My Sadistic Dad Abused Me And Cut Me Out Of His Will. I Was Shocked By Why I Forgave Him.

Posted on 18/06/2023 by Boris Clair

What is forgiveness, but a pass?

I learned about my father’s passing many months after his death, when a surrogate court sent me an obligatory legal notice: An estate had been created in his name. In his will, my father passed me over, stating not once but twice that under no circumstances was I to receive any of his money, even if all other possible beneficiaries were deceased. In my father’s view, it seemed, I was unforgivable.

Before I learned to swim, my father treaded in the deep end of our town pool, lifting his leathery tan arms, opening his hands to catch me. When I jumped, he took his arms down and I slipped underwater, floundering for a few seconds before my father pulled me up to the surface, holding my body against his. He laughed hysterically as I coughed and tried to catch my breath, the water lapping at our shoulders.

He said we should try again. This time, he promised he’d catch me. I got out of the pool and went to the edge. I bent my knees and hesitated. My legs shook.

“I’ll catch you,” my father said, his head and hands beckoning.

I wanted him to be the kind of father who would catch me, so I held my breath, closed my eyes and jumped, hoping that this time ― this time ― he’d keep his word. He rarely did.

As a girl, I often drowned in my father’s sadism ― his torrents of psychological and sexual abuse. In my 30s, when I began to speak and write about my childhood experiences, people I knew and people I didn’t know asked the same question: “Have you forgiven him?” Some urged me to forgive him, citing forgiveness as an edict, offering lines from the bible. My father was a flawed human being who deserved forgiveness. Good people forgive. Was I a good person?

My father wasn’t all bad. He could be caring. When I was growing up, he sat beside my bed when I was sick, gave me a pep talk when I felt anxious before my violin audition, and came to the Girl Scouts Pop Hop, doing the do-si-do with me even though, according to my mother, he hated to dance. For years, I pretended that good father was the whole of him, until I couldn’t pretend any longer.

The author, at age 8, and her father, pictured on the family deck, on their way to their second annual "Pop Hop." — The author, at age 8, and her father, pictured on the family deck, on their way to their second annual “Pop Hop.”

In “The Courage to Heal,” a book I read in my 30s while in the early stages of recovering from complex PTSD, authors Ellen Bass and Laura Davis write, “Developing compassion and forgiveness for your abuser… is not a required part of the healing process.”

I felt relieved to know that experts believed forgiveness wasn’t necessary. For most of my life, I saw forgiveness as something a victim offered an offender after the offender held himself accountable for his actions and gave a heartfelt apology. In the grander scheme of forgiveness was my sense of presidential pardons, an exemption from punishment for a committed crime.

My father never offered an apology for his behaviour, nor was he ever officially reported for or convicted of any crime. Though when I was an adult, I held him accountable in our conversations, and then also after our estrangement, in part of a memoir I published in my mid-40s, two years prior to his death. While he once, over the phone, admitted he’d done the things I’d claimed, he quickly retracted his statement. He said my perception of his behaviour was incorrect, and my unforgivable accusations were akin to sticking a knife in his chest: He was the victim.

In a research study on forgiveness, Harvard University epidemiology professor Tyler Vanderwheele states that forgiveness may boost mental health and wellbeing. Vanderwheele defines forgiveness as “replac[ing] ill will toward the offender with good will” and names empathising with the offender as an essential step toward forgiving.

I sometimes wonder if my father ever felt empathy or good will. I felt empathy and good will towards my “good” father, but not the abuser father, the greater whole of him. But ultimately, empathy and good will had nothing to do with my coming to forgive my father.

A dog did.

The author and Beau on a hike north of Boston in August 2022.

When I was a child, I begged for a dog, but my father said we couldn’t have one because he was allergic. (Years later, after he divorced my mother and remarried, he got a dog and insisted he never had a dog allergy.) My father told me that, as consolation, he’d be my dog. He got down on all fours and barked and panted. I was enamoured and enthralled until he pushed me over and lowered his body onto me. I had no power to prevent what happened next.

Decades later, in my mid-40s, living solo during the pandemic, I adopted Beau, a yellow lab mix from Mississippi, who arrived with severe separation anxiety. When I left my apartment to go to work, Beau went to doggie day care, a place where he felt happy, safe and loved ― until he was attacked by another dog. Beau’s injuries were so serious that he needed emergency surgery to repair the damage. For days after, he wouldn’t stop crying, panting, pacing and hiding in my bathtub.

The vet prescribed a sedative (Xanax) that the clinic didn’t have in stock. Because most pharmacies forbid dogs, my only option was to go to the CVS drive-thru with Beau in tow. I pulled up, put the prescription in the tube, pressed the button, heard it airlift, and waited.

The intercom voice was high-pitched, taut. “What’s your dad’s name? I can’t read the handwriting.”

Beau whimpered in the backseat.

“It’s not my dad,” I said, leaning my mouth toward the plastic device, hearing my voice rise. The vet had noted “dog” on the prescription. “It’s my dog.”

In that moment, the seed of forgiveness took, though I wouldn’t know it until months later when I came to see that Beau’s trauma, and the aftermath, had triggered my history with my father, and with it, all of my unresolved feelings: shock, anger, betrayal, the loss of safety in a place where safety was promised, the terrifying lack of control over what happened to my body, the question of whether I’d live or die — above all, the grief that the good father I’d wanted and needed was forever gone and the bond between us destroyed.

Beau at the vet clinic, after emergency surgery for serious injuries caused by a dog at his day care in November 2022.

Even before Beau’s assault, my connection to my father reverberated in my dog’s simple presence ― his panting, his barking, his clumsy way of playing. Worse, in proximity to a scooter rider or rollerblader or other random triggers, Beau suddenly turned from a quiet, sweet companion into a lunging, growling beast ― something my nervous system registered as akin to my father’s quick tonal shift, from caring man to violent abuser.

Only when I learned to disconnect my dog from my father could I fully accept the truth of my past and be present, with compassion, understanding and unconditional love for Beau. In the days after his attack, Beau’s suffering gave me the opportunity to heal the part of myself who still suffered from my childhood violations. Only then did I begin to grieve what I’d lost. I never expected forgiveness to follow.

Forgiving my father wasn’t something I wanted to do. Forgiveness didn’t even feel like a choice, it was just something I came to feel.

I realised forgiving my father wasn’t about whether he deserved to be forgiven or punished. Forgiveness wasn’t for him; it was for me. Forgiveness was my exhale.

Forgiving my father came as a release of my resentment and his corrosive grip on my life. Forgiveness was my letting go of the pain of my father’s actions and my attachment to the good father I wanted and needed, a construct long dead. Forgiveness was part of my process of mourning the loss of someone I loved and had once believed in, in order to survive.

I came to understand that forgiveness isn’t a pass, but a passage. When I forgave my father, he wasn’t exonerated. He didn’t receive any benefit, not because he was no longer alive, but because forgiveness, as I’ve come to know it, isn’t an outward act at all, but an inward gift of emancipation: I’m no longer my father’s victim. I’m simply me. Free.

The author and Beau taking a break while on a walk in May.

Tracy Strauss the author of the narrative nonfiction book “I Just Haven’t Met You Yet: Finding Empowerment in Dating, Love, and Life.” Former essays editor of The Rumpus, her writing has appeared in Glamour, Oprah Magazine, New York Magazine, Poets & Writers Magazine, and Ms., among other publications. She currently teaches writing at Harvard University and is writing a memoir about her rescue dog, Beau. When she isn’t moonlighting as a Zumba instructor, you can find her on Instagram at @pawfessorbeauandco, on Twitter at @TracyS_Writer and on Facebook at facebook.com/TracyStraussAuthor.

Help and support:

Rape Crisis services for women and girls who have been raped or have experienced sexual violence – 0808 802 9999
Survivors UK offers support for men and boys – 0203 598 3898

I Had To Poop In Front Of My Husband To Finally Realise I Wanted To Marry Him

Posted on 18/06/2023 by Boris Clair

I met my first husband when I was 30 and very quickly decided, “This is it!” And once I’d proclaimed, I refused to admit that, well, it wasn’t. Call me naive, stubborn or hopelessly romantic, but not only did I not break up with him when I clearly should have ― we got married. I was a captain going down with the ship if the ship was a legal document tying you to someone you actually don’t even like.

It did not work out.

Within a week of meeting my current husband, I told him, “Just so you know. I’m not getting married, and I don’t think I want kids.” It became a quote so famous, we immortalised it on the cocktail napkins at our wedding.

At the time, I meant those words.

When I met Bo, I was swiping on Tinder for a hookup. A fling. A nice guy who wouldn’t annoy me and would *hopefully* be good in bed. Not a boyfriend, and certainly NOT a husband. Fresh out of that super toxic and incredibly dysfunctional first marriage, the last thing I wanted was any real intimacy.

Even if I did meet that mythical creature referred to as “the one.” I did not trust my decision-making skills. Sure, my ex had sold me a bill of goods, but I bought it. (It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me.) I picked someone so unbelievably wrong, and I didn’t just date him. We made it fucking legal.

But Bo caught my eye. He had a picture of himself with a black eye on his profile, but the look on his face wasn’t giving “bar fight.” It was giving, “This is a dumb story I’d like to tell you about.” Turns out he had walked into a door. Not even a glass door. He had my attention.

Still, to prove to the universe and to myself that no man could hold me down, I flaked on our first date. I didn’t even make an excuse. “I’m having too much fun at a winery with my girlfriend. Can we reschedule?” He wasn’t offended. He just proposed a new date.

We met for drinks the following Thursday, and something happened that I was not expecting. We clicked. It was natural, organic ― I was being myself. Gross. There was a palpable attraction, which was my ultimate goal for the evening. But our conversation flowed. We went on more dates, but I had him at arm’s length. What the hell did he want from me? With all this “nice guy” tomfoolery. Surely he’d turn into a demonic loser. I just had to give it time.

When he invited me to a Halloween party his parents were hosting, I immediately said no. Meeting his parents? Was this guy high? Curiosity overruled my trepidation when he showed me the invite featuring an artistic drawing with a woman’s nipples exposed.

I told him I’d go for research purposes only. We attended the soiree dressed as the sisters from “The Shining.” I spent the evening smoking cigarettes, drinking whiskey by the pool and casually talking to his friends.

“This isn’t serious, this is a fling” was my mantra for the night.

A week later, one of my friends was having a party. I invited him, then immediately started to sweat. We went to a late lunch beforehand, and I sat there with a hoagie in my hand and felt sick. Why had I invited him? I started acting weird, and he finally asked me what was wrong. To my surprise, I told him the truth.

“I don’t want you to go to the party. I’m not ready for you to meet all my friends.”

He didn’t get mad or make me feel bad. He just said, “OK. I don’t have to go.”

Six months later, we moved in together.

I loved living alone. I loved my apartment. For the first time since hitting puberty, I didn’t need male approval to approve of myself. I never needed to live with someone again. Once I realised that, it freed me up to choose it.

Maybe that explains what happened when I came home from a bachelorette party feeling hungover and sappy one night. I blurted out a question that was NOT premeditated.

“But what if I want a baby?”

When I got pregnant with our son, I STILL wasn’t on board with marriage. I knew Bo would be a good dad and a good co-parent. I didn’t need him to be a husband as well.

Fun fact! You have to have a bowel movement before they let you leave the hospital after a cesarean birth. Maybe that’s the rule for vaginal birth, too. I’m never finding out. After the baby was born, I could barely sit up or get out of my bed, let alone walk to the bathroom. So when the moment finally felt right, Bo had to escort me. He held my hand as I cried on the toilet and pushed out a No. 2.

the wedding napkins with the infamous quote

I had never been that vulnerable with any partner before. I made a baby with this man, but it was in that moment of relief that I finally felt like I could really commit to him. An emotional barrier dropped along with my BM.

My first live-in boyfriend picked me up from the airport once after I had accidentally soiled my skinny jeans on the plane (bad oysters). I tried not to hug him for too long or make direct eye contact.

I shoved my pants in the dumpster as soon as we got home, and we ended things about five months later. It wasn’t directly related to this incident. But the fear of sharing my poopy pants told a deeper story. I was afraid that if I shared my authentic self ― the good, the bad and the smelly ― I’d be rejected.

I can trace the lines of my relationships’ past and directly link each one to a similar lack of intimacy, vulnerability and trust. I felt more in control when I was seeking approval. It blinded me. With Bo, I want to be with him, but I don’t need to. Now I can see the difference.

We celebrated our marriage on May 6, 2023, with close friends and family. But it was only once I let it out that I really started to let him in.

The 4 Biggest Early Warning Signs Of Lyme Disease

Posted on 18/06/2023 by Boris Clair

While the arrival of summer brings the opportunity to spend more time lounging on your lawn or hiking woodsy trails, we’re not the only ones excited about the long, warm days ahead: Ticks are most active from April through September. And while no one wants a bug bite, ticks are significantly more threatening than most insects.

These poppy-to-sesame-seed-sized bugs are responsible for the spread of Lyme disease, particularly in the Northeast, mid-Atlantic and upper Midwest. Lyme disease is the most common vector-borne disease in the United States ― in other words, it’s the most common human illness caused by a biting insect that spreads a parasite.

While treatable with antibiotics if caught early enough, if it’s left untreated, Lyme disease symptoms can spread to the joints, heart and nervous system, which is why it’s important to catch it early (or, ideally, to avoid getting it at all).

Below, infectious disease experts share the most common early symptoms of Lyme disease so you don’t end up with a chronic case of it ― and how to avoid getting it in the first place.

The Top Early Signs Of Lyme Disease

Dr. Tammy Lundstrom, an infectious disease specialist at Trinity Health in Michigan, and Dr. Sarah Park, an infectious disease clinician who works at the life sciences company Karius in Honolulu, suggested looking out for the following early signs of Lyme disease.

A ‘Bullseye’ Rash

Formally called “erythema migrans,” a rash that looks like a bullseye or target is the most common early Lyme disease symptom, according to Lundstrom.

“It can be very faint, however,” she said. “It also may be absent in 20-30% of cases and can be hard to see on darker skin tones.”

Park added that this rash typically appears within three to 30 days following a tick bite.

Flu-Like Symptoms

Between COVID, the flu and even the common cold, if you find yourself with achy joints, chills, a fever, a headache or other flu-like symptoms, Lyme disease may not be the first thing on your mind. But these symptoms could be signs of it.

“These symptoms can easily be mistaken for a common viral infection such as a cold or flu,” Lundstrom said. “However, the onset of these symptoms paired with potential tick exposure ― for example, hiking in the brush, woodsy areas or tall grass ― occurring three to seven days afterward can signal Lyme disease is a possible cause. Be sure to consult with a medical professional, especially if you identify the bullseye rash or develop other noted symptoms.”

Fatigue

Sudden fatigue could also be an early Lyme disease sign.

“Fatigue is an early sign that is frequently dismissed and assumed to occur from not enough sleep or regular everyday activities like working out,” Park said.

Non-Bullseye Rashes

Other rashes that don’t look like a target could be an early sign of Lyme disease, too.

“A bullseye rash may first appear as a small red bump or a solid red patch that gradually expands, but not everyone develops this type of rash,” Park said. “Other skin manifestations like hives or discomfort similar to a sunburn can also occur.”

Fatigue is one of the hallmark signs of Lyme disease.

How To Prevent Lyme Disease

While Lyme disease is treatable when caught early enough, the best case scenario is that you don’t get it at all — which is why it’s key to protect yourself from ticks, be aware of the early signs of Lyme disease, and know when and where you’re most likely to get it.

“The illness is caused by ticks in the nymph stage, not adults,” Lundstrom said. “They may be very small, around the size of a poppy seed, and hard to see, but it is important to do a thorough check for ticks after outdoor activities. This includes skin folds and your hair. Early recognition and treatment are key to preventing chronic symptoms such as arthritis, headaches, neck stiffness and facial drooping.”

In addition to checking for tinier ticks (remember: the size of a poppyseed!) Lundstrom recommends wearing long pants and long-sleeved shirts when hiking.

“Treat clothing with 0.5% permethrin or buy pretreated hiking gear, and use EPA-registered insect repellent containing DEET,” she added. “Walk in the centre of trails for less contact with brush and grass, and always examine skin and clothing carefully and shower to wash off unattached ticks upon returning from a hike.”

If you prefer a DEET-free alternative, Lundstrom said picaridin, IR3535, Oil of Lemon Eucalyptus (OLE), para-menthane-diol (PMD), or 2-undecanone are options to look for in an EPA-registered insect repellent.

It’s also important to do regular tick checks if you live in an area with more Lyme disease and to seek help right away if you’re noticing any signs that could be symptoms of the disease.

Finally, know that in most cases, a tick has to be attached to your body for 36 to 48 hours before Lyme disease can be transmitted, which is why checking for and removing ticks quickly can make all the difference when it comes to Lyme disease prevention.

While a Lyme disease vaccine may be a possibility at some point in the future, for now, it’s a reality we’re living with. So know the signs, wear protective clothing and bug spray, and do regular tick checks this summer. Trust us, you won’t regret it.

‘The Closet Is A Terrible Place’ – How Coming Out Transformed Five Lives

Posted on 18/06/2023 by Boris Clair

Whether you identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or queer, it’s hard to be happy when you have to lie about who you are. For many LGBTQ+ people, coming out as their true gender or sharing their sexuality comes fraught with fear over how family members will react, whether they’ll lose friends once they bring their authentic selves into the light, or if their workplace, church or community will look at them differently.

But no matter how difficult, the closet is no place for a person to truly live. Five people from across the LGBTQ+ spectrum share their coming-out stories, to unfurl the beautiful array of experiences the journey entails.

Sammy Altman

It took me a while to realise that I was in fact gay. I grew up without ever interacting with anyone who was LGBTQ+, and I thought for a long time that I was just strange and didn’t want to have sex. I then realised that I just didn’t want to have sex with a guy.

I was about 20. I told my sisters first who both were really kind and supportive, and encouraged me to tell my mum, but I was incredibly nervous. I’m Jewish and from a tight-knit community, so I wasn’t sure how my parents would react.

My Mum was on a holiday so I decided that would be a great time to tell her. I Skyped her with both of my sisters and I panicked and couldn’t say anything. I handed the phone to one of my sisters and she told my Mum, who hung up and for a long time it was difficult, and she wasn’t accepting.

I had a few coming out stories because I had to come out to my Mum and then I was silenced, having to come out to my dad and family separately. My Dad was really accepting. Yet, still my partner and I were not invited to family events and we were not allowed to tell my extended family.

Eventually they came to realise that they either accepted me for who I am, or they were going to lose me. So, 12 years later I’m now engaged and getting married in December to my fiancé Rachael, and my parents are very accepting towards her and treat her no differently to how my sister’s partners are treated.

At the time, I was ashamed. I wish I wasn’t, and now if it makes you feel uncomfortable, then fuck off. That’s not my problem!

Zoey Allen

I came out in January 2019. After years of fighting who I was, I finally discovered the language to describe how I felt and figured it was time to truly embrace who I was. I nearly came out to my wife at the time on so many occasions, but fear of losing my family put me off. I over masculinised, with tattoos, shaved head, big beard and some muscles, but it only made me more depressed.

I began dressing up in more feminine outfits for parties, shaved my beard and began losing weight. I had no other way of controlling how I looked and couldn’t put it into words.

Although my wife and I are no longer together, when I came out to her, she was there for me, particularly, in the early days and our children truly accepted me.

We began working on our blog www.ourtransitionallife.com and socials which I now solely run, talking about my journey and other LGBTQIA+ issues.

I lost a few friends and family members along the way due to a lack of understanding, but now at nearly 42 and four and a half years into my transition, I have not only reconnected with some, but I have a whole new LGBTQIA+ family who support me.

Sam Thomas (he/him)

The word gay was a slur when I was at school. Being effeminate with mullet-like hair, I stood out. For years, I was called gay, which meant I was disliked. Over time, the bullying went from verbal insults into physical violence. I’d hide in the boy’s toilets where I knew I wouldn’t be found. By sixteen, the bullying subsided. I guess to an extend I earned their respect for standing up for myself.

It was only at college did I realise what gay meant. There was a guy the same age as me, who I had a huge crush on. Back in 2002, when homophobia was rife, I had never met an openly gay guy before, but he was out & proud. This was when the penny dropped, and I realised fancying boys meant I was gay.

When I came out to my friend, she said, ‘I know. We all did back at school!’ It seemed everyone knew I was gay but me. She was the first person I spoke to about my sexuality and came out as lesbian soon after. We forget that coming out isn’t just giving ourselves permission to become our true selves. It’s also about giving others permission to become the people they’ve always yearned to be too.

Maria Eilersen (she/they)

I came out to myself on a yoga teacher training in the Guatemalan jungle. I was in my late twenties and had just been made redundant from my corporate job. Not wanting there to be too glaring a gap in my CV but craving an eat-pray-love solo trip, I’d opted for a YTT abroad instead of a yoga retreat.

Spending three weeks immersed entirely in spiritual practice, surrounded by strangers who cared little about my life and career back in London, I was able to fully be myself for the first time without labels or expectations. That freedom allowed me to admit I was falling for one of the fellow yogis, and finally feel safe enough to accept that I’m queer. My solo travels supported this integration before I got home and felt ready to come out to friends and my sister. It took another six months and getting my first serious girlfriend for me to eventually come out to the rest of my family in Denmark.

Looking back, there were so many earlier signs of my bisexuality, but it took being stripped of societal expectations in the jungle to feel safe enough to finally explore it.

Moe Ari Brown (they/them or he/him)

Having been assigned female at birth and a biologically identical twin, I was also assigned a life plan and role within the world before I’d opened my eyes. My childhood was filled with listening to others’ expectations and receiving praise for trying to live up to them, forgetting how to live on my own terms. Despite my success in adulthood, I couldn’t seem to feel the joy I was supposed to feel at what everybody thought was the peak of my life. Enough was enough, and I embarked on a journey to understand why I felt this way.

I allowed myself to realise that I am transgender non-binary and discovered that losing my facade was the only way to experience joy truly. It was difficult to accept that I would no longer receive validation for meeting the expectations of others, especially when those expectations were about being like my twin. I experienced a kind of grief when I began to shed the layers of the persona I’d built based on those expectations – like when I first cut my hair.

For years, my long hair was one of the prominent ways that people identified me and my sister. They’d frequently refer to us as “the tall twins with the long hair.” In January 2015, the day I decided to cut my hair was one that I’ll never forget. It’s then I jumped straight into figuring out who I am as Moe Ari.

I’d recently made my relationship official with my then girlfriend, now wife, after knowing her for about three years. I was nearing the end of my graduate program in family therapy, and I was finally in a place where I was ready to be my full self with myself and in a romantic partnership. I came out to my parents as “queer” about a month later and began the process of coming out as transgender non-binary about a year after that.

I’m a work in progress, but when I learn new things about myself, I welcome others into celebrating with me rather than seeing it as “coming out” because I try to live my life now as though there are no walls and no closets to come out of.

My Little Brother Died With An Unfinished Book And Adventure – Now I’m Completing Both

Posted on 11/06/2023 by Boris Clair

It was 5 days after my brother Toby’s death and, standing on a windswept Cornish headland in mid-January 2022, with some of his best friends, I decided to write the book “Moderate Becoming Good Later”.

It wasn’t my book to write but, as I reeled from the grief of losing my second brother and the last member of my close family, I realised that finishing it was the best thing I could still give him.

Like many of his friends and family, I knew all about the project. How he’d set off three and a half years earlier on a self-imposed challenge to sea kayak in all 31 sea areas of the Shipping Forecast (the marine weather forecast for the waters around the UK – reaching from Iceland in the north to Portugal in the south) and how in November 2021, he’d signed a publishing contact with Summersdale Publishers to tell his story.

I knew he hadn’t completed it (the agreement with the publishers was based on a proposal with 3 sample chapters). Before he died, he had taken to being somewhat elusive about how much he had drafted. Fair enough, I thought, because at this stage he was in the midst of terminal cancer. But admittedly, I was disappointed when I opened his external disk drive and clicked on the hopefully entitled “MBGL” folder, to find it empty.

A few days later, I came across the handwritten notebooks he had filled during his travels.

The detail in his observations lead me to one conclusion: he wanted his story to be told.

“Sitting in a chringhito beach bar overlooking the Ria Vigo,” he wrote in August 2019, “sailing boats low in water. Mist gradually lifting mountains re-emerging. Fading sunlight shining through the leaves of plants. A few people enjoying the loss of the sun on the beach. Low light picks up shadows on the bumpy sand making it look like waves.”

Now this I could work with.

For Toby, being in nature was one of the ways he dealt with Marcus’s death. It became a way for him to choose a full adventurous life, while no doubt, thinking in the back of his mind, “I’m next.”

So, I sat down for months with Toby’s notes, his blogs, his phone, his photos, his voice recordings and his videos and pieced together the book. When I look back, I feel like I was staring down a lion. Having lost my other brother Marcus in 2017, from cancer caused by Fanconi Anaemia (a rare illness they both shared), my dad from a heart attack in 2010, and my mum to mental illness in 1988, I knew that there is no running away from grief. Why not then turn to face it?

Cue a lot of crying at my desk and thinking to myself “who the hell does this?”. And yet, little by little, I got through it.

I spent an extra year with Toby at the best time in his life thanks to the book. On an adventure myself, I eventually turned something as ugly as cancer and death into something beautiful, despite acknowledging how hard they can be to deal with.

And something else happened, the more time I spent on the book, the more I wanted to get outside. For Toby, being in nature was one of the ways he dealt with Marcus’s death. It became a way for him to choose a full adventurous life, while no doubt, thinking in the back of his mind, “I’m next.”

On the 4 of January 2022, 6 days before he died, he wrote a note about the book and his journey on his laptop:

“It’s been a special experience that has shown me what can happen when you open the door to new adventures, perhaps asking what if? rather than why? …I hope that the journey can help others to find ways to connect with nature and imagine different realities.”

This comment stuck with me as I put the finishing touches to the manuscript in January this year. Who was I as the co-author to be encouraging others to get outside, when I struggle to get my kids dressed, fed and around the corner to the bus each school day?

Yes, I’d had some adventures, but since I became a mum they had been severely curtailed. Then I realised: Toby didn’t just leave me a book to write, he also left me an adventure to finish.

Toby kayaked in 17 of the 31 sea areas of the Shipping Forecast, as part of the project. 4 of the ones left have no land, so are challenging to get to in a sea kayak, which leaves 10 areas for me. Rudimentary maths done; it was time to think feasibility.

When Toby started his journey, he’d been sea kayaking for over seven years, had the highest coaching and leading qualification that British Canoeing awards, was 10 years younger than me, had no kids and lived in the UK. I, on the other hand had never been in a sea kayak, was a mum of two and lived in Spain.

But this did not deter me. Toby’s challenge was to sea kayak in all areas of the Shipping Forecast. He was interested in the history of the places, the sense of connection across the seas and the solace you can find in the wild. I could see myself doing that bit.

I’d already made up my mind to finish Toby’s Shipping Forecast challenge when my aunt Nicky got me in a sea kayak for the first time in the clear turquoise waters of the Costa Brava (just up the coast from Barcelona). I was relieved to find out that kayaking is a rather lovely thing to do, just as well really! All I needed to do now was get better at it.

With Nicky’s help a plan came together: start in Bristol in early March, continue in May in Pembrokeshire and Anglesey, take the kayak to Ireland and tick of the Irish sea areas during a 3-week family holiday with my partner and 2 young boys in late June, then Hebrides in August – all of these with experienced sea kayakers. I’ll then complete the last 4 areas next year, ended up in the Shetland Islands.

So, the adventure is on. I know I wouldn’t have found the time to complete it if it was “just for me” but since it’s for Toby, I will.

And perhaps that’s the best thing that Toby could have given me.

“Moderate Becoming Good Later” was published by Summersdale on June 8, World Ocean Day.

I Put My Friend’s Poo In Me – Welcome To The World Of DIY Faecal Transplants

Posted on 11/06/2023 by Boris Clair

Sitting in my Brooklyn apartment early one Friday morning, sipping on a mug of strong coffee, my cell phone pinged. “The eagle has landed,” the text message read, and I quickly threw on a jacket, ran downstairs, and hopped on my bike to pedal about three miles south, to the historic neighbourhood known as Ditmas Park. Pulling up to the street I was looking for, I pumped the brakes to cruise into my friend Adam’s driveway, where an insulated lunch box was waiting for me on his doorstep. I carefully placed the precious cargo into my bike’s rear basket, and set off straight for home: Time was of the essence.

Back in my apartment, I breathed a sigh of relief that my roommates had already left for work, as I was about to attend to a task so embarrassing and so frankly disgusting that I would not want another soul to bear witness to it. Setting myself up in my bathroom, I unzipped the lunch box to reveal its contents: A zip-top plastic bag containing one perfectly formed human turd – yes, I’m talking about poop – still warm, naturally, from its brief stint inside the padded box.

Working quickly in order to avoid introducing air into the bag – and also, let’s be honest, because the task was gross – I tipped a small quantity of saline solution into the bag, zipping it back up and using my hands (from the outside of the bag, of course) to mash the saline into the poop to approximate the thickness of a chocolate milkshake (my apologies for ruining that craving for you).

Once achieving that texture, I snipped a corner off the plastic bag, squeezed the brown mixture into a disposable plastic enema bulb, and lay down on my side atop a clean towel I had placed on the bathroom floor. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I reached behind me, squeezed the bulb’s contents into my rear, and browsed social media on my phone for about 15 minutes, at which point I placed my legs up the wall and waited for another 15 before going about my day.

What kind of a person would do something so astonishingly nasty and incredibly taboo? A perfectly normal one, I assure you – but also a very sick and desperate one. The process I describe above is known as a DIY or at-home faecal transplant, and I performed my first such treatment back in the fall of 2018. A

bout a year prior, I – a formerly very active, healthy, and vibrant 31-year-old – had become very, very sick, more or less overnight. Whereas my days used to be packed with such varied activities as researching and writing freelance journalism articles, biking all over my borough, cooking elaborate meals to enjoy with friends, and attending yoga classes, in that time I had gradually become housebound with symptoms such as joint pain, digestive issues, the confused thinking known as “brain fog,” and chronic fatigue that had me sleeping up to 18 hours a day.

By this point, I was no longer living, but just surviving, day in and day out, as I attempted to piece together what, exactly, had gone wrong.

Prior to my descent into chronic illness, the only sickness I had ever known was a short-lived cold or headache. Therefore, I was truly out of my depths when it came to sleuthing out the cause of my symptoms, which had been kicked off by a course of common antibiotics I took for a urinary tract infection in 2017.

Shortly after finishing the meds, I started to experience all sorts of bizarre things: My scalp itched incessantly as if I had lice, my extremities were hot to the touch and visibly inflamed, and my former stomach of steel suddenly had trouble digesting foods I’d eaten my whole life. At the time, I was living abroad in Mexico, and was forced to travel back to New York to seek medical attention.

At my first appointment with a naturopath recommended by a friend, the doctor looked up from the notes she was scribbling furiously when I mentioned the recent course of antibiotics. “Are antibiotics something you take frequently?” she asked. “Actually, yes,” I replied. I explained that throughout my 20s, I had been plagued by frequent and painful UTIs, and that doctors always prescribed antibiotics for them. Together, the naturopath and I figured out that I had ingested about 15 rounds of antibiotics in adulthood alone, and who knows how many as a child.

Today, it’s fairly well known that this class of drugs, while lifesaving in certain cases, is vastly over-prescribed and can negatively affect the health of the complex ecosystem that resides in our guts, known as the microbiome or microbiota.

There, up to 1,000 species of bacteria (ideally) live in harmony, forming the basis of our immune system and helping the body not only to digest food, but also to stave off invaders such as harmful bacteria and viruses.

But at the time, I didn’t know that antibiotics kill off both beneficial and pathogenic bacteria indiscriminately, a mechanism the new naturopath explained to me. Especially when overused, the drugs can permanently eradicate species of good bacteria in the gut, she told me, leading to system-wide malfunction in the body, and, potentially, symptoms such as irritable bowel syndrome, chronic sinus infections, and chronic skin infections.

The naturopath suspected that my myriad of symptoms stemmed from a gut depleted of various species of beneficial bacteria, and she suggested a course of treatment that included absolute avoidance of antibiotics and a diet rich in fermented, probiotic foods such as sauerkraut. But back at home, where I continued to research the issue online, I learned that the healthy bacteria in fermented foods don’t readily survive in the gut, which is, after all, a completely different environment than a strand of cabbage. The only known way to repopulate the gut with native strains of bacteria is through the infusion, to put it nicely, of faeces from a healthy “donor”: aka, a faecal transplant.

Known to livestock farmers – who observed that giving an enema made of poop from a healthy animal to a sick one could, in many cases, save the latter animal’s life – for at least a century, a faecal transplant consists of administering from a healthy subject to to the rectum of one that is sick, typically with the type of chronic diarrhoea that often leads to death due to extreme dehydration.

There, the beneficial bacteria from the healthy subject immediately start to colonise, restoring the immune system and helping the sick animal recover.

Eventually, the medical world caught on to what farmers had been doing for ages, and in 1958, the first faecal transplant in humans was used to treat the often-mortal gut infection known as Clostridioides difficile. Since then, FMT, as the process is known (short for faecal microbiota transplant) has been used regularly – with great success – to save the lives of patients struggling with this dangerous infection.

Unfortunately for patients facing the repercussions of antibiotics overuse, C. diff is the only approved hospital use for faecal transplants. For those who hope to treat chronic conditions such as IBS, liver disease, and neurocognitive disorders, the only settings that provide the treatment are private centres such as England’s Taymount Clinic and Australia’s Centre for Digestive Diseases, where in-patient courses of several FMT procedures can run up to $6,000 out of pocket.

In my case, as in the case of many others suffering from chronic illness, the only affordable option is a DIY one. Known as DIY or at-home FMTs, rogue faecal transplants have been something of a trend over the past decade.

Many websites, such as The Power of Poo, as well as tons of firsthand YouTube accounts exist to walk brave at-home FMTers through the process. Those suffering from sickness are advised to locate a “donor” who has a spartan history of antibiotic use, a balanced organic diet, and, of course, excellent digestive health. Many desperate people will go ahead with FMT based on those criteria alone, but others – like myself – will collect a potential donor’s “specimen” and have it laboratory-screened for common pathogens such as E. coli bacteria and Epstein Barr virus.

I identified three possible donors – among my closest circle of friends, who I knew wouldn’t judge me for my interesting choice of treatment – and tested their poo. Sadly, the results were mixed –clear evidence of our modern, toxic way of living – but Adam’s results were the best by far. After ironing out the unsavoury details with him, we entered into the rather unusual agreement.

All in all, I completed about 12 at-home FMTs, the process becoming decidedly less unsavoury as I noticed some positive changes such as an easing of my extreme chronic fatigue and fewer allergic reactions to foods.

Unfortunately, however, I didn’t experience the dramatic healing reported by many of the online accounts I had found, and I continued to dig into other possible causes of my symptoms. Eventually, towards the tail end of my treatments, I received a positive diagnosis for Lyme disease – which made sense considering that my symptoms started around the time that I had not only taken that course of antibiotics, but also immediately after a hiking trip to the Catskill Mountains in New York State, an area infamous for its high incidence of tickborne illness.

Using a just as off-the-beaten-path – but far less gross – treatment known as bee venom therapy, which harnesses the antibiotic and anti-inflammatory effect of live bee stings, I was able to fully recover my health, and have been well for more than a year. But I’ll always maintain – from a distance, of course – a certain level of respect for the healing power of poop.

I’m In My 30s. This Is The Career Advice I Wish I’d Gotten In My 20s.

Posted on 04/06/2023 by Boris Clair

Your 20s can be a tumultuous time of discovery, and it can help to hear from people on the other side.

Take it from me. I’m in my 30s. I don’t have regrets about the detours and pivots my career has taken, but if I could go back in time to the previous decade, I would tell my younger self to negotiate her starting salary when she gets that one job offer — because the thousands lost compared to her peers will sting later.

Back then, I was so grateful to have a job, I didn’t realise employers should also be grateful to have me.

And I would let her know that the people you work with matter just as much, if not more, than the work you end up doing. You can’t get good work done without mutual respect. Caring co-workers kept me sane during long shifts in an unstable industry while bad colleagues drove me out of projects I enjoyed doing. Learning who will be a bigger headache to work with means learning to trust your instincts, and for a long time, I didn’t trust mine.

Those are my two pieces of hard-won wisdom –– what are yours?

If you need inspiration, listen to these experts. HuffPost reached out to writers, artists, creatives, entrepreneurs, and professionals in STEM who are also in their 30s about the career advice they wish they could tell their 20-something selves. They shared thoughtful, nuanced advice that you can take with you, regardless of where you are in your career journey.

Some answers were lightly edited for clarity and length.

1. Don’t put stock into what people think of your potential.

“I am currently in my 30s, and I would tell my 20-year-old self to not put stock into what people think of my potential. Directly, I’d say: Raise that chin, girl, the best thing for you will eventually be your ability to disregard everything they taught you to ‘succeed,’ including the ‘right’ path towards that goal. You’re going to forge a path all on your own, so nurture your passions and you’ll soon see how it will pay off. Shit feels hard right now, but all these experiences will fuel your writings. Feel your feelings and don’t be scared of your voice. Your writing will free you.” ―Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodríguez, founder of Latina Rebels and author of “For Brown Girls with Sharp Edges and Tender Hearts: A Love Letter to Women of Colour”

2. There is no such thing as a dream job.

“I wish I’d been told in my 20s that there is no such thing as a ‘dream job’ and that I should think hard about what success really means to me. Back then, I thought my dream job was to simply rise higher in the ranks of the company or start my own business (which I later did, and spoiler alert: It was still not a ‘dream job!’).

“I thought it meant a specific title or reaching a specific salary goal. It’s only recently that I’ve realised that success and fulfilment in a job (to me) means having continuous growth and learning, connecting with others, having time to think and create deeply, and feeling proud of the work I put out. It also means having things outside of work that inspire me and bring meaning to my life. Work can be fun and fulfilling, but it can’t be everything.” ―Alisha Ramos, founder of Girls’ Night In

3. Things take time, so make time for life, too.

“I’d give her a big hug and I’d tell her: Go toward what you like to do, not what you think you should do. Make friends you love and make art with those friends. Focus on what you can control. Create comedy that makes you laugh and art that feels real to you, and once you’ve done that, do it again. Things take time, so make time for life, too.” ―Alyssa Limperis, comedian and actor

4. Figure out the unspoken rules of your desired profession.

“For those in their 20s, my advice is this: Figure out who you want to impress—and what they will be impressed by. Every profession has its tried and tested paths. … The sooner you uncover the unspoken rules of your desired profession, the sooner you can start focusing your time on the highest-impact activities — and the sooner you’ll reach your career goals.” ―Gorick Ng, a career adviser at Harvard University and the author of “The Unspoken Rules: Secrets to Starting Your Career Off Right”

“So many parts of my success [have] been boiled down to doing the right thing by my relationships.”

– Jamal Robinson, director of sales and marketing for New England Brewing Co.

5. Respect everyone because you never know who will be in your corner.

“My biggest piece of advice I think would be centered around building authentic honest relationships and valuing them. So many parts of my success [have] been boiled down to doing the right thing by my relationships.

“…Put in the time to be the best at what you do, so that the value of your talents [is] always seen. The opportunities that relationships offer won’t matter if you can’t shine.

“…Spend time on the little things and be true to your word. Relationships of any kind are a social contract in communication and expectations. If you become known as someone who will do what you say they will do and are honest about what you can’t do or don’t know, you will fulfill that social contact every time. It’s valuable for people to know what they can expect from you.

“People would much rather you underpromise and overdeliver than overpromise and underdeliver. But if you do promise something, do the things necessary to make it happen, even if that means sacrificing some other things. The goal here is that next time you are only promising what you can do without sacrificing other relationships. Unfortunately, sometimes the only or best way to learn is from experience.

“…Value and respect everyone! You never know who will be the one in your corner or whose life you can change in the process. It’s not always the most accomplished people in the relationship that bring the most value.” ―Jamal Robinson, director of sales and marketing for New England Brewing Co.

6. Resist ableist pressures.

“Society will pressure you to act and look non-disabled. Resisting these ableist pressures will feel hard at first, but it’s critical you define for yourself how success looks and feels.” ―Haben Girma, human rights lawyer and author of “Haben: The Deafblind Woman Who Conquered Harvard Law”

7. Understand you can reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

“I started this competitive road cycling journey almost exactly 10 years ago. I spent a lot of time worried about people who were being very mean and negative about my big dreams.

“I also had no idea what I was doing and frequently felt anxiety about figuring out next steps. I think my advice from my 36-year-old self to my 26-year-old-self would be, ‘Don’t worry so much about the folks who don’t believe in what you’re doing, you can reinvent yourself as many times as you want, and trust your instincts and pay attention, the next step will come to you!’ Honestly, this is advice I can still use today.” ―Ayesha McGowan, professional road cyclist for Liv Racing TeqFind

“The life you imagined when you were in your 20s can drastically shift when you’re in your 30s.”

– Carla Stickler, Spotify web engineer and Broadway performer

8. Don’t be afraid to travel if you can.

“Be open to new opportunities. Don’t be afraid to travel if you can. The market for what we do is expanding. Don’t miss out on good money and good life experiences for what is comfortable.” ―Demetrious Parker, microbiologist

9. Take risks.

“Your 20s is a great time to take career risks. It’s easier to bounce back from failures and course-correct at this stage of life.” ―Martinus Evans, marathoner, running coach and founder of Slow AF Run Club

10. It’s good to acknowledge when you’ve outgrown a dream.

“The thing you got your degree in doesn’t have to be the thing you do for the rest of your life. It’s never too late to change your mind, you’re never too old to shift gears, and there’s never a bad time to start something new. The life you imagined when you were in your 20s can drastically shift when you’re in your 30s. It’s good to acknowledge when you’ve outgrown your dreams or when they’re no longer serving you in the way you had hoped.

“It can be scary to dive into something unfamiliar later in life, but it can also be extremely rewarding. You may have to learn new skills or give up old comforts, but don’t let that stop you; life is longer than you think. Even tattoos and marriages aren’t permanent ― trust me, I know from experience.” ―Carla Stickler, Spotify software engineer and Broadway performer

11. Start therapy sooner.

“Start therapy sooner so that you can recognise when your childhood wounds are being exploited by an employer and their reward system. If you’re used to ‘enduring’ through a lot of difficult things growing up, you’re more likely to normalise toxicity and endure an experience that’s negatively impacting your health.

“If you’ve struggled with feeling like you’re enough or if you grew up believing that you have to prove to someone that you are valuable, you’re more likely to allow companies and managers to exploit your talent. So, I’d tell myself: ‘Vivianne, you don’t have to endure anymore, and everything will be OK. Go design the life and career that you want.’” ―Vivianne Castillo, UX researcher and founder of HmntyCntrd, a community supporting UX and tech professionals

12. You are most valuable in your career when you understand what you bring to the table.

“Spend a significant amount of time working on yourself. And be open-minded and honest about it. Learn who you are, what you’re good at, bad at, what motivates you and keeps you happy and productive. Learn what you’re passionate about. Learn why you think and react the way you do.

“….You are the most valuable in your career and your relationships when you understand who you are and what you bring to the table. If you don’t know yourself, you’re asking a lot for someone else to know.”

“The truth is, most people live their lives working a job because they feel like they have to and don’t know what their passions are or who they are. But the percentage of people who do know these things are the percentage that is the most happy, fulfilled and successful.” ―Robinson

“I wish someone had told me that respect and prestige are not the same thing — respect is more important.”

– Caroline Cala Donofrio

13. Get a decade’s head start on developing your leadership by working with a coach.

“Behind every inspiring leader is a professional coach, therapist, mentor, you name it. I wish I started working with a professional coach early on in my career to get a decade’s head start on developing myself into the leader, manager, colleague, and person I aspire to be. Also, a note to the under-30s, oftentimes professional coaches charge a lower rate for those in this age range to encourage this growth.” ―Marian Cheng, co-founder of Mimi Cheng’s Dumplings restaurants

14. Approach your career less like a goal to be conquered, and more like an ever-changing entity to investigate.

“If I could, I’d tell my younger self to approach a career less like a goal to be conquered, attained, or ‘figured out’ and more like an ever-changing entity, to investigate and nurture. I’d encourage her to prioritise meeting people, gathering information and asking questions. As I near the end of my 30s, I can say without hesitation that fostering connections has not only led to my greatest moments of career growth, it’s also made the path less lonely and a lot more interesting.

“I wish someone had told me that the snapshots of success we’re sold are often a myth ― no career, including ‘stable’ jobs with a clearly defined ladder, will ever provide unwavering security and satisfaction. Circumstances change, just like markets and people, a fact that can bring comfort. If experience has taught me anything, it’s that nothing is static for long. If you make a wrong choice, you can always choose again.” ―Caroline Cala Donofrio, writer, ghostwriter/collaborator and author of “Best Babysitters Ever” series

15. Be prepared for your definition of success at work to change.

“I look back at myself in my 20s and I had my dream job — a job I’d been motivated to get since I was 10 years old. I worked at Condé Nast for Allure magazine … I couldn’t imagine ever leaving. And I was scared to, because to me, that job … defined ‘success,’ and at that time, I didn’t realise how my definition of success at work would change. And it has ― a lot.

“I’d tell my 20-something-year-old self to be ready for more successes that would look and feel different … To be brave and leave a position where I felt successful behind to create a feeling of success somewhere new. Throughout the last decade, I’ve felt successful by both how much money I’ve made and how many KPIs I could attach to my achievements. Today, I define success by how much pride I have in the company I work for and its values, and the way I can mentor and motivate my team to reach their own definition of success.” ―Vicky Land, senior vice president of brand and communications, Barry’s

16. Nurture your intuition.

“Nurture your intuition with the same rigour of intellectual pursuits. What they don’t tell you in school is that making a product, shaping a business, leading a team ― those are all fundamentally art forms.

“The task is to build a disciplined creative process ― to get out of the weeds, and get fully connected to your full body receptors as you step into shifting through signals in order to make tough judgment calls. … You have to go both inwards and also outside of your daily tasks to build and strengthen this muscle and to connect the dots that lead to bursts of inspiration, the courage to pivot, or simply clarity on a decision.” ―Elise Densborn, Co-CEO, Splendid Spoon

17. Know respect is more important than prestige.

“I wish someone had told me that respect and prestige are not the same thing—respect is more important.

“I wish someone had told me that what feels right for you may not be what your family wants or what looks impressive on a résumé or sounds cool when someone inquires after your work at a cocktail party. But you’re the one who has to live within it, day after day, and your experience matters.

“That’s not to say the right job will always be fun or easy ― despite the old adage, I can attest that doing what you love will still feel like work. But it will also feel aligned with your values, your personality, your goals. If you’re contorting yourself into positions that feel unnatural and uncomfortable, it might be wise to seek out another opportunity. You ― yes, you, no matter how green or confused you may feel — know better than anyone.” ―Donofrio

Yes Really – We All See Very Different Colours

Posted on 04/06/2023 by Boris Clair

What is your favourite colour? Mine is lilac. Most people’s favourite colour is some variation of blue and we care so much about colour that there’s been a recent trend of influencers getting “colour analysis” consultations to learn whether the colours they tend to wear actually suit their complexions and hair shades.

The wild thing is, though, that while we have what we think are very concrete ideas of our favourite colours and which ones we gravitate towards when clothes shopping, we actually experience colours differently from one another meaning that the colour you’re describing (like your favourite blue shirt) is not quite the same colour that the person you’re talking to is seeing.

Or, another example is, have you ever found yourself arguing with the opposite sex over a colour? Maybe you saw something that looked more red than orange and they argued that, no, it’s definitely orange? This is because as well as individuals perceiving colours differently, perception of colours greatly differs between the sexes, too.

Why Do We Experience Colours Differently?

The back of your eyes are lined with retinas and this is where photoreceptors are located. So, as biologists CJ Kazilek & Kim Cooper of Arizona State University say, “If you think of the eye as a camera, the retina would be the film. The retina also contains the nerves that tell the brain what the photoreceptors are “seeing.”

There are two types of photoreceptors involved in sight: rods and cones. Rodd work at low levels of light and they’re used for night vision as only a few bits of light can activate a rod. They don’t help with colour vision which is the reason everything is in a greyscale at night. Cones, however, require light and are used to see colour. We have blue, green, and red cones.

However, much like lots of elements of human beings: the number of cones in the human retina isn’t constant. Some people have a lot more than others and in fact, there is research that suggests women could potentially see a lot more colours than men.

According to researchers, we could actually be seeing dramatically different colours. Vision scientist Joseph Carroll of the Medical College of Wisconsin said, “one person’s red might be another person’s blue and vice versa. You might really see blood as the colour someone else calls blue, and the sky as somebody else’s red but our individual perceptions don’t affect the way the colour of blood, or that of the sky, makes us feel.”

Another consideration is that colour can differ between languages and lexicons. Grue languages don’t discriminate blue from green but only have one colour term that covers all blue/green shades in the colour spectrum. These include Vietnamese, Kuku-Yalanji, Tswana, and Zulu.

Blue Strawberries?

This week, news emerged of a man in his 40s that had a very rare condition called colour agnosia. It was reported that, “He could put very similar hues in the right order. But he could not sort tokens into distinct colours such as red, green, blue, yellow, and orange. He could not identify the colours of the tokens. He could not imagine the colour of his car. He could not even understand, when presented with a drawing of garishly blue strawberries, that the picture was odd at all.”

This isn’t colour blindness. It’s something entirely different. Researchers say: “In pure colour agnosia, patients have difficulty naming or pointing to named colours, despite relatively preserved colour perception (i.e., retaining the ability to match colours or to identify the numbers on the Ishihara plates). They also have difficulty matching colours, either verbally or visually, to familiar coloured objects (e.g., identifying the colour normally associated with cherries, lettuce, or bananas).”

I don’t know about you but I’m not going to stop thinking about this for a while.

The Most Common Signs Of Autism In Adult Women

Posted on 04/06/2023 by Boris Clair

More girls and women are being diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum than ever before.

This is due, in part, to the symptoms being more spoken about than they have in the past, with celebrities sharing their insights and stories with the world.

Everyone from Courtney Love, Greta Thunberg, Daryl Hannah and Susan Boyle have shared that they are autistic.

And most recently, the singer Sia has shared on Rob Has A Podcast about her recent diagnosis. “For 45 years, I was like … ‘I’ve got to go put my human suit on,’” she shares on the pod. “And only in the last two years have I become fully, fully myself.”

That feeling of being different is shared with many autistic women and girls and could be part of the reason why, historically, women are much less likely to be diagnosed than men.

“They might seem to have fewer social difficulties than autistic men and boys, but this could be because they are more likely to ‘mask’ their autistic traits”, says the UK’s National Autistic Society.

Contrary to behaviours that people usually associate with autistic people, like rocking in chairs and an obsession with trains, autistic women and girls may demonstrate things like “twirling hair and reading books, and as such may go unnoticed despite the greater intensity or focus typical for autistic people.”

TikTok video creator Kaelynn shared about her experience with autism, saying that she had to learn to mimic other people’s body language and soon learned to fit in that way. This is often referred to as masking.

Things could be changing, though: a report by The Independent shows around 150,000 women took an online test (verified by health professionals) to see if they have autism in 2021, up from about 49,000 in 2020.

If you think you might be autistic, here are the other most common symptoms to look for…

Difficulty making and keeping friends
Having unusual sensitivity to sensory challenges, like not liking the feeling of how clothing sits on their body, or how bright the lights are in their house
Having passionate but limited interests (not always typical autistic interests, like trains, numbers, etc.)
Difficulty communicating with others and feeling like the odd one out
Might have a flat, monotone voice and difficulty conveying emotions with their face, or might not be able to hide their emotions
Stimming – this could be rubbing hands together, skin picking, rocking back and forward, clapping hands, feet rubbing, hair twirling, etc. It’s thought to be a self-regulation tool to help autistic people self-soothe and calm down

If you think you might be autistic, head to the National Autistic Society’s website or speak to your GP for advice and more information.

The 5 Things Flight Attendants Wish You’d Do When Travelling

Posted on 03/06/2023 by Boris Clair

25% of Brits are considering a beach break abroad this year which means there will be plenty of flights leaving UK airports this summer and while we’re sure you’re a great passenger who has never annoyed the person sitting next to you, we thought it best to trawl the internet and find the best advice on flight etiquette. Just to be sure. Nothing personal.

Keep The FaceTime To A Minimum

According to Kirstie Koerbel, a flight attendant, “boarding an airplane is not the time for your goodbyes. It’s time for you to concentrate on finding your seat and stowing your bags as fast as possible so the people behind you can do the same thing.”

Realistically, though, you should be keeping the noise from phones and tablets to a minimum. You are flying in a metal tube across countries and oceans, squashed in with a lot of humans doing the same thing. The least you can do is not subject them to your music/movies/TikToks. Headphones are a MUST.

Keep Your Shoes On

A pilot speaking to the Daily Mail said, “The floor in the main cabin is vacuumed but not mopped. People vomit on these materials daily so it’s a good idea to wear shoes.”

BLEUGH. We’re sure it’s tempting, especially on long-haul flights, planes are actually very filled with germs and aren’t the kind of place you want to walk around barefooted. Often, flight attendants can provide you with disposable flip-flops but you might want to consider just wearing your comfiest shoes to fly in.

Respect The Boundaries Of Your Fellow Passengers

Lydia Ramsey, an etiquette expert says: “Acknowledge this person with a greeting as you’re starting off and then you can read the other person to see whether they want to talk or not but most people really want to find some peace and quiet. If the other person is chatty, politely excuse yourself.”

For some people, flying can be an intimidating experience and they might not be feeling as chatty as you are. In fact, 21 million Brits are afraid of flying. Instead of trying to force conversation with your seatmate, respect their boundaries and find ways to entertain yourself.

Be Considerate When Reclining Your Chair

Frequent flyers will know the struggle of somebody dramatically reclining their chair and, in turn, knocking your laptop/food/drink/last nerve. While everybody has the “right to recline”, speak to the person behind you to check that it’s okay with them and that you won’t be knocking anything over when you do so.

Don’t Argue Over Armrests

Koerbel said, “[the middle seat is] the consolation prize for being squished between two people with nowhere to lean. Case closed.”

The least you can do for the poor soul stuck in the middle is grant them both armrests.