June 2026 – Letters From My Bed

I love…

Following from my last journal entry, I want to try something different. I want to try and work harder to acknowledge all the things I am, that aren’t “fat and vulnerable”.

I’ve always judged myself harshly, in a way I wouldn’t even consider judging others; in a way that I personally feel is despicable. I actively call people on judging people based on their physical features, so why oh why do I let my mind judge me that way?

That makes for an easy start. I’ve not always been the best human, I’ve made mistakes and hurt people, but from that I learned some heavy lessons. Now, I always try to be kind in every interaction and if I feel uneasy about something I’ve said or done then I address it with that person as soon as possible. A simple “I didn’t like how I spoke, I’m sorry and I’m going to do better”. If I know I’ve not handled something well, I will take accountability for it.

I love that I always assume the best in people and try not to judge them based on their worst day.

I respect others boundaries, I think that’s the absolute bare minimum everyone should do and so I’m always very conscious about not crossing lines.

During conversations, I sometimes catch myself trying to relate to something the other person has said. I know this isn’t helpful a lot of the time, so I try my best to correct myself and give people the space they need to talk. If I do this, then I actively redirect it back to their situation and remove my experiences from the discussion. I find it really triggering when others say things like “I totally know what you mean because….” Then the conversation is switched to them and the space I needed to talk is forgotten. But I try my hardest not to do this and correct it if I do notice I’ve done similar.

I am a people pleaser, and it’s always been a need of mine to try and help others. But I recognise, more so now, that it’s not always helpful or what that person needs. They also may not need my opinion but just the space to talk and feel heard. If I’m unsure, then I ask what they need from me in that moment so I don’t get it wrong.

Side note: a lot of these come to how I handle myself around other people, but since getting sick my interactions are much smaller and reduced. So I’m more conscious of these things now because I’m aware that the limited social interactions have had an effect on my social skills.

I like how, despite my regular masking, I am actually far more open and honest with those around me. And with anyone who asks questions. Like writing this blog, bearing my scars to anyone who reads these posts, because I spent my whole life hiding who I was to the point I didn’t have an identity or personality of my own. I’m really proud of the work I’ve done to get to know me and to get comfortable with letting others truly know me too, even if that still feels uncomfortable and scary at times.

I’m really proud of everything I’ve achieved in life, even when at the time I didn’t think I was accomplishing anything. Hindsight always comes too late, but I’m grateful it arrived and showed me just what incredible things I’ve been capable of at different stages of my life, including since getting sick.

I love that, no matter how hard things get and how frustrating life can be, I don’t give up. I mean I tried giving up once and something told me it wasn’t my time. I hold onto the relief I felt, and I’m really proud of myself for not letting those thoughts win since. Not just in that sense, walking is incredibly hard; it’s painful, exhausting and often unsafe. But I still walk; I haven’t given up on the idea that it’ll improve one day. I haven’t given up the idea of being able to work in some capacity or that maybe one day I might feel deserving of love.

I trust in my gut. My gut tells me that I will build a life that is fulfilling and full of love and joy, it just may not look like the old me imagined it and that’s ok.

My favourite part of me, is being Auntie Chlo. The fact that all the kids in my life love me and think I’m really cool. They certainly don’t see me as fat or vulnerable. They see me as fun, cuddly and a safe person to talk to. They might ask why I’m in a chair, but that’s quickly forgotten when they realise the joystick is in their reach and they can have a little ride-along.

I love the power of my writing. My English teachers would never believe that I enjoy writing, or that I write at all. But it’s powerful to me, and I’ve been told that it’s been powerful for others too. That means a lot to me, that these words on a page that usually take little thought, can actually mean something to others.

With the work I’ve done in therapy, I’m really proud of myself for learning to set boundaries. I’m still practising and I still get it wrong sometimes, but I’m trying and that’s a huge improvement to previous me who would always put others first, often to the detriment of myself and my needs and wants.

I really love my hair and my eyes. About the only thing I do for myself now is pay for a decent haircut at least once a year, because I now love the hair that I spent half my life resenting for being so big, unruly and heavy.

I’m really proud of myself for when I came out to my friends and family, who apparently all suspected I might be gay. I’m also really grateful for how they all received it, how they held my truth with gentle hands and how they let me come to the conclusion on my own. The old me, who didn’t know who she was, would have never had the courage to admit that part of me existed. In fact, she thought I might have been a danger to others because she didn’t understand her thoughts and wondered “is this how serial killers or predators think”. I feel really sad for her, that she spent so long fearing what she might become, because she just didn’t understand herself or her thoughts. Life could have been gentler if she only knew that she was bisexual and not the next Jeffrey Dahmer.

I really love how I appreciate the little things, especially now. How I run (waddle) as fast as I can to go and stand in torrential rain, bare foot. Or how I actually enjoy watching the bees collect pollen in the garden and how my heart melts when Riley gets so excited his tail spins in circles. I love how the breeze feels when I’m out in the fields.

I love how deeply I love. I love that I’m not afraid to tell people I love them or appreciate them at any opportunity because you just never know if there will be another opportunity. So I say it in the present moment, and don’t wait.

I love that I’ve chosen rescue dogs to live alongside me and accept me as their Velcro human. I love that Bella loved me for 12 long years, even when life slowed down for us. I love that Riley is forgiving of me on the days when I tell him off because I’m having a bad day – though he is still a twat who’s incredibly stubborn. But he’s my stubborn twat and he’s really happy now, especially compared to when he arrived. I gave them both homes full of love, where they could be valued, spoiled and happy.

I’m glad that I try to use my pain and my experiences to help others feel less alone. To feel lonely is one of the worst emotions, especially feeling alone with health concerns. I’m really glad I try to turn that into something positive.

I love that I can still laugh. When life is hard and complicated, it can be really easy to forget you’re still capable of having fun and laughing, that you still deserve those things. So I’m glad I’m quick to laugh.

I love that as I’m writing this, I’ll get halfway through a point and suddenly think of something else. I genuinely didn’t know I loved this much about me. It’s probably a good place to end this, or I think I’ll be using a lot of energy to think and type.

My friend told me to try affirmations and I genuinely think this has helped a lot. I’m not perfect; I make mistakes all the time, especially with myself. But I’m really trying to treat myself like I do others, it’s just the undoing 32 years of programming can be quite hard at times.

As for how frustrated I’ve been feeling, I know it’s normal. Sometimes it’s just a lot louder than I’d like, but it’s led me to do some really honest writing. I’m aware I’ve not been journaling as much, and that could be why things have gotten so heavy to carry on my own, but maybe I needed to reach that point so I’d let people in and start writing again.

Today is also my 5 year vaccine anniversary, so it feels really nice to shower myself with a little love on a day that can be quite triggering.

I need a little moment to feel sorry for myself.

This one’s going to be quite tough for me to write and even harder to post publicly.

I’ve been feeling really emotional lately, teary, ragey, sad and frustrated. And therapy today helped me get to the bottom of it, and my therapist asked whether it would be so bad for me to let myself feel how I’m feeling, and let other people see that too. The answer was that I’m scared if I let myself feel it, it’ll be all consuming. And if other people heard it, they may think I’m attention seeking or that I just need to lighten up.

I mask a lot, but for the most part I can be accepting of my limitations and situation now. That doesn’t make it any easier, it just means I use less energy fighting it. But often I mask and tell people I’m fine or coping well. I’ve always done that.

My situation is shit.

Everything is hard, whether that’s getting up in the mornings, having a bath, playing with Riley, or just trying to get through the day. Right now, I’m sick to fucking death of everything being so hard.

I’m sick of needing help, I’m sick of fighting my inner turmoil to try and accept help, I’m sick of it all.

Saturday mum and I popped out for a few bits. The main reason was to go to curry’s to look at some tall fridge freezers to see what would be easier for me, because our under counter fridge and chest freezer are becoming more challenging for me to access. Veg drawer – too low now. Freezer – can barely lift the baskets to access everything underneath, also can’t reach down to most of it without difficulty. I hate that this is my reality, but it is. After we decided to have a little look in TK Maxx. I haven’t been out for a while and just fancied a mooch.

Back in December, I sent a letter of complaint to TK Maxx for how inaccessible their Trowbridge store is and they assured me they’d forward it to their manager to reassess the store. That, quite clearly, hasn’t happened. In my chair, I can’t turn in the aisles, and some of them aren’t big enough for me and someone else to pass. Added to that, some people are just cunts. So I might be near the end of an aisle, that fits both of us, and they ignore me when I ask them to let me pass. This means I then have to reverse, not being able to see behind me and trying get out backwards. But of course, someone else might come down the end of that aisle I’m trying to escape from and then I’m trapped. Purely because some people are massive twats and the store isn’t really accessible for wheelchairs. They also love to stack baskets in the middle of aisles.

I left feeling like an inconvenience, like I just wasn’t welcome. A complete hindrance to everyone else’s shopping experience. I still needed to go to the garden centre to get Riley some more balls, and we said we’d grab a coffee there. Feeling hugely embarrassed by being an inconvenience to others I used just my stick, despite the fact my legs were buggered. We got to the cafe and mum necked her coffee, then said she would leave me there and have a quick look at the flowers outside.

Overwhelmed by my limitations and cunty people in TK Maxx, I burst into tears. I wanted to look round the flowers too. Mum ran to the car and got my chair and we made sure I didn’t go home feeling unwelcome in the world. We spent an absolute fortune and Sunday I made sure to totally fuck my body by planting them all.

The result being I got stuck on the ground in the garden, after my body collapsed on me, and we spent the next 20 minutes trying to lift me off the floor while in complete hysterics. I did this, because what I needed was to feel like I could do something. I had to plant that planter and I didn’t want help because I needed the sense of achievement. I needed that boost. The caveat is that I’m in more agony than usual and can barely move. There’s always a consequence, even if I don’t push that hard.

The reality is that everything is hard in one way or another, and every single day I find something I can’t do. I’ve been fiercely independent my whole life, so to need help is incredibly uncomfortable. I’ve always been the one that helped everyone else, the one my family didn’t have to worry about. But I can’t be her anymore, my body won’t allow it. But I hate asking for or accepting help still. I hate being seen to not be capable.

I also feel left behind. Not that people make me feel left behind, but that I’m coming up to 33 years old and I don’t have a career, a home, or a partner and realistically I don’t see those things on the horizon.

Yet, I spend my days dreaming about having my own bungalow where I can have people over for bbqs and games nights, where I can play Auntie Chlo and have the kids in my life come make a mess of my kitchen with cupcakes and crafts. Where I can build a life of my own, independently, around my limitations. A life filled with love and mess and joy. A life I know I can never access without the ability to work or afford a home of my own.

This brings me round to the other reason I mask, to the reason I don’t really let my friends see me like how I was today in therapy. I’ve never said this to anyone until therapy. My biggest fear, aside from spiders because who needs that many legs, is that people will see me how I see myself.

I’ve spent my whole life hating my body, I never felt at home in it. In fact, more often than not, my body disgusted me no matter what size I was. Until I started powerlifting, and the last few years before getting sick I can wholeheartedly say that I loved my body. It showed in the way I took care of it, in the genuine smile I’d have, in the photos I’d willingly take and post. I finally felt like me and my body was so strong and capable. I felt so connected to every fibre, cell and muscle.

Now, I’m back to hating my body; hating how it looks, hating how it betrays me and hating how it makes me feel ashamed to be seen (along with being ashamed to be seen as disabled). I’ve always had a body dysmorphia issue, and now it feels more vicious than ever.

Fat and vulnerable. That’s how I see myself now, and I don’t want to see myself that way. And I really don’t want others to view me that way. So I go out with a heavy dose of anxiety that I might bump into someone who knew me before, and that this will be how they see me. But really, I know there’s nothing worse than the fact that I see myself this way.

I know my friends and family don’t view me that way, they’re far too bloody amazing to do that. But it’s the fear about it coming true, and then the looks of pity. Because I pity myself enough already, and I hate how I view myself already. I couldn’t cope if others viewed me that way.

Truly the idea of posting this is terrifying but I also think I have to. I’m not letting people in, I’m holding on to that mask; the brave face and words of platitude. All so people don’t know just how fucking hard every day and every task is, so they don’t know how much I resent that, how much I sometimes envy them and that ultimately there’s a part of me that just hates myself and my body.

That’s a brutal thing to admit, and, unsurprisingly, it makes me feel very vulnerable. But right now the bucket is overflowing and I can’t keep filling it up by not being willing to face these feelings and thoughts. I’ll be ok again, and I will feel genuine acceptance of my current situation again. But right now, I just have to be honest with myself, let myself cry, let people in to this dark reality and empty the overflowing bucket of emotions.

If you’ve got this far, thank you and I hope this hasn’t been too hard to read, or triggered any feelings of pity that I won’t know how to handle. I appreciate everyone who reads this little blog of mine, and I do have some appointment updates to write about. But this one had to take priority, or I’d have put the mask back up and carried on like I’m not ready to scream or cry at a moments notice.