When we were dating, it was Martin who said, “I love you” first. I knew I loved him, I just didn’t want to seem too eager to say it. Although why it mattered, I’m not sure now. I also knew already that he loved me. From our first meeting we’d just clicked and there was an easiness about our relationship, like we’d known each other for years. In reality, it’s not even three years yet since our first meeting at Dobbies. We’d chatted online for about a week before we met. That was the July. By November he’d proposed to me. And I didn’t hesitate to accept, although it was quick. It felt like we’d be together forever anyway, so we may as well get on with it. Life is too damn short.

The following year we planned and organised the wedding. It was kind of chaotic, but fun. And it flew by. The wedding was wonderful, but fraught with emotions.

After the big day we threw ourselves into clearing Martin’s flat ready for moving out, and emptying Chris’ room here, plus lots of my furniture to make space for Martin’s stuff. I had new carpets, new wardrobes and a new bed. Had three rooms decorated. Martin’s flat was decorated and deep cleaned. We spent the first four months of last year working our socks off getting everything done in both locations. It was exhausting.

Martin moved in here in the May and although on paper it made the most sense, I still feel he resents having to give up his flat. It’s only very recently I’ve noticed he doesn’t say so often that he doesn’t know where to find things. It’s been difficult for us both. I’m so used to things being my way. And I’m quite autistic about certain tools for certain jobs, things having a particular place and doing things in a specific way. But I’m trying so hard not to nitpick, because at the end of the day, I still 100% believe we’re better together.

My concern was always that we’d end up in a toxic, comorbid relationship, given both our past trauma and mental health issues. I think we both struggle with each other when we’re most depressed, but mostly we get by.

Certainly from my point of view, I want things to work out for us. I don’t give up easily and I can’t imagine us ever being apart, but time will tell. I feel like we could both improve on our conflict resolution skills, not that we’ve needed them often thankfully. But the ability to work through problems and find solutions together is key to a successful relationship. We’ll get there.

Is our marriage perfect? Sadly not. But it’s not through a lack of love. I will keep loving Martin intentionally and unconditionally through the challenges. And hopefully before too long things will look a little brighter for us.

I don’t think it would be fair to select one person to write about as there isn’t a particular historical figure or celebrity that comes to mind. As it is, I run the risk of missing someone out, and the last thing I want to do is offend anyone. But the people who inspire me most are those around me.

The best friend who has supported me through so much, despite her own health issues. Who brought up three daughters alone after their dad died. My crazy partner in crime.

The friend who is one of the kindest and most non judgmental people I know. And her partner who is unbelievably musically gifted, and has never given up on his dream.

The friend who’s juggling motherhood, with so many other responsibilities, fighting so hard to be everything to everyone, and smashing it, even if she doesn’t believe it.

The family members who’ve sacrificed all sorts to provide their kids with the care and education they need and deserve.

A friend who has made incredible progress in her life and fitness goals. Am genuinely in awe.

Another friend who started her own fitness business and works with women to help them towards their fitness goals.

The friend who upheld me and enabled me to attend choir by reducing my anxieties. And being organised enough for us both.

The widow friends, so many of them, bossing life despite the myriad challenges they face, not least of all, losing their partners.

My lovely husband, who has had more ‘life’ thrown at him than any of us deserve. Yet he still gets up, and shows up for me every day. Bearing tea.

And my boy. My son. Who lived through losing his daddy at age eight. Being diagnosed with depression, anxiety and OCD at thirteen. Living with foster carers from age thirteen to eighteen. Coming back home and starting his fitness journey, losing an insane amount of weight, around seven stone if I remember rightly. Youngest shift leader at Tesco Express. In leadership at Winchester Vineyard Church, now deputy manager at Énergie Fitness and he’s not even 24 yet. His emotional literacy and compassion are out of this world and he’s definitely wise ahead of his years. When I needed to sort my diet/fitness/lifestyle he was (obviously) the one I turned to. He gave me the keys to fitness and weight loss. It’s to my own shame that I’m not currently using those keys. But when I can get my head back on board with my body, I know I have the tools.

And there are others. So many others who have inspired me in my mental health journey, my fitness endeavours, my hobbies, and just, well, life. Thank you.

I never liked school. As a small child I had never been separated from my mother before starting formal school. I’d never had a babysitter. My first nursery school requested I wasn’t returned the following week after five mornings of being so utterly distressed. I started at another preschool, but instead of working through my hideous separation anxiety, my mum stayed at sessions, becoming a helper, effectively postponing my issues until school.

I believe it was my mother’s depression and histrionics that caused the majority of my anxiety. I knew as a preschooler that when she was most hysterical and would scream out the door with her car keys and a full bottle of tablets, that she was considering ending her life. Or at least ‘disappearing’, which seemed to me at that age as equally catastrophic. I remember one Sunday evening her doing this. I was fresh out the bath, and my dad was drying my hair with the old pink Bakelite hairdryer. I remember wondering who would make my sandwich for tea, as making sandwiches was mum’s remit. She always came back, but there was still that doubt.

So the shock of starting school a little before my fifth birthday sent me mute for a time. I got as far as being taken to the GP, but I found my voice again shortly after. That’s another story. When I sobbed and pleaded my mum to let me stay home from school with her, she replied that it was the law that I had to go to school and if I didn’t go she would be sent away to prison. And who would look after me then? This unfortunately didn’t make things any easier for me. Throughout primary school I would regularly vomit, have crippling stomach cramps or nosebleeds before school.

At school I learned that other people’s mums weren’t neurotic and suicidal. They were generally much more calm and fun. And most people’s parents were younger than mine. I felt that age difference quite acutely.

Learning rarely felt fun at primary school. There were glimpses but mostly it just passed by uneventfully. By age nine I was developing breasts, and sizeable breasts at that. I was bullied endlessly and that began my descent into comfort eating. So then I was fat and bullied more. My salvation was weekly hymn practice and choir. It was my headmaster who discovered I had a decent voice and gave me every opportunity to utilise it.

Secondary school was an eye opener. When I arrived and discovered I’d been put in top sets for all subjects, I actually thought there’d been a mistake. But no, apparently I was brainy. It was never something I was massively comfortable with. It just didn’t feel right. And I think a lot of that was my mother playing down my intelligence during primary school.

Again I was bullied mercilessly. When they got bored of calling me fat, someone decided I was gay, so I was bullied for that throughout secondary school. I didn’t think I was gay, because I knew I fancied guys, but there was an element of doubt in my mind. People demanded I must choose, so I always chose men, but no one really explained it was ok to like both. And I despised the homophobic rhetoric because why should anyone be victimised for their sexuality?

To say I was depressed during secondary school is an understatement. I was desolate. One teacher provided me a safe space to go and vent my feelings and to this day I’m so grateful for that. He never judged my stupid ideas or actions. We would eat our lunch together in his office and often he’d make me laugh. He was almost like an unofficial counsellor.

After months of depression I experienced my first hypomanic episode. Not that I, or anyone else recognised it as that. I do with hindsight. I was around 14 or 15. I was surprisingly still getting good grades, so no one was really worried about my mental health. I did tend to throw myself into my studies as a distraction from my head. And the sexual abuse I was experiencing then. I was also writing erotica as an escape from reality.

I left school with reasonable grades, but few friends and no self esteem or confidence. Definitely not the best years of my life!

The eleventh image on my phone is a Christmas tree storage bag that I uploaded to Vinted today. I only acquired said bag last week, from the same selling platform, but it is much too big for my needs. Martin and I could easily have zipped both of us inside, if that were our thing. It isn’t and we didn’t incidentally. I have since obtained a similar, but smaller receptacle for the Christmas tree I bought at Easter (also from Vinted).

I’d set my heart on having a white/silver tinsel tree to display my colourful and kitschy ornaments I’d been collecting. I really wanted one like I had in around 1982. But I was dismayed to discover that trees similar to the one I paid £1.99 for in the International Stores were now selling at around £60. And I can’t justify that.

So I began to watch Vinted for white trees. I was thinking 3 or 4ft, but when the one I purchased came up, at £6 for a 6ft tree, I couldn’t resist. Although it is modern, because it is quite a basic design, it does give me retro vibes.

When it arrived, its box was falling apart, seems it had a challenging journey to me. So I went back online and ordered a Christmas tree storage bag. As illustrated.

I rather liked the fact that I could continue collecting kitschy and colourful trinkets as I saw them, up until December, given I now had additional branches to what I’d first imagined. I have sourced some wonderful retro style lights; they look straight out of the 70s, but actually are LEDs and all safe modern wiring of course. I’m actually really excited to see how my vintage style tree will look. Watch this space.

For certain people you will never be enough.

If you’ve spent your adult life wondering why you never feel good enough, the chances are that a significant person in your life, be it parent, spouse or other close friend/relative is toxic and/or narcissistic and has constantly undermined your best efforts. That plants the fault firmly with them, not with you.

I’ve written before about the toxic, punitive brand of 70s parenting that I, and many of my peers grew up with. I was an incredibly well behaved child and performed well at school. Yet my mother ensured I’d never get too big for my boots by repeatedly not celebrating my achievements and by sowing seeds of doubt as to whether I could have done better. If I got great results in 9/10 of my school subjects, she’d major on the one I struggled with.

If that one person you were so eager to please, especially in your childhood years could only see your flaws, your weaknesses, your shortcomings; I repeat, they were the problem, not you.

When you get your head around this concept, it makes life so much easier. You can begin to focus on your own happiness, and not aiming to please those who will never be satisfied. Grasp the concept that they will find fault because they are incapable of being kind and decent people. It’s about their own unhappiness. It’s not about you!

Such people enjoy the control that is associated with you trying to please them. When you start to care less about their responses, they will probably up the ante to get a reaction from you. Take a deep breath and metaphorically walk away. In my experience it is easier if you can actually put some physical distance between the two of you. Phone less, visit less, interact less. Don’t give them an excuse to actually lay into you, just keep everything nice and civil, and get on with your life.

Take back the power. Don’t run to them if you have a problem. Deal with it. Show them you can be strong and capable when they’re not tearing you down. The less opportunity you give them to belittle you, the better. Start believing in yourself. You’re strong and smart and resilient and resourceful and brave. But most of all you are lovable. And you’re deserving of love. And good things.

Dear Dad,

I miss you so much. I can’t even begin to express how much. I know we were close, and I know how I depended upon your wisdom and advice, but nothing could have prepared me for the void in my life, even nearly five years on that has been left in your absence.

I want to apologise. When you were lying in the hospital bed, becoming increasingly weary, I released you to leave us if you were ready. I know Dave disagreed and was begging you to stay, but I felt at the time he could only see his needs, not yours. And when I told you it was ok to go, I promised you I would take care of Dave, and not to worry about him.

I’m sorry that the only way I could look after him was to make sure your will was executed fairly and as you wished. He made that hard enough, but he made it impossible for me to do anymore for him. I will not stand by and have abuse directed at me, and Chris, for following your wishes.

I had to do something you and mum had always shied away from; I had to stand up to Dave even though it made me unpopular. Even though he kicked off. I refused to tiptoe around him for fear of the fallout any longer.

When he failed to coerce me into doing what he wanted, he pulled out every kind of lie, emotional blackmail and verbal abuse. While I still find it upsetting that he could be like that, I don’t hate him. Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to be in the same room as him anytime soon, but I don’t hold a grudge. He’s the one who’s alienated friends and family who once cared for him, not me. His need to prove his point has lost him his only sibling.

I actually hope that owning his flat makes him happier. But I feel like it won’t. His misery comes from within because he’s too busy blaming others for his problems to actually address his disordered personality.

Anyway, I’m so thankful to you for the way my inheritance has improved my life. A car for Chris. A car for Martin. And an amazing motorhome so we can holiday wherever. Refitted bathroom, new kitchen appliances, new bed, new wardrobes, new carpets. And we have a gorgeous kitty cat who looks quite a bit like Tiffy. Sometimes when I’m sat of an evening with her on my lap I think how I must look like mum and Tiffy. She makes me so happy. As does Martin. And Chris goes from strength to strength. You’d be so proud of him. He’s grown into an incredible young man.

And when I have a low day, as inevitably I do, I drink my tea from the penguin mug you gave me and cuddle Ian. And I remember that even though you’re not here in person, you’re still always with me. And there won’t be a day goes by that I won’t miss you, but I’m stronger because you were my dad.

Love and hugs,

Julie xxx

Today is Monday. The day I usually have my grocery shopping delivered. There are pros and cons to not picking your own groceries, but thanks to my spinal issues, the least times I have to lift or carry heavy shopping bags, the better.

So today I woke up late. I guess the kitty cat was less starving than usual as she hadn’t been hounding us for breakfast. Mornings are incredibly difficult for me, I think it’s probably down to the medication I need to take at bedtime. It takes me a good couple of hours to get going, and the earlier I get up, the longer it takes. And I get physically ill. But I’m very reluctant to ask for a meds change when mostly my mood remains pretty stabilised.

I am a bit low currently. It happens. The mood has been lingering since the clocks went forward. That messes me up more than I can say. I have felt better today than yesterday however, and have been more productive.

After receiving the groceries and putting them away, I took a trip out to return something to Tesco, drop a parcel at the post office, and have a smashing time at the bottle bank.

Back home I took some rubbish and recycling out to the bins, and potted up the beautiful hydrangea I’d bought Friday. I collected up some more bits of rubbish from the garden and binned them, before heading back indoors, covered in potting compost and damp from the drizzle.

I decided to get straight in the bath and was in my nightshirt by about 5pm. I opened a couple of parcels that had arrived for me; a set of fairy lights and a job lot of Christmas decorations. After looking through the decs and beginning to think about what I might do with them, I went to start making dinner.

Also throughout the day I have been adding coats of paint and glitter to a Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a dove. Off the back of my purple apple, I’m now creating a pink dove. Why be traditional?

Had dinner with Martin, and am currently drinking the cup of tea he brought me with some dark chocolate digestives. I will shortly go and see what needs doing in the kitchen and after, I will probably stare at my phone until meds and bed. Maybe add some more sparkles to the pink dove.

And that’s probably about as exciting as my day is going to get.

I’m a hopeless romantic. To love and be loved is rare and precious. It doesn’t just happen, it requires work. Sometimes a lot of work. Having a great relationship isn’t just luck. Nothing good is achieved on minimum effort. It takes sacrifices. It takes compromise. It takes a concerted effort on both parts to make it work. It takes a level of emotional literacy that many of us simply struggle with.

Sometimes when our relationship challenges us, my husband asks if I still love him. And I say the same thing each time, “I love you intentionally and unconditionally.” That is, I love him because I have made a decision to love him, and when I married him I made a commitment to him until death. My love for him is unconditional in that he doesn’t have to meet criteria to earn my love. He’s good enough. I just love him as is. Which is not to say I don’t have boundaries, but I would not expect someone who professes to love me to be ongoing breaking those boundaries. Certainly not intentionally and without expecting consequences. That would require a serious conversation about our expectations from the relationship.

When love is good it’s the best. When you meet your match on more than just a superficial level, do whatever it takes to hold onto that love. Be open to grow and change to accommodate the strengthening of the bond between you. Don’t give up on it just because it’s difficult.

Love isn’t just a feeling. It isn’t passive, it’s active. Love is something you do. Do it more.

I have to be honest, I haven’t been crushing on anyone in ages. Apart from my insanely sexy husband that is. Always him.

Since my string of crushes on gay men in my teens, there hasn’t been much to write home about. I did, probably in my twenties, thirties, I’m not even sure, have fascinations with Jeff Goldblum and David Baddiel. As a friend pointed out, “Oh very Jewish then?” Which wasn’t exactly the reason for the attraction so much as I just rather like the look of guys with dark hair and brown eyes.

I did a while back have a girl crush on the worship leader with Hillsong United, Taya Gaukrodger (formerly Smith). I still think she has the most gorgeous face, but when she had shaved her head her beautiful facial features looked more stunning than ever. She also has a wonderful voice which is appealing.

I have similar feelings about P!nk. Beautiful woman, incredibly strong, physically and mentally, an amazing mumma, awesome singer and performer and a voice for women everywhere. For me that’s not so much of a physical crush as an admiration, but still. It’s probably as close to crushing as I can offer currently.