Author: Alison

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be hypnotised. We’ve all seen those stage shows on the TV, where people are ‘put to sleep’ and then made to look like complete and utter twats. I, like you probably thought: no bloody way! Because you can bet your ass that I’d do something that I could never, ever recover from. So this, along with the fact that I have only ever come across 2 hypnotists in real life: 1 who gave me the creeps and I wasn’t quite sure what might happen to me whilst in a sleepy state and the other was a 6 foot, fit and muscly personal trainer and I wasn’t quite sure what I might do to him in a sleepy state. My wondering what hypnosis would be like was put on hold.

That was until I exposed my pen chewing habits to the world through a photo on Facebook and a hypnotherapist called Claire came to my rescue and said that she could cure my disgusting habit with hypnosis. (Claire didn’t call it disgusting – number 1 friend whom I share an office with did).

So I rang her: Hi, is that Chrissie? No. Oh, erm sorry, Christine? No. Who do you want? The hypnotherapist (I couldn’t think what else to say. This wasn’t going too well). Yes, that’s me: Claire! (I had liked the idea of having a hypnotherapist who I didn’t know, but it would have helped if I had at least known her name…)

Anyway, Claire forgave me and made me feel instantly relaxed on the phone, as she asked me about my fear. I had decided to talk to her about my fear of flying. She explained what the therapy would involve: that she would take a brief medical history, ask me about my fear and what had triggered it. She would then talk about the safety aspect of flying and we would put the negative thoughts I had in a drawer. She asked me to think of somewhere that I felt safe and comfortable and said that she would take me to that place under hypnosis – the idea being that I associate flying with positive images in the future, rather than the negative ones that are filed away.

It all sounded pretty straightforward to me and at £35 for the session, which I would be able to record for future use, I thought very reasonable too. Although not cheaper than the alternative: Valium, certainly the better option.

Claire had asked on the phone whether I wanted the session to take place at my house or hers. At the time of her asking, dog 1 was trying to get into the room I had barricaded myself into, the Love Island final was blaring out from a couple of telly’s, partner was shouting upstairs if someone could feed the cats and the doorbell went…I said that for the full effect, it might work better at hers.

So I pitched up there this morning. I was rather excited and couldn’t help being a bit surprised when there was no psychologist style couch, nor did she dangle a gold watch on a string and say: look into my eyes. No, she fulfilled none of the cliches and after a good 20 minutes background chat, during which I went into more details about when this fear started and how it made me feel, I pressed record on my phone and the hypnosis began.

She started relaxing me by talking me through my body from head to toe. She then took me down 10 steps to my special place of comfort and then…well, to be perfectly honest, I can’t really say what she talked about, because I zoned in and out. I know that she told me how safe flying is and I know that her voice is incredibly lilting and relaxing and calm, but with emphasis where a little more drama is required (when I was nodding off probably!) I know that I felt incredibly relaxed and comfortable. My body felt heavy and I can best describe it as when you fall asleep in the car, but you are dozing and you can still hear the kids (arguing).

I was brought around after 30 minutes, which incidentally felt like 10, by walking back up the steps and being asked to open my eyes at the top. Afterwards I still felt incredibly relaxed…until I walked back through my own front door to the dogs barking, the hall being decorated, a delivery arriving and the phone ringing.

So did it work? Well, I don’t fly until the end of August. However, when partner asked how I feel about flying now, my reply was: ambivalent. Even me just saying that makes me think there has been a gear shift in my brain. Claire has asked me to listen to the recording (for which there is no charge) a few times over the next few weeks to reinforce what happened today. She didn’t push for me to book another session, although I think that I may, just before I fly…mainly because for £35 I’ll get an hour’s peace…I wonder if she could give me a spray tan, cut my hair and trim my bush at the same time?

If you fancy giving hypnosis a go and you live in the Sevenoaks, Kent area, then contact: Claire Feasey on 01732 741275

If you enjoy my blog, I would be very grateful if you voted for me in the Mumsnet Blogging Awards: Best Writer and best Comic Writer categories. It is a quick one – takes seconds and here’s the link, thank you 🙂

http://www.mumsnet.com/events/blogging-awards/2016

“Cellulite. Flabby bits. Great look. I’m size 16 and beach body ready”

In this week’s Saturday Times magazine there is an article featuring the model Candice Huffine, in which she is modelling swimwear. She is a UK size 16 and what the article is saying is that we are in a new curvy girl era, that ‘celebrates everyone owning their natural and curvaceous bodies’. 

But who, exactly, is celebrating?

It got me thinking about our relationship with our bodies. You see, if I showed females the photos of Candice in a bikini and asked them if they think she looks amazing, I am pretty sure the majority would say yes. Now, deep down, do they really mean that, or are they doing the female comradeship thing of boosting each other, rather than knocking each other down? Deep down would a part of them be thinking: but she could do with losing a bit of weight? 

My thoughts are then questioning that if they really, genuinely think that she looks amazing, then why does it seem that when women get into the plus sizes themselves, they quite often want to lose weight and far from feeling amazing, they feel fat. 

I think that as women we don’t really know what we want to be. I don’t think that we know what to do with our bodies and who we are doing it for. I think that from a young age girls are bombarded with such mixed messages about female body shape, that by the time they are teenagers, they are totally confused and this is pretty much how we remain throughout our adult lives. 

I’ll bet you a million pounds (of fat) that those exact same women who say Candice looks amazing, think they are too fat to wear a bikini on the beach this year. 

I’ll wager that those women who point at the model and genuinely think her body looks great in a swimsuit, are the very same women who are counting how many days until they fly to the beach and are currently working out how many carbs they can cut out of their diet until then, without actually dying.

If I am right, then surely us females are totally and utterly confused. We really don’t know what body we want. When I want to try to lose a few pounds, who do I want to lose it for? If it’s for me, then why am I saying that Candice looks good and meaning it? If it’s for my partner, then why? (Dicks can be unreliable). Or, is it for the other people with whom I’ll be fighting over the best sun loungers sharing the beach? 

I think that we all probably have our own benchmarks for our bodies. For some of us it’s a certain weight and when we go above that weight, we hit the diet. For others, it’s clothes feeling right or creating a bulge through the fabric. What I think we all need to bear in mind though, is that if we are looking at a size 16 model and saying how fabulous she looks, perhaps we are setting our own benchmark too high. 

I’d love to hear your thoughts about this. Please share them in comments or through Face Book and Twitter. Just another (!) thought I had – what about men? I mean, if this post was actually about men. How do they feel about their bodies? Apparently, a lot of men are unhappy with and increasingly preoccupied by the way they look. Allegedly nearly a third of men think about their appearance at least 5 times a day…aaah statistics. That means two thirds don’t give a shit. Perhaps a subject for another blog!

If you enjoy my blog, I would be very grateful if you voted for me in the Mumsnet Blogging Awards: Best Writer and best Comic Writer categories. It is a quick one – takes seconds and here’s the link, thank you 🙂

http://www.mumsnet.com/events/blogging-awards/2016

I read an article in a newspaper yesterday, that told me that Gwyneth Paltrow’s guru (I want a guru – where can you get one?) believes that couples should wash together and the journalist went on to question whether unlocking the bathroom door to your partner, unlocks the door to their heart.

This reminded me of a conversation that I had with a friend some years ago, that has always stuck in my mind. She told me that her and her husband leave the en suite door open when they go to the loo and she was worrying about the fact that they had become too familiar. 

Then of course I get the image in my brain, because let’s face it…you do. (If I wrote on here right now: imagine Donald Trump in the shower, despite every fibre of your being screaming at you: nooooo! you’d get an image…err yes, sorry about that). 

So, I immediately got a picture of her husband sitting on the khazi having a crap, while she’s leaning against the door frame discussing their plans for the weekend. 

It just doesn’t seem right.

I mean, I know that I’ve had my legs in stirrups, fanny wide open and twenty student doctors peering in, but that was because the hospital hadn’t seen a natural breech birth in years. There is simply no scientific reason to shit in front of your spouse. If it actually gets your pheromones going, that’s a whole different ball game, but if you’re just using it as an exercise in time management, then talk through the diary like most other couples. Time can surely never be so precious that you need to converse over a dump. 

Perhaps there is an ulterior motive here. Get him on the crapper mid-shit and then tell him you’ve just closed another e bay deal. It’s hard to conduct an effective defence with your trousers around your ankles. 

I’m not even sure about the whole en suite situation. We used to have one, we don’t any more – I’ve lived both lives and I can honestly say that the life without the sound of piss and wind in the bedroom is currently my favourite. God, it’s bad enough hearing sounds emanating from the family bathroom and there’s a whole corridor between us.  

No, the only place I am willing to share conversation with partner in the bathroom is in the bath – as long as I don’t get the tap end and on the proviso that he doesn’t fart. 

If you enjoy my blog, I would be very grateful if you voted for me in the Mumsnet Blogging Awards: Best Writer and best Comic Writer categories. It is a quick one – takes seconds and here’s the link, thank you 🙂

http://www.mumsnet.com/events/blogging-awards/2016

I was probably told it a hundred times on my teacher training course. I would have thought that my mentors on my teaching practices would have mentioned it, but something has recently become abundantly clear to me, that the worst thing you can ever say to a student is: you should know that already.

As a teacher though, it so easily slips out. Too easily. You would never open your mouth and say: you’re shit! Yet the words: you should know that already, amount to the same thing. As we say them, they sound innocent enough. Perhaps a student has been working on a particular thing for many, many months. You have gone through it and over it and explained it hundreds of times. You have seen in the past, perhaps, that they have been able to do it. Then you allow your patience to wear thin.

Patience and teaching of course go hand in hand. Parents frequently say to me: I don’t know how you are so patient. I always reply that it doesn’t reflect how I am as a parent! It is quite easy to have patience with the youngest students. Your expectations of what they can achieve are obviously different to the older students. However, actually the student’s age should bear no relation to your ability to show patience.

Patience must surpass driving a student forward and wanting them to excel. Drive is important, but ultimately in order for this to happen, patience is always required. We don’t necessarily know what is going on in a student’s life. We don’t know their insecurities and fears, nor why they may have them.

I was reminded of how demoralising and demotivating it is to be told that you should know something already, when a Taekwon-do Master made that comment to me a little while ago. It immediately made me feel completely shit. The thought behind the words is so final. You want to look the person in the eye and scream at them: well, I don’t and you know what, you know nothing about me and my life so fuck off! But instead, you just look them in the eye with a forlorn look. You feel that in that split second you have let that person down, despite the fact that it is your personal journey, not theirs. Regardless of the fact that actually, it is their job to teach you again and again, until you understand what they are saying and can get it absolutely right. They are the teacher.

So if your child ever comes home from school or from a club with their head down, quietly dejected and forlorn, there is every possibility that someone has said to them, without realising the extreme impact it can have: you should know that already. Unfortunately, the damage can have a lasting effect. As teachers, we must constantly be aware of this, so as not to undermine a student’s confidence. Patience has a lasting effect too.

If you enjoy my blog, I would be very grateful if you voted for me in the Mumsnet Blogging Awards: Best Writer and best Comic Writer categories. It is a quick one – takes seconds and here’s the link, thank you 🙂

http://www.mumsnet.com/events/blogging-awards/2016

I’ve always had a sensitive side – worrying what people think and not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings with what I say or do. Of course, this is normal. However, more recently I have become on constant hyper alert…and I think it’s a shame.

Firstly, came the e mails from my ex. I would e mail one thing and he would e mail back in a rage. Try as I might, I couldn’t see it from his point of view. I would read and re-read what I wrote and couldn’t work out what I had said that set him off. I would get my friends to read it and they couldn’t work it out either. However, I know that you can always read an e mail using a tone that reflects your own feelings and perhaps insecurities.

Then there is social media. Sometimes I read in disbelief the angry reactions from people to fairly innocent sounding posts. I came off Facebook for a while because of this. Faceless Book I call it – where people feel they can say what they want, because nobody can see them. These people are cowards, who are hiding behind the protective glass of their screen. Bullies, who don’t see the face drop and contort into disgust and tears as their victim reads the vindictive comments. The bully just scrolls on.

It is these cyber bullies who help to create this irrational fear of hurting someone’s feelings. With the internet, e mails and social media sites, has come the ability to innocently offend, while at the same time the heightened paranoia that you have hurt someone’s feelings with a reply to a post or a tweet. Before this, we relied on more human contact to correspond, where misinterpretations could be easily questioned and dealt with – without the worry of coming across as a social retard. Humour is far more easily inferred verbally, than through words on a screen, where subtle and important nuances can be lost.

It’s not just humour that can get lost in onscreen translation – meaning can too. People can only make sense of a comment with what they read and while of course a discussion can ensue, it is far harder to conduct a debate clearly through a quick fire exchange of the written word.

Never has this been so evident than in the past week since the referendum. I have read many, many posts on Facebook, discussing the result and not only have I been pretty shocked at the level of nastiness in the exchanges, often in response to a mild point of view, but also how many people who voted to leave the EU, are beginning to admit that they won’t post anything on line for fear of reprisal.

This fear of reprisal is growing on a local mum’s network. People are asking the administrator to post entirely innocent questions on their behalf, because they are too afraid to do so themselves – such is the level of hatred that runs intermittently through these online forums.

And so I am scared to offend. I am not always replying to posts, because I am worried that my answer may be taken the wrong way. I am reading things into people’s comments on my posts that they don’t even mean and I know they don’t mean them because they are having to reply to my nervous response with: don’t worry – I was only joking! While at the same time there is a large part of me that wants to rebel against the mediocrity, that I feel an undercurrent is trying to pull me towards.

But I do worry and I worry for our children and their generation, who are growing up having known nothing else. A generation who are shunning dates and who seem to be more prone to avoiding human contact. Teenagers who choose to game with friends, rather than meet with the real life versions. They are immersed in this culture that breeds mistrust, that is open to misinterpretation and with that comes paranoia and a culture where bullying thrives.