped prop me up and cheer me on throughout the process. Though I’m grateful I landed a new role at the company I love so much, I’m simultaneously grieving the loss of many fabulous colleagues and friends. It’s a complicated time, gang.

I went on a much-needed holiday, then came home and immediately fell very ill for a very long time. I faced conflicts with people I love. I made distant future plans knowing life could change by then. I went to the doctor for myself – twice! I’ve been let down. I’ve been surprised. I’ve been socially awkward and shockingly social.

These last few months have forced me to think about my own wants and needs much more critically, and to make very hard decisions quickly. I’m not a fan of making quick decisions on a normal day, so it’s been particularly difficult of late. I’ve had way too many anxiety attacks to count, but whilst they’ve been frequent, they’ve been brief. I’m slowly learning how to regularly claw my way out of these moments (with obvious external help from those around during an episode – thank you!), and so I say again: every cloud.

I’ve made regular use of the ‘block’, ‘unfriend’ and ‘hide’ functions on social media platforms, protecting myself from toxic people who trigger me. I thought this would be hard to do – I don’t like the aggressive feeling of doing this – but I can honestly say that it’s helped me so much more than I could’ve expected. I’ve also made use of the word ‘no’. Little miss ‘too-afraid-to-disappoint-people’ and ‘gives-everyone-10-billion-second-chances’ has given firm nos to negative influences who’ve tried to reach out. Who am I?! I won’t say this was easy to do in the moment, but after doing it once and realising I was better off for it, I find myself becoming much more comfortable looking after myself and not feeling guilty for doing it. Guess this is growing up, ya’ll!

I don’t think I’m feeling optimistic or particularly positive, but the main thing is that I’m trying to. It’s taken me many, many years, but I now feel like it’s okay to put myself first. This doesn’t mean that I care less about anyone else, but rather I care so much that I want to ensure I’m putting the best version of myself forward first. Not the tired, broken down version I previously offered. I’m not saying I’m killing the game over here – I still have bad days where I just can’t get a grip on my anxiety and collapse into a ball of erratic, irrational emotions. But I can say I don’t feel like a failure on these days anymore. I am allowed to feel broken. I am allowed to be angry and resentful about the cards I’ve been dealt. I’m allowed to have ‘woe is me’ days. But above all this, I know I’m allowed to be happy and continue to seek happiness. I’m allowed to change my mind and my mood. I’m allowed to be! It’s crazy that I’m only just now coming to this realisation, but I’m very glad I did.

And now, I think I’ll take some time to stop and smell the flowers. It’s a crazy life, folks. But there’s always a little beauty to see. You just gotta know where to look for it.

We all march on…

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I’m just going to slide into this blog post acting as if it’s only been a blip in time since I’ve last posted. It’s okay to start this one out on a lie, yeah? Great, glad we’re in agreement there. Moving swiftly along…

Hi buds! Can you believe it’s 2019 already? I can’t! OK, great. Chit chat – done!

Life sucks. Pardon the melodrama here, but honestly it’s become such a drag lately I genuinely feel like all I ever do is whine and complain and I hate it. I’ve wanted to write about it for so long, but I felt like if I did, I’m just painting myself as this world-class complainer who can never see the good side in life. I don’t want to be that person in the slightest, so instead, I just shut up. But that doesn’t help me emotionally, and it certainly doesn’t help anyone else who cares about me and wants to help. So despite still having reservations about writing this post, here I am. Doing it anyway! *insert awkward grimacing face here*

The last you heard from me, I was talking about my husband’s vitamin deficiency. Plot twist! Turns out, that was never the problem. Also turns out, nobody knows what is the problem. Sound familiar? We’ve done this song and dance so many times, it’s almost weirdly expected now. We’ve been in and out of the hospital the last six months – the emergency department a few times – test after test, waiting for someone to find a lead and bring us closer to an answer to the problem. I’ve been having flashbacks to the time we had to do all this before his CRPS diagnosis, and it is honestly heart-wrenching (and unbearable) remembering it took years of suffering before a doctor diagnosed him. Can I handle that again? Can he? And even now, not all doctors agree that he does, in fact, have CRPS. Every doctor seems to have a differing opinion, but I guess that’s just the nature of a syndrome, eh? In any case, this was never a place I expected us to be back in… ever, let alone this soon after having just rode this crazy train to CRPS land. I want off the damn train.

Every day at work, someone asks me how I’m doing. It’s a natural, casual question, not intended to be loaded in any way. For the last six months, my answer has literally been the same no matter who asks: I’m tired. I keep joking that exhaustion is now just a part of my overall personality, but in my head I do kind of feel like it has overcome me as a person and I’m incapable of being or acting any other way. It’s exhausting being this exhausted! I find myself digging back through my photo archives, reminiscing about years before, wishing I hadn’t taken such a carefree life for granted now that I’ve learned how overwhelming it’d all become. Then the guilt strikes, hard, in waves, and I’m chastising myself for being so negative. My thought patterns are wildly unpredictable, and I can’t even keep up with myself most days. So, I keep it simple when people ask. I’m just tired, and leave it at that.

I’ve mentioned before that I often approach a new year by reflecting on the one that’s just gone, to shed myself of those feelings to begin anew each year. Most of 2018 wasn’t all too bad. Health-wise, my husband wasn’t great the majority of the year, but it had become our new normal and we were just living with it. I felt lonely and isolated a lot, but lacked the motivation to do anything about it. But toward the end of the year, the feelings of pride I had for handling the difficult life the universe crafted for me with grace were quickly replaced with intense fear, uncertainty and crippling anxiety. As his health degraded and new symptoms were emerging, we were absolutely gripped by what was happening. I more or less blacked out from September onward, unable to think of much else apart from his health and what I could or should do to help fix it. Every moment of my time was spent worrying about him, whether he was around me or not. Not only did the new symptoms present more problems going about our ‘normal’ lives, but they seemingly made previous, regular symptoms worse.

But when Christmas finally rolled around, he was starting to feel a little better, and since medical tests hadn’t found anything still, we thought maybe we were in the clear. A fluke, surely. He got back to feeling more positive, laced up his running shoes and stared his pain condition directly in its non-existent face; running each weekend brought him pain, but also joy. The thing that he loved most before the nerve condition turned up uninvited. He was doing it again (!!), slowly and very carefully, but I could see his pure joy and god, how fulfilling that is to witness. Short lived, of course. Isn’t it always?

A few months later, the symptoms were back: extreme dizziness, blurry and/or double vision, intensified pain, localised unintentional muscle contractions, insomnia. A change in diet had improved his gastro symptoms, but nothing else. Blood tests still revealed no abnormalities. I think I took it hardest at first. I felt foolish and naive – how dare I think the issue resolved itself overnight? Haven’t I learned anything in this journey so far? How could I let him down by not being the pragmatic one? I was livid. At myself, at this mystery illness, at the universe. Why couldn’t I help him? It all feels so unfair and I can’t understand why we don’t deserve a break. It’s hard. Every day I’m fighting my own emotions, it’s no wonder I’m this exhausted.

My resolution this year was to be more sociable and make more friends. One thing that makes dealing with my life so difficult lately is that I genuinely do not have friends to help me escape – my mind, the situation, my life (sometimes). Especially in my new country. I don’t mean that to be cruel or dramatic or insensitive to the people who are in my life, but to be completely honest, I do not have anyone who regularly checks in on me without me having to prompt it first. Maybe this is my fault. I can be very closed off and I’ve often backed out of plans with others (because, this life), so I can totally see how I’ve made myself unapproachable in general. Nevertheless, it is hard seeing my husband’s phone light up with messages from friends and colleagues simply checking in, asking if he wants to grab a drink, shoot the breeze – all because they want to. He’s got friends fairly regularly asking him to do things and he’s the one with the disability, but I’ve often been sat at home alone waiting for him to return (and worrying if he’s okay). Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled my husband has people in his life like this. It relieves some of the burden and guilt I feel when I think I’m not being or doing enough for him. But still, I’m jealous. I wish I had people who wanted to take my mind off the things troubling me most! And boy, is it hard to make friends as an adult. In any case, I decided I didn’t like feeling so lonely and pathetic, so that’s why I endeavoured to put myself out there more often – social anxiety be damned!

It’s slow going, I’ll admit. I’m still resentful that I’ve seemingly been unable to pick people to stay in my life of their own volition. I can’t help but feel like there must be something wrong with me for people to forget about me so easily or treat me unkindly. I still struggle to shake this ‘woe is me’ feeling I have so often. But! I’ve started to make new friends. People who have so far been kind enough to reach out on their own accord and invite me to do things, ask me how things are, assure me they’re there to talk or not talk – whatever I want or need at any time. I am apprehensive, at best. I want to trust that opening up to new people will bring in new friendships I crave, but I’m also afraid I’ll lose them just as quickly. My life is so unique to the average 20-something, and I’m hyper aware that none of these people may understand the life of a caregiver. Because that’s what I am, really. But I am still trying and being more social and slowly opening up to new people. It is likely I’ll get hurt. I know this – such is life. But if there’s even a small chance that one of these wonderful new people in my life will stick around, then it makes it all worth it. We need people. And I need people to help remind me that I’m still young and have a whole, exciting life ahead of me. To remind me that I am more than this situation. That my personality isn’t ‘tired’. That I’m someone who needs care and attention too, sometimes. I very often forget this down in the muck that is this medical nightmare. So to those of you reading this who’ve been so kind and understanding toward me – even without knowing my whole story yet – I thank you. You have no idea how huge of an impact you’ve already had on my life, and moreover, I hope you stay.

This isn’t an easy life. I’ve never foolishly believed it would be, but I never could’ve guessed I would experience such trauma in such a short span of time. Word on the street is that I’m strong and resilient, but I almost never feel this way. I’m proud of myself for sticking my neck out when I’ve been in need, though. This is something I’ve never been known to do or particularly good at, but I’m finding life a little easier to handle knowing I’ve got a bit of extra help on the outside. Even if that help simply comes in the form of a smiling face willing to take me away from my own thoughts for a bit. Every little bit helps.

So I end this post with one request: always be kind. And when you’re feeling least like wanting to be kind, be even kinder. You never know who is so desperately relying on your kindness just to get through the day.

Go as long as you can, and then take another step.

Thicker than water

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Some people survive and talk about it. Some people survive and go silent. Some people survive and create. Everyone deals with unimaginable pain in their own way, and everyone is entitled to that – without judgement. So the next time you look at someone’s life covetously, remember: you may not want to endure what they are enduring right now, at this moment, whilst they sit so quietly before you looking like a calm ocean on a sunny day. Remember how vast the ocean’s boundaries are. Whilst somewhere the water is calm, in another place in the very same ocean, there is a colossal storm.

This year has been simultaneously remarkable and harrowing. I always refer to my life as a rollercoaster because that’s how it’s often felt with the ups and downs and the loopty-loops. It still really does. And now as I sit here halfway through 2017, I’m quite thunderstruck just absorbing the fact that half of this year has already passed. Time is slipping through my fingertips at a rather alarming rate. Some days, it’s unsettling. Others, I’m grateful for it. Life is a balance, isn’t it?

I recently made a surprise trip stateside to see my family. Namely, I went back to see my grandparents who’ve not been in good health lately, as I’ve previously mentioned. When I was initially planning to go, I wanted to write about my week when I returned to London because I thought it’d be cathartic in some way. I’ve been back a week now, and my opinion has changed slightly. Part of me wants to spill every little detail about my week and commit it to ink, but the other part of me wants to keep it close, to myself and those closest to me. As a writer, the latter bit stresses me out a little. I’ve been relatively open about massive issues I’ve faced in my life, especially recently, and I do genuinely find catharsis when I put my feelings into writing. But my week in Cleveland was special, emotional and one I’ll forever hold dear. Because it feels cruel to write a blog and mention something as dramatic as a surprise trip 4,000 miles away and not say a peep about it, I will say this:

My week home was heart-warming, exhausting, happy, sad and very, very fulfilling. My grandparents and aunt were so incredibly surprised and thrilled to see me and spend time with me, and that’s all I ever wanted from the trip: to make them happy and aware that I was willing to drop everything in a heartbeat to be there for them. And I was. I was there. And I will be again if and when they want or need me to be.

It was not a holiday. It was not time off. I woke up every morning at 5am because that was 10am UK time and I worked a full day. Every day that week. Then by 1pm, the UK workday was over so I’d get ready for the afternoon and spend it with family. In the evenings, I’d squeeze in a few hours to see friends. I’d fall into bed every night absolutely shattered, mostly running on adrenaline, which seems to be my only fuel source this year. I rolled back into London on a Sunday morning and rocked right back to work that Monday. It was very hard, but I don’t regret doing it. It was the right time for me to show up, and I’m so, so glad I did. However, I have no idea how I’ll ever top that kind of gift! Think I set the bar too high for myself…

I still don’t know what’s next in this long saga of continuous chaos. Some days I’m optimistic and strong and cheery, other days I’m a moody, grumpy lump on a log for no discernible reason. Some days I’ll talk my friends’ ears off about what’s bugging me or what I’m excited for, and other times I force them into an awkward exchange with lots of one-word answers and uncomfortable silences. I don’t know how people are meant to handle the things I’ve been going through this year, and I don’t know that there’s really a guidebook for any of it either. Day by day I take things as they come, and meet them with whatever mood happens to me. I never have proof of my strength and I often feel like a wimpy, whiny baby, but I’ve been told that I’ve been doing okay so I take that as a success and keep moving forward.

My life isn’t better or worse than anyone else’s. While it’s hard not to feel like the world owes me something, I want to believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe this year is a year for hard-earned lessons that will prep me for whatever 2018 has coming my way. I don’t know. I can’t know for sure. But what I do have now that I didn’t have before is experience. I’ve learned way more in these last few months – about myself, life, humanity – more than I ever could’ve imagined I would.

This life is precious. Although it’s cliché, you never know what tomorrow may bring. I do what I can in a day, and then I’m done with it. I make time for what I want and need, and do my best now to strike a better balance between work and my personal life. Work still seeps into my personal life, but it is a choice and not a requirement. I am grateful to have friends both here and in my hometown, all of whom show their support for me when I need it. Life isn’t about merely surviving – it’s about living, right? That’s what they say.

So I guess this post is my thank you to everyone who’s been following my life thus far, offering tid bits of ‘you’re doing great!’ and ‘thinking of you’ comments here and there. I imagine from the outside looking in it’s been pretty dramatic and entertaining, so I can’t blame you for wanting to know how I am and how things are going. Thank you for caring. Thank you for striking up conversations even if I look unapproachable. Thank you for spending time with me even on the days I’m not very communicative. Thank you for being constant beacons of light when I’ve not even realised I was in the dark. I am so very grateful that even on days I feel like I’m dealing with this life alone, I’ve never actually been alone. It’s been quite the adventure so far, hasn’t it? Here’s hoping for tomorrow…

Cheers, 2016!

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So 2016, now’s the time to say our farewells. I like to try and take the time to reflect on the whole year that’s passed before I allow myself to start planning for the arrival of the new year, so here I am – at it again!

This past year has been a rather difficult one, to say the least. I’ve moaned and griped for quite some time now, but I’ll be happy to put that to bed and start fresh… after this last post!

2016 began slow for me. I had just moved to London and was still struggling to find a new job in line with the new career path I was pursuing. I was noticeably despondent – feeling sorry for myself and feeling like I was never going to find my place in my new city. But by March, I had happily accepted a new gig in the travel-writing sphere and threw myself into work full-force. Although I was happy to work, I still found it tough to transition into an atmosphere that was totally new (and vastly unconventional) to jobs I’ve held previously. The environment was bubbly and relaxed, and everyone seemed to be best friends with each other. A huge contrast to the news industry, from my experience. I felt awkward for many, many months, fearful that all the times I turned down tea from my coworkers would make it seem like I was rejecting British culture! But it didn’t take long for me to chill out and find my place in the office, although I’m still partial to coffee over tea. I got a promotion within 6 months on the job, which certainly helped me feel valued. But most importantly, I made friends I hope will last forever. My colleagues may not know this, but they’ve helped London feel like home – something I had been missing the first 6 months post-moving abroad. I can’t imagine working anywhere else. I truly struck it rich.

My new job has also helped me survive my personal life this year. As many know, it’s been a tough year in my marriage. My husband’s nerve condition spread to his hand, and it had been so painful for him that it had an immediate effect on both of our lives. He was hurting, angry and scared, and in turn, I was the same – just in my own way. With the sudden changes in his health, we found we were asking questions we never thought we’d have to ask before: are we running out of time to have kids before his condition is too bad that he can’t help me in raising them? Will he be able to continue working? Can I be the help he needs? Who can help me deal with this? I was working to escape the stress of my personal life. The office became my sanctuary and my breathing space. I found focusing on my work a happy distraction from all the fear and worry swirling around in my head on any given day. My colleagues were supportive and nice and understanding, but also gave me the space I craved and needed at times. They helped give advice and suggestions when I needed them, or offered ideas I wouldn’t have thought of on my own. I don’t think I would’ve dealt with this year’s drama as well as I had if it weren’t for my incredibly supportive colleagues.

I relied heavily on family this year too. Though I’m sure they already know it, I think it’s worth mentioning my gratitude: Thank you to all my family members – kin and non – who’ve been there for us when we’ve needed it most. We’ve got a global support system, and we can’t thank you enough!

The stress of the medical issues in our lives was enough to crumble our marriage. But it didn’t. We got through some incredibly horrendous moments and became even closer and more enamoured with each other at the end of it all. We left London toward the end of December feeling hopeless about finding relief for my husband. Our doctors in the UK led us to believe that my husband didn’t have any other options available to him. That pain relief was impossible, and the best they could do was continue to prescribe drug after drug in an attempt to manage the pain. But we didn’t take this as a final answer – we couldn’t. We made an appointment at the Cleveland Clinic for a second opinion, feeling like there must be some other medical professional in the world who could offer us new information. It would be expensive, but how could we ever put a price tag on quality of life?

Turns out, that one appointment was all it took to regain the hope we had lost throughout 2016. We met doctors who very clearly understood his nerve condition on a level our previous specialists did not. They gave us new ideas to pursue in finding ways to relieve the constant pain he’s in, and even trialled a new medication we had never heard of before. We feel like we can now return to London armed with new knowledge – plus a team of US experts ready and prepared to help us should Europe be unable.

And me? Well, 2016 tried to suck all the hope and happiness from me… and nearly succeeded. It hasn’t been easy to keep my head above water, but despite everything, I’m proud to say it taught me a lot. I’ve gained tools and a support system that I didn’t have before that are helping me be strong and positive and goal-oriented. I feel more prepared than ever as 2017 rounds the bend, and that is a pretty great feeling!

So good-bye, 2016! It’s been a weird and arduous year, but I’m leaving with a new outlook and newfound hope for a successful and positive 2017. The best gift the year could’ve given me.

When you start to feel like things should have been better this year, remember the mountains and valleys that got you here. They are not accidents, and those moments weren’t in vain. You are not the same. You have grown and you are growing. You are breathing, you are living. You are wrapped in endless, boundless grace. And things will get better. There’s more to you than yesterday.

Women vs the world.

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A woman’s place is everywhere.

I’ve been debating whether or not to blog about this subject for quite some time now. I’ve found that if I voice my opinion on the matter, I get a lot of backlash, including from close friends and family. But I decided that’s not a good enough reason to stop myself from using my voice. Especially considering I find that blogging serves as a sort of personal therapy as well. To those who may disagree with my opinion: I respect you. However, it remains my opinion built up through my personal experiences.

So here we go!

I’ve almost chalked up two whole years at my current media job. I started out loving it and feeling very proud of my early success in the field, having nabbed the position shortly after graduating college and in a highly competitive, larger market. But the longer I’ve been here, the more certain negative aspects of the job really stand out. The worst of it all? Sexism and ageism in news media.

College professors warned me and other female classmates of sexism in the journalism field. It is no secret that women are held to a much different standard on-camera. After all, we have more outfit choices than a man’s suit-and-tie go-to, so with that alone, we open the floodgates to physical appearance criticism. I knew this going into the field, but I still find it incredibly hard to stomach. However, I’ve thankfully never had to worry about this because I chose an off-camera career path in the media industry. That should instantly eliminate the worst of sexism for me, right? Well, not exactly.

I am one of 5 or less women news photographers employed in my city. And by that, I mean the women who lug around video cameras and tripods to shoot news stories for local TV stations. (Let me be clear: there are some female multimedia journalists, or one-woman bands, but their job has much different expectations than mine. So I’m not counting those individuals in this explanation.) This means, on any given day that I’m sent out with my video camera and tripod, it’s very likely that I’m the only female camera woman in the field that day. Let that sink in for a moment. Out of the four news stations in my area, there are less than 5 women doing what I do.  I have yet to meet another female news photographer from a different station on an assignment. Ever. I’ve only ever worked side-by-side with men, typically aged 35 or older. And as I’ve found out, these men don’t see me – a woman – as their equal. They don’t say it in as many words, so much as strongly imply it as such. However, I think several other factors weigh heavily into their opinion that I’m not as equipped to do their job as a man: my young age + my petite frame.

So with a one-two-three punch, my gender, age and size chalk me up to an inadequate news photographer in many’s eyes. Some of it I can find understanding, though. I can see how experienced photographers view me as less experienced, because in working years, that’s simply a fact. I haven’t been working in the field as long, so I’m sure there’s lots for me to learn. In other words, my young age may be seen as lack of experience. Fine. And my size? Yes, I’m incredibly petite. And it truly does get difficult lugging around a video camera and tripod that are literally as big as I am. I can see how it could be easier to do my job if I were a big, burly, strong man. And finally, I understand that many moons ago, times were different and women would never be in a job like the one I hold now. And I totally understand that some of my male counterparts at these news stations were working during that time, thus my presence now alongside them serves as a shock and something to get used to. I say these things to show that I try to understand where the criticism is coming from before I let it get to me. I’m not closed-minded, I swear! But my patience wanes when the commentary from these men are said like this: “They sent YOU out to a scene like this?” “You need a big, strong man to help you carry those things!” “Are you old enough to be working?” I am not exaggerating when I say I hear these things, along with many other condescending variations, every single day from men doing the same job as I am, to complete strangers who approach me in the field. Especially considering the fact that I’ve always been hyper aware that I’m unlike most people that hold the same job. I don’t need some stranger pointing it out in the rudest way possible on a daily basis, you know? It’s simply unnecessary and not nice at all! I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate someone saying these things to them either, would they? And I won’t even get into the catcalling and inappropriate advances I get sometimes. That’s an entirely separate blog post on its own! But let’s get one thing straight: I chose this job. So don’t pity me or view me as unfortunate.

When I complain to family and friends, they often ask why I don’t say anything to defend myself. Well, I sort of do. I try and make the exchange into a laughing matter, spitting back with a joke of “oh, yeah! I get a workout every day!” or something along those lines in order to cut the conversation short or make it a non-conversation at all. The problem is, I can’t be rude back. Partly because it’s not in my nature if I don’t know the person, and partly because I need to be a professional when I’m on the job. So despite being surrounded by jerks whose parents didn’t teach them to keep their mouths shut when they don’t have anything nice to say, I can’t let it noticeably get to me because it inhibits my job. When I’m on assignment, I need to get the video I need as quickly as possible, so I don’t have the luxury of getting into a heated debate about why I think I’m capable of performing just as well at my job as a young, petite female. All I can do is fake laugh, get what I need, and make disgusted, annoyed faces or mouth rude words as I walk back to my car. My only concern is excelling at my job, so that remains my number one priority. But the comments stay with me, even long after my work day is done. And that’s the part that bothers me.

Not only do men news photographers in my area not view me as an equal, but complete strangers are constantly coming up to me saying asinine things. No, I’m not an intern. Yes, I can carry all of this equipment all by myself. Yes, a pretty little face like mine actually does prefer to work off-camera. It’s the constant barrage that gets tiring and ruins the job for me. While I understand that with all things, there will be a level of criticism we must endure, I don’t believe that the amount I receive as a professional in my field is on the same level as most of my coworkers. That’s what makes it difficult: having to accept that while this isn’t the norm for most, it is for me. Simply because I’m different.

So let this blog serve as a polite request to kindly keep your criticism to yourself if it in no way helps an individual. My skin is thick enough already, so it needn’t any more. And to those of you young women looking for a career in the news media industry, know this: sexism and ageism is a very real, daily occurrence. And the only way to combat it is to keep encouraging more young women to jump in with us and grow in masses. I’m only one voice, but I know I’m not the only one fighting this. And to all you men (and some women) out there who think I’m incapable of doing my job as well as a man, well tough. Because you know what? I am doing it. And I’m really damn good at it.

No kidding

“If you’re feeling blue, try painting yourself a different color.”

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As a young adult, the majority of my life has been spent dragging my feet through school hallways and spilling coffee on my clean clothes. In hindsight and after reading many articles on the subject, I probably shouldn’t have started drinking coffee at age 5, but too late to worry about that now. In any case, even though I’ve spent so much time in classrooms, most of my learning experiences happened outside those walls and from nonprofessionals. Honestly, a lot of what I’ve learned came from listening to and spending time with kids. What made me realize this? Well, I was sitting here thinking, “Gosh, I really want a glass of champagne, but I don’t have a reason to celebrate and maybe I really shouldn’t.” And after I thought about it, I changed my mind and decided isn’t being alive a good enough reason to celebrate? A kid wouldn’t ask, “should I eat this mud pie?” A kid would simply do it. I may have grown up and I’m much more capable of grasping the concept of potential consequences, but I don’t want it to stifle my freedom. So then this got the gears turning and now I’m thinking about all the things little munchkins have taught me and why they’re valuable lessons.

As a young female, vanity has always been a (sometimes unwelcome) concern in my life. I’ll check my outfit in the mirror several times before leaving the house, and sometimes I’ll even head out feeling like even after spending two hours getting ready, I still could look better. I obsess over the clearness of my skin and cover “blemishes” with as much caked on make-up as possible. I dye my hair to cover premature grays, I try to buy trendy clothes and accessories, I primp constantly. I put so much effort into looking seemingly suitable for public eyes, and then I spend less than five minutes with a sloppy, messy, carefree little girl and suddenly she has me questioning every minute effort. She’s wearing multi-colored, striped cotton leggings, a bright pink t-shirt with a daisy on it and lime green Crocs. Not to mention her hair is all kinds of crazy and her hands are far from clean. But the only time this little one looks in the mirror is to check my face painting handiwork before proceeding to jump up in down in utter glee. If only we could gather up this loosey-goosey, untroubled childhood attitude and keep it with us as we grow older.

When you ask a child, “why are you doing that?” it isn’t uncommon for his or her response to be, “because it’s fun!” If you asked me why I’m applying for jobs, I would most certainly say because I need to not because it’s fun. Why don’t we do more things just because we enjoy them? As adults, we find plenty of excuses and reasons why we are no longer able to do something we once enjoyed. Money is tight, time is limited, getting too old – so many tired, worn out excuses that get way too much screen time. “Katie, why are you pouring glue in your hands?” Because it’s fun to peel off the dried glue, duh! “Riley, why are you acting like a puppy?” Because it’s fun to pretend! We should do what we want even if it has no value other than pure, uninhibited enjoyment.

And what’s more is that children are unafraid to openly express their emotions. If they miss their mommy and daddy, they’ll cry and screech and yell it at the top of their lungs without fear of embarrassment. If they missed you, they’ll come storming down the road to meet you the second you come around the bend, happily screaming your name, take a running leap and land in your arms. If you hurt their feelings when you call them a dodo bird poopy brain, they have no problem telling you straight to your face. If they have to go potty and you tell them to wait a few minutes, they’ll pull on your sleeve and make demands until you attend to their needs. We grownups tend to mask our feelings or hide them and sometimes we aren’t fully honest when we should be. Leah has no problem telling me that I need to hit the gym, but some of my best girlfriends wouldn’t dare even hint at it! If I tell Noelle I’m sad today, she’ll tell me to stop being sad and just be happy. The point is, kids tell you how it is (at least in their own eyes) and it’s refreshing. Why hold back?

And finally, one of my favorite things I’ve learned from kids is how to turn mundane tasks into a game. Picking up toys can turn into a fun basketball game as you chuck each one into the toy box. The rewards system is highly effective as a kid and an adult too. Finish this blog before midnight and I can have a second glass of champagne! Pick up all the crayons and you can have a piece of candy! Life doesn’t have to be boring if we can find ways to make it fun. Disappointments just give us a reason to look forward to improvements. Success is so sweet because we know it took us a few oopsies to get there. Just because we grow up doesn’t mean we should lose our innocent excitement; it doesn’t mean we should stop thinking the word poop is funny; it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t eat milk and cookies until our bellies ache; it doesn’t mean we should grow up and forget to live. Life is still exciting and new each day and I think it would do us all some good if we acknowledged and accepted our inner child- sticky hands, smelly feet, silliness and all.