I’ve got 99 feminisms but white ain’t one

In the past few years, a lot of things have got me thinking about intersectional feminism. Firstly, the Gender and Women’s Studies class I took in my first year of uni; a choice arising from simple curiosity and a requirement to pick an extra module, and culminating in a burning passion for the cause. The first lecture introducting the term ‘intersectional feminism’, previously alien to me, and the subsequent weeks of studying feminism intersected with race, sexuality, gender identity, migrant status, class, religion, and more. The realisation that my own experiences fit into just one strand of this deeply and intricately woven fabric. This was when I became interested in feminisms, and in externalising my concern and compassion towards those so often ignored in the western feminist agenda.

In Emma Watson’s famous UN speech; in Judith Butler’s theoretical writing; in Deborah Frances White’s commentary, I find feminism. All informative, rallying and established in their own way, this was feminism as I originally perceived it: icons. Almost like valuing the glamour and glitz of hollywood and ignoring the perverseness that lies underneath. Beneath those feminist voices lie the reason that they exist in the first place.

In my feminism, I try to listen as equally as I speak. Perhaps my greatest praise of social media is that it gives unheard voices a platform, and I try to listen to as many of them as possible. It makes my perception of feminism grittier, messier and therefore more real. It has taught me that there is no binary between a feminist and unfeminist act, agenda or individual. Lines can be crossed, intentions masked.

A recent article by The Guardian revealed that the Spice Girls t-shirts in aid of Comic Relief were produced in ‘inhuman’ conditions, with factory workers paid the equivalent of 35p per four in a 54-hour week. First response: appalled, disgusted, angry. This abominable action has been declared as unbeknown to Comic Relief, The Spice Girls, or their commissioned retailer Represent, yet it reminds us of the institutionalised abuses of human rights that are enacted on a daily bases. The Spice Girls, as Deborah Frances White declares on The Guilty Feminist, are a gateway drug to more active feminist attitudes. Yet the mistreatment and abuse of workers producing their t-shirts is far from a feminist act. Again, we are reminded of intersections; race, nationality, class. An issue of these is a feminist issue. No, The Spice Girls were not directly to blame for this, and yes, they are a cultural icon tied to girl power and feminism – but that does not unhinge them from the responsibility of ensuring that every act they undertake is humane, feminist, and in line with their ideology.

‘Saying the conditions appeared to be “far beyond the normal illegalities” at factories in Bangladesh, Dominique Muller, the policy director at the campaign group Labour Behind the Label, added: “It is absolutely essential that celebrities, charities and brands ensure that their goods are made in factories which pay a decent wage and provide decent work.”’

The Guardian, ‘Revealed: Spice Girls T-shirts made in factory paying staff 35p an hour’, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/jan/20/spice-girls-comic-relief-tshirts-made-bangladesh-factory-paying-staff-35p-an-hour

The lesson here is to remember that fact: there is no binary between a feminist and unfeminist act, agenda or individual.

In this same line of thought, it is essential to pick apart the cultural understanding of ‘feminism’ itself. In contemporary feminism, the notion of ‘white feminism’ has been understood to convey the exclusionary way in which feminism functions in the western world. In largely denying the experiences of non-white women and other minority groups, the symbolic ‘woman’ of feminism is painted as white and middle class. In the predominantly white women championed as feminist icons on magazine covers; in the institutional racism that prevents women of colour from achieving more senior roles; in the idealised white-and-slim-but-curvy body image, we are confronted with feminism as a white middle class fight.

Through this homogenising of the white middle-class woman, western feminism becomes a symbol of privilege rather than of struggle. The class and racial privilege of the ‘we can do it!’ woman insinuates that feminism is a philosophy driven by vocality and forced self-inclusion; masking the inherent exclusion and invisibility that takes place within it.

‘The notion of a generic “woman” functions in feminist thought much the way the notion of generic “man” has functioned in Western philosophy; it obscures the heterogeneity of women and cuts off examination of the significance of such heterogeneity for feminist theory and political activity.’

Elizabeth V. Spelman, Inessential Woman, p. ix

If you’re not a white middle-class feminist, you’ll be all too aware of the exclusion that takes place in modern feminism. If you are, however, at least white, you’re likely unaware – like me a few years ago. I identified with the feminism I saw, so I took no issue. This is why it is so vital as people of privilege that we listen to other people’s experiences, rather than just talk about our own. The media may be a wider force, but we are all co-authors of moderm feminist attitudes. When we realise the injustice within a movement that inherently strives for the very opposite, it’s easy to simply be angry and resentful. I started noticing that all of the fitness accounts I followed on Instagram were those of slim, conventionally attractive white women, and I felt mad that this body type alone is exclusively seen as ‘goals’.

Now, that would be a valid feeling if it weren’t for the fact that I am in charge of who I follow. There’s a common misconception with certain elements of media that there is a lack of diversity in the people it showcases. As Kim-Julie Hansen states on the podcast Talking Tastebuds, this is not true. It is not lack of diversity, but lack of representation. We are all consumers and it is our choice what we consume. Sure, the algorithms may suggest more skinny white athletes to match our the skinny white athletes we already follow, or possibly because they are (problematically) the most popular, but that doesn’t prevent us from actively seeking out different voices. Making the conscious decision to listen to a diverse range of people should be the most basic action taken by any intersectional feminist. Maybe you don’t have the time to lobby for important causes or use your power on a greater level, but you certainly have the time to diversify your feed.

With this in mind, I think that this singular notion of white feminism comes as a result of the increasing passivity of the general public. We are quite literally drip fed from our phones, instilled with the news, influences and wants that it is assumed we should have. It is all too easy for us to sit comfortably in the faux-progressive umbrella of white middle-class feminism – if you are white and middle class, that is. As with many issues, the solution comes with us doing more.

Pride and vocality is so important to progress, but much like the injustice that took place behind the Spice Girls’ campaign for empowerment, we can’t forget the voices that go unheard. Remember those people, listen to those people, and fight for those people. Use social media and online platforms not as the bullies that reign our emotions, but as the tool through which we orchestrate our own ecosystem of voices. Your feed should reflect your ideology, it’s as simple as that. And beyond this, remember that intersectional feminism (and life – because I think many of us need reminding) stretches far beyond the electronic plane. No one is on Instagram shouting out about poverty pride. Class is an intersection that is thoroughly unspoken about, because who wants to shout about their impoverished circumstances? It’s dehumanising. It’s wonderful that so many communities and people are gaining confidence and pride in their identity, but we mustn’t forget those who are continually shamed, deemed ‘less than’.

I’m not writing this post to attack people. Feminism has so many shapes and sizes, and ultimately the textbook definition will always dictate that you are a feminist if you believe in the equality of the sexes. However, in a world so complex and diverse as we now have, it isn’t enough for everyone to just believe. When BAME people receive little digital spotlight, when women with disabilities are excluded from what is ‘conventionally attractive’, when trans women are denied their womanhood altogether, and when poverty stricken women are too destitute to even share their story – when all of this is our world, it is not enough to believe. We must do something.

Sex Education: A long-needed discussion

After the raging success of You, Netflix has just pulled another biggie out of the bag with Sex Education, which premiered on 11th January. As soon as I saw sex-advice-guru Oloni, creator of Laid Bare Podcast, praise the show on Twitter, I knew it had to be good. I immediately watched it and have been basically inhaling episodes ever since. Don’t worry though, I won’t spill any spoilers here.

Sex Education is a show that I painfully wish I’d seen when I was sixteen. Petrified of being rejected, paranoid about my body and completely oblivious to any real sexual knowledge, my only encounters with sex were raucous scenes in rom-coms and overhearing guys in high school talk about masturbating. Delightful, but not very educational.

Watching Sex Education immediately took me back to that fearful feeling, reminding me of what it was like to be in school and surrounded by an entire student body who all seem to be having sex. The premise itself is refreshing and a wonderful source of information and reassurance for now-teenagers who watch the show. In this long-delayed discussion of teenage sexuality, Sex Education deals with a plethora of experiences, problems and feelings experienced by teenagers (and beyond) exploring their sexuality. One note of mystery to the show is its elusive setting; the British accents with incessant Americanisms, the latest technology and pop-culture references with retro style fashion, all raise questions about when it is set. I was interested to find out, but when Google gave no answers I decided I loved this enigmatic framing. There’s no real need to ground the show in a specific time and place; it explores issues that are timeless, whilst maintaining both a relatable modernity and gorgeously grungy aesthetic.

My favourite character in the entire show is Eric. He is vivacious, buoyant and truly hilarious. His homosexuality is not explicitly talked about much at the start of the series, because it’s not a big news-flash that he is just out here living his best sexually open life. Most significantly, watching Sex Education made me realise that platonic male relationships between straight and gay men are rarely explored in television. In Eric and Otis’ friendship, there is never an implication that their friendship is impacted in any way by Eric’s sexuality. Why would it be? Those straight men out there (I see you) who would find it uncomfortable having a gay close friend because ‘what if they hit on me?!’ are confronted with this wonderful friendship that, shockingly, is not defined by the sexuality of its members.

Eric’s character arc throughout the show is beautiful and absolutely warms me. He suffers greatly for his identity, battling a desire for safety in conforming with an inherent yearning to flaunt his absolute truth. His experiences incorporate a really moving blend of the trauma faced by so many people, alongside his individual personality which flourishes in every episode. Like Eric, there are other characters who face problematic experiences. Sex Education also deals with issues of sexual uncertainty, homophobia, revenge porn, abortion, and more. In this way, Sex Education tackles the darker and more dangerous implications of sexual exploration, as well as the thrilling lighter side. On the surface of every episode is a discussion of the characters’ awkward, nervous, fumbling sexual encounters as they navigate maturity. It’s hilariously gross and I love it.

Since it only aired a little over a week ago, I’m hastening from discussing too much (if any) of the plot because I’m not about that spoiler life. Also, I wanted to focus on the thematic importance of the show. It’s remarkable. As exhilarating and exciting as it often is, the coming-of-age experience in sexuality plays a huge part in later life. My poor self esteem and fear of my own body arose exclusively from when everyone around me seemed to only talk about sex. My inhibition that I was inherently ‘bad’ at sex (before I’d even had it) because I knew nothing about it derived exclusively from the faux confidence buzzing around my peers. Sex as something I viewed both in awe and fear, and I’m sure may others have felt the same way. Like many other parts of life, the eruption of sex-talk in school often leads to a self-defence mechanism – cue student entering Otis’ sex therapy simply so a girl he liked would think he wasn’t a virgin. It was funny onscreen, but touched a more problematic nerve of this apparent need to be something that you’re not. We call out diet culture for making us feel the need to look a certain way, and call out capitalism for making us feel the need to have all the latest products. Yet we don’t call out the generally under-educated culture of sex during our formative years, for making us feel not experienced enough, not grown up enough or simply not good enough. When I was sixteen, fears about sex and my body dominated about 90% of my anxieties. If I’d had Sex Education in my life? That number would have plummeted to a solid 65%.

So I urge you to watch this liberating, colourful show. It’ll make you laugh and cringe and maybe cry. Shout about it and tell everyone you know to watch it, because we need more. Personally, I would also love to see a season two that possibly explores issues of consent, since this is the issue most critically left out of sex education (at least when I was in school). Either way, we need another dose. Netflix, keep dropping these bangers, you’re doing great.

Fatphobia: in culture and in consciousness

Today I re-watched the Friends episode, ‘The One With All The Thanksgivings’. I love Friends, but its problematic tropes are no secret, particularly the transphobia towards Chandler’s dad, the various examples of toxic masculinity and the fatphobic ‘fat Monica’ gag. In this episode in particular, the last two are rife. The characters recall past Thanksgivings in which Monica overhears Chandler call her fat (after mocking her for her weight behind her back beforehand, I might add). This triggers Monica’s decision to lose weight – problematic enough as it is – and Chandler is immediately attracted to her in their next meeting. One thing leads to another and, in a bit to seek revenge for his treatment of her, Monica accidentally drops a knife which severs part of Chandler’s little toe.

I’ve always found what happens to be strange, but now it just pisses me off. Two things are exposed: that Monica’s extreme weight loss came as a direct result of being mocked as ‘fat’ by a guy she liked, and that Chandler’s injured toe was an accident – yes, still an accident – that came as a direct result of him calling her fat. Yet Chandler is the one who gets to storm off, demanding alone time and unwilling to even talk to Monica. I’m sorry, what?

When I was younger and found that sequence a bit strange, the feeling I hadn’t yet discovered was utter tiredness towards this toxic masculinity that exudes entitlement and ignorance. In a battle between a malicious remark and an accident caused by the trauma of that remark, how is the man with the slightly stunted little toe the one who gets to be mad? It honestly makes me rage. There’s also the fact that Chandler doesn’t remember calling Monica fat – clearly so mundane in his vocabulary that it didn’t even make the cut in his first memories with his now girlfriend. Honestly, I cannot.

This episode aired in 1998, over 20 years ago, and so is filed away in the ‘of its time’ category of ‘not ok’ aspects of culture. But regardless of a show’s filming date, when it is replayed incessantly to the present day it is important to question these tropes. After all, the fat girl and the trans parent are still laughed at to this day.

In this instance, and in all of the examples I’ve seen of people hating on the character of Ross in particular for his frequent (unchallenged) toxicity, I am somewhat relieved that modern audiences are one step ahead of antiquated views. We allow these elements of the past to remain, so long as they undergo our rolling critique. It’s good, and it’s giving the consumer a proactive role in cultural censorship, but it can make us feel more ahead of our time than we really are.

Two hours ago I ate what I estimate to be four servings of granola. Possibly the least interesting sentence you will read all week, but for me it instigated immediate fear, repulsion and anger towards my body for taking an action that – in my head, at that moment – would result in me becoming fat. What’s worse: the fact that I immediately believed I would become fat, or the fact that I felt terrified of that possibility? In the style of my favourite podcast: I’m a feminist, but I openly acknowledge my cognitive dissonance in aggressively challenging fatphobia, whilst also being terrified of gaining any weight in my own body. I’m dealing with two issues here – the completely twisted and media-influenced perception I have of the relationship, processes and functions that occur between food, exercise and the body, and my unconscious fear of gaining weight. Who am I to fiercely call out fatphobia when I myself can’t shake the fear of gaining weight? I’m a hypocrite, I know, but I promise I’m working on it.

‘If we are feeling bad about our looks, sometimes the thing we need to address is the feeling, not our actual physical appearance’

Matt Haig, Notes on a Nervous Planet, p. 59.

I believe that many people struggle with the same hypocrisy and the same fears. We have been indoctrinated with the idea that fat = bad, and in our outwards thinking culture we forget that deconstructing fatphobia is as much an inside job as an outside one. In the past year I have really, truly been trying to diminish my inherent fear of fatness that came as a consequence of my disordered relationship with food. So in the process of recovery, I had to teach myself not only to love and respect my body and to understand the vitality and joy of food – I also had to teach myself that gaining weight wasn’t the enemy. I would say to my boyfriend, ‘even if I did get fatter it’d be fine wouldn’t it? Nothing about my life would change, right?’, and he would say ‘Charlea, you’re not at all fat!’, believing that I was still building up this fear. Instead, I was trying to reverse the demonising that I had placed on gaining weight. If I gained a few stone, nothing about my life would change, and anything that did would almost certainly by the result of socially prescribed views on weight gain. If I retreated to my own thoughts, I would be the same person, and weight gain would cease to be the enemy.

So now, reminding myself of this journey – of the incredible voices and influences that have helped me, of the value in who I am outside of my physical appearance – I don’t really give a shit about how much granola I ate. I no longer want to get out my scales, weigh out how much I think I ate and calculate the calorie intake. I no longer want to tailor my trip to the gym around burning more calories, before having a vegetable-based lunch purely for minimal consumption. I want to continue to fight and call out fatphobic media content, and to maintain this regained consciousness for the next time I fall victim to the pressures of beauty standards. I’m happiest when I’m sat reading, with a cup of tea, surrounded by the people I love. And since my weight has zero impact on this scenario, I won’t even allow it to take up space in my mind, because I have shit to be doing and saying and no magazine cover will continue to derail my happiness.

Climate change, knowing the facts and making a difference

‘Environment’ has become somewhat of a buzzword since the whole 12-years exposure, and rightly so. Climate change is both increasingly endangering the planet and increasingly fought with improved strategies from individuals and larger groups. It’s a big issue necessitating a big response, and that can be pretty overwhelming.

Now that a lot of people are listening to these planetary issues, it’s the perfect time to help each other help our world. In 2018 I learned ridiculous amounts about both the small and big things I could do to reduce my environmental harm, and changing those habits had such a tiny impact on my life that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t done it years ago. This was the kind of change I was happy to do, because for many (myself included) it can be very overwhelming and guilt-inducing to demand drastic change. Yes, we should be helping the planet, but not in a way that makes people feel guilty that they’re not doing ‘enough’. If you’re doing anything at all within the capacities and resources you possess, you’re doing enough.

Boycotting palm oil? Do your research

I’m sure you remember the Iceland Christmas advert that went viral just a month ago. An adorable and heartbreaking cartoon depicting a young girl and the orang-utan whose habitat has been destroyed due to deforestation for harvesting palm oil. The message, backed by Iceland’s pledge to remove palm oil in all of their own brand products, was to boycott palm oil. Essentially, it was ‘don’t buy palm oil or else these orang-utans will die’, and my heart couldn’t cope. I was ready to ditch every trace of palm oil in my diet, until I decided to do some research.

Our culture of receiving most of our information from media headlines plays the dangerous game of simplifying huge issues. What was depicted as a problem caused my palm oil is in fact a problem caused by the increasing demand for cheap products. Palm oil is an ingredient in approximately half of supermarket products (according to Green People), so it’d be pretty hard to boycott it entirely. Yes, the cultivation of palm oil has the consequence of destroying habitats, killing animals and abusing workers’ human rights, and that is a heartbreaking and inhumane fact. Nonetheless, successfully boycotting it would only result in industry leaders choosing another vegetable oil to replace it, and so the cycle returns.

While it’s often said that palm oil is the problem, it isn’t really. The real problem is the huge demand for vegetable oils and the lack of free agricultural land. Consumers want lots of cheap products and to produce those, a lot of land is needed.

Green People (website) https://www.greenpeople.co.uk/beauty-hub/blog/cleansing-wipes-why-we-should-avoid-them

There’s a massive cognitive dissonance when it comes to environmental issues that makes leading a sustainable life more complicated. We outrageously denounce the cultivation of palm oil, whilst filling our cupboards with all the bits and bobs we probably don’t need. It can be hard to see the connection between a cartoon orang-utan and our shopping lists, but we are ultimately part of a supply and demand structure. It is up to us how much palm oil is produced. Now, this is where feelings of guilt towards eco-friendly habits becomes relevant. When I saw this advert, I felt heartbroken – a feeling that doesn’t help the environment in any practical sense. It was only when I researched the issue that I felt less guilty and a little more in control. In the following weeks, I bought slightly less products that I didn’t actually need, and planned my shopping in advance. This tiny action is much more eco-friendly than allowing headlines and videos to drown you in guilt.

In the idea of buying less, I’m not suggesting we go total minimalist – but palm oil cultivation is currently increasing by 8% per year, so clearly we’re demanding even more as time goes on. So don’t stress about boycotting all palm oil products – it’s near impossible, won’t really help and will just stress you out. Quite simply, the best way to fight this issue is to buy less of what you don’t need, and most importantly – take headlines with a pinch (truckload) of salt.

Small swaps against single-use plastic

Firstly, I’m not going to talk about plastic bottles and takeaway cups. Those are the top culprits of single-use plastic that are denounced at every turn (rightly so), and I’d like to think we’re all pretty knowledgable about their impact – although I would like to quickly recommend Chilly’s bottles (if you know me, you know mine is like my child). If you’re going to be eco-friendly, you may as well do it in style.

Speaking of style, and seemingly contradicting my last post, my top recommendation for reducing your single-use plastic consumption is to buy yourself a cute tote bag. Plastic bags are one of the biggest contributors to single-use plastic, with the average plastic bag being used for just 12 minutes, before taking over 500 years to degrade in landfill. Since the 5p carrier bag charge began, consumers have become more devoted to ‘bags for life’ rather than stacking a mountain of bags in the cupboard which avalanche every time you open it. It’s great, but realistically, these reusable bags aren’t used at every opportunity, and often even the slightly stronger plastic bags are still discarded far too soon.

Now, you may have a big chunky Aldi bag which you use for your weekly shop (fab), but do you carry that bag round when you go clothes shopping? Probably not. It seems that the reusable bag trend has been largely limited to the supermarket industry, and whilst you technically could carry your big Aldi bag around Topshop, you probably wouldn’t want to. Enter, cute (non-plastic) tote bag.

I own two fabric tote bags and I absolutely always have one in my car and one in my flat, ready for use. They’re cute enough to style through a day of shopping and sturdy enough to survive the weekly shop. I actually love using them like I’d love using any other bag, and they’re a lot less loud and crunchy when you stuff them away in a small handbag. It’s a win for the planet and a win for your #look. So instead of thinking that buying a 10p bag instead of a 5p one makes it more sustainable, remember that they’re both plastic, both probably prone to ripping and neither are likely to be used for shopping outside of the supermarket.

The second single-use culprit which I’d been struggling with until very recently is face wipes. Face wipes can be a staple asset for make-up removal and, for me, getting sweat off my face after the gym. The thought of leaving sweat on my face for my entire drive home and probably waking up with 12 new spots was torturous for me, so ditching the wet wipes was difficult – until I realised how harmful they are. Wet wipes are a big killer of marine life, entering the ocean when they’re flushed down toilets, and residing their or washed up on beaches for years. They are incredibly dangerous to animals, and might not be too good for our skin either, with their millions of chemical filled microfibres. Nonetheless, I continued to use them until a recent trip to Primark where I found a 3 pack of gorgeously soft facial cloths. There, I immediately bought these cloths, along with a bottle of micellar water (which I’d never heard of before).

Good lord. This stuff is glorious. Forgetting the environment for a second, these uber-soft cloths blotted with micellar water feel wonderful on skin, and is highly effective for removing make up and general cleansing. I honestly can’t believe I stood for years of using face wipes that dried out my sensitive skin and left it blotchy, because this simple regime leaves me feeling like I don’t need need moisturiser – a true miracle. And if you buy a three pack of cloths, you can use a different parts of each cloth once before washing them all with your clothes at the end of the week.

Eat less meat and know its impact

I almost didn’t include this section because I often feel that discussing dietary choices can be controversial. Having had a terrible relationship with food and my body in the past, I’m also wary of encouraging restrictive food choices – because whilst I don’t find my diet at all restrictive, non-meat diets inherently involve restricting certain food groups. Nonetheless, it’s an issue too prominent to ignore. Eating less meat and animal products quite simply is the greatest way to reduce your environmental impact.

I didn’t know the impact that animal agriculture has on the planet until last year, and from my research there seems to be a reason for that. After deciding to become vegetarian, I watched Cowspiracy and was utterly shocked by what I saw. The documentary discusses animal agriculture primarily in regards to environmental issues, stating that it is the single most biggest contributor to climate change, posing greater threat than every single mode of transport combined. What was even more shocking was its exposure of the lack of information on this impact from many environmental organisations. As the documentary shows, and as I also found from trying to research the issue, animal agriculture is rarely listed as a contributor to climate change – or it is disguised under its secondary impacts of deforestation, water consumption, greenhouse gases, etc. As Cowspiracy points out, this comes as the result of meat being one of the biggest industries on earth, so why would companies want to crash this market? However, the UN makes it clear that meat is ‘the world’s most urgent problem’. The Guardian also published an informative article on the issue, claiming that ‘avoiding meat and dairy is ‘single biggest way’ to reduce your impact on Earth’.

I’m going to resist the urge to divulge endless facts and stats about the environmental impact of animal agriculture, because each person’s views and choices are solely their own. I’m not here telling you to quit meat or animal products. That’s not a helpful message, and for many may not be appropriate. Instead, I want to remind you of what I said when discussing palm oil, and the importance of conducting your own research. Not everything is handed to us, and not everything is portrayed in an accurate way. In discussing the impact of animal agriculture on the planet, I aim not to convert you to a tree-hugging cult (although that sounds pretty fun), but simply to make you more aware. Recognise the impact of meat consumption, and maybe try to have one less meat product each week. Or do the same with other animal products. Or, if you love meat too much to eat any less of it, try to invest in higher-quality meats in order to reduce the ethical impacts. Much like with the palm oil issue, our demand for cheap meat is highly problematic for the planet and its animals.

In this way, all of these issues can be used to emphasise the value of consuming a little less and learning a little more. The planet is a damaged entity, but if 7.7 billion people all made the tiniest change to reduce their environment footprint, we’d see magnificent change.

January feature: Finding your power

Happy New Year! – is a phrase I was getting sick of just days ago. New year resolutions, PSAs that resolutions aren’t necessary, not knowing what services are open and closed when, and falling under the misconception that the world is inherently ‘different’ just because the number we see on our calendars changed. It all bothered me.

This is the attitude I took on because I find this whole time of year pretty overwhelming – but now I’ve changed my mind. An English Literature grad, passionate about words and ideas and thoughts and philosophy, shouldn’t be the one to side with the hyper-rationality of numbers. I think most of us are aware that the concept of the new year is deeply psychological. If this weren’t true, we wouldn’t feel an inherent need to change, restart or generally improve. Even if we’re the happiest we could possibly be with ourselves, the new year appears to be the glimmering possibility to get even better. It is the shiny new toy in the shop window, full of excitement and novelty. It’s only after a few plays with it – probably by mid January – that the novelty swiftly wears off and suddenly we’re back to same sh*t different year.

That may be the general, realistic line of progress, but in my circle of thought about the politics of the new year (maybe I have too much time), I’ve come to the conclusion that its motivational potential is something we should harness. No, I don’t mean the motivation to hit the gym, start ten new hobbies, reshape our existence; I mean the motivation to seek out the possibility to support positive change. Find your power. Our current perception of the new year is too heavily weighted in binaries. We are either suffocatingly pressured into reforming ourselves, or outrageously insisting that we must all stay the same and not succumb to society’s demands. Maybe the solution instead is to recognise the potential for a new year in a way that is mentally healthy, enhances perspective, and reinforces our sense of power, ability and potential. Let’s make the new year represent the voluntary opportunity to improve our wider surroundings, rather than a prescribed need to improve our individual selves. Redirect your motivation to change that is significantly more deserving than a magazine’s perspective on the state of your abs. And if, like me, you want to work on improving your mental state of mind, I’ve found that working on the external can naturally lead to an improved inner psyche (also a trend I learned from the Headspace app – thanks, elusive Headspace voiceover man).

That’s not to say that we should forget the importance of our individual selves – quite the opposite. In the most recent episode of podcast The Guilty Feminist, titled ‘The Great Debate’, Deborah Frances White and her co-hosts orchestrated a debate on the proposition that ‘comedy can change the world’. A seemingly simple allegation was quickly deconstructed into the components of comedy and the agents behind comedy, whether it be the comedian, the producers, or the audiences. So, the part of me that initially thought ‘of course comedy changes the world!’ suddenly realised that I was jumping too far ahead, objectifying the point of change when really it lies in us. The agents. Comedy, journalism, petitioning, protesting – all undeniably world-changing – are made significant only by the people who make them.

So I urge you to find your own power this year before jumping straight to the action. Rather than deciding first on some appealing objective (e.g. to lose some weight) based on a shallow understanding of and desire for this change (the influence of the media), take a step back and consider the individual agent (yourself) and subsequently what action would be most appropriate, healthy and productive. Your desire to lose weight may well just be a desire to have a better relationship with your body, or possibly a desire to reap the endorphin-induced pleasures of frequent exercise. The media can change the world, but that change is far more dangerous and disingenuous when it excludes the very agents it affects.

Now the 6th January, normality seems to have resumed, but indicators of change are all around. The clothes sales that sell us the latest essential ‘look’, the fitness programmes for those wanting to get ‘on track’ in the new year – even the change in attitudes through many people firmly opposing the need for change. Change, visual and commercial and intellectual, is all around. This is not a bad thing. I passionately support the movements that discourage a guilt-fed need to improve upon ourselves and abstain from radical change, but I realise now that change itself is not to be feared. If we are the agents of our change, it can be a positive action.

As agents, we can dismantle and disempower the networks that rob us of our agency and distort our desires in order to fit prescribed ideas. As agents, it is up to us what kind of change we choose to support. Whether it’s in your own life, your family, your city, your country or your world, I encourage you to harness your ability to support change on whatever scale you see fit. Abandon the pressure of resolutions and the staleness of refuting change; recognise your potential and consider the actions that may help to improve your world just a little.

December feature: A love letter to my body

Post-Christmas, or post-mince pie indulgence, I’m reminded of the importance of loving my body. My up-down relationship with this little ecosystem of existence is generally on the up, yet the usurpation of normality at Christmas rocks the boat. I was excited for homemade mince pies and the yearly chocolate orange in my stocking, knowing the whole time that a feeling of guilt would eventually arise.

I wrote about the topic of obsessions with food at Christmas in a recent post. This, a love letter to my body, is the afterthought to this post. Christmas is over and we can return to our normal lives (or have to return, for those more begrudging). After the big event, this is the debrief.

We live in a society that encourages us to be additive with the external and subtractive with the internal. By that, I mean that our consumeristic, capitalist culture instils within us a desire for more and better. A longing to keep up with the latest fashion, the fastest technology, the newest trends. Our feeble assets are transient and part of a throw-away culture, yet we continue to want more. Why do we not have a desire for more towards our bodies?

Sure, there are some things people want more of on their bodies, but the general consensus is that of subtraction. I have wished for less spots, less fat, less body hair, less stretch marks, less cellulite; only recently have I started to wish for more. More strength, more capability, more comfortability. This idea of more and less is not about tangible wants, but the idea of worth. As Matt Haig states in Notes on a Nervous Planet, ‘If we are feeling bad about our looks, sometimes the thing we need to address is the feeling, not our actual physical appearance’. When I desire to take away from my body, this usually derives from some shallow beauty standard that objectifies my feeling of self-worth as no more than some physical trait.

Here’s a mantra for 2019. Instead of desiring less tangible assets (fat, spots, cellulite), desire less harmful attitudes towards your body. Instead of desiring more shallow signifiers of beauty (clear skin, hourglass figure, toned physique), desire more contentment, comfort and confidence in your body.

It has taken me years to come to this realisation. I have my days, like recently, when those toxic thoughts encourage restriction and guilt; when I reflect on my Christmas with thoughts of what I ate rather than the fun I had. I have always been a lover of food, and even more so since turning vegetarian, but I know the difference between love and obsession. There are many stances that we are encouraged to take when considering our food. Food is solely fuel; food is fattening; food dictates our health; food is a moral standpoint. I have channeled my obsession down every one of these paths, and none of them have benefited me or my mental health. This is a love letter to my body to say I’m sorry that I thought food was the star of its own show.

When I fretted over what macronutrients I was consuming, I forgot to listen to my body yearning for chocolate because I’d had a bad day. When I insisted to myself that recovery meant eating lots of cake to prove I could, I forgot to listen to my cold, sniffly body craving warm vegetable soup. I forgot to listen to the entity that all of this food is destined for. I’m not a big fan of New Year resolutions, or the idea of needing to ‘fix’ yourself. However, in 2019 I plan to listen to my body a whole lot more. I want to eat and move and strengthen in ways that my body needs and wants. I want to treat my body like the cosy, thatched-roof-cottage home it is, and I urge you to do the same.

Have yourself a merry day

Merry Monday! I hope you’re having a calm, happy, fulfilling day. This isn’t any ordinary Monday – it’s Christmas Eve. For many, that’s the best line you can read, but fork others it’s a terrifying prospect.

Maybe this isn’t just any other year for you. Maybe you’re suffering from: grief; loss; separation; heartbreak; loneliness; poverty; physical or mental illnees; generally hard times. I’m a fan of the mantra proclaimed by my favourite film (Love Actually, obviously), spoken by the deliciousness that is Hugh Grant: ‘Love actually is all around’. It’s a beautiful thought that resonates more than ever in the festive season, with its innate values of joyful gratitude and familial congregation.

Nonetheless, however sentimental the season may be, we can’t forget the reality. These are days like any other, except emotions are higher. Happiness is inflated, as is sadness. Whilst I’d encourage everyone to consider those less privileged at this time of year and be thankful for what you have, I want to speak directly towards those who aren’t 3000% #feelinfestive. If you’re a bundle of Búble-induced joy, this article may not be for you.

If, like me a year ago, you find yourself overwhelmed by the suffocating elaborance of Christmas, then I’m here to give you an out. You don’t need to have a great time. It’d be wonderful if you did, but let that potential for happiness be organic. Shake off the ‘Grinch’ and ‘Scrooge’ accusations, and any pressure whatsoever to be festive for that matter. Like any other day, event, situation, your wellbeing is priority.

In the spirit of encouraging this festive* joy (*festive optional), I’d like like to give three little nuggets of Internet brilliance which may be of help to those dreading the big day.

Firstly, one of my favourite comedians, Sarah Millican, runs a wonderful campaign every year on Christmas day. The #JoinIn scheme creates a Twitter community on Christmas day where people chat about anything at all. Sarah Millican encourages those who are alone, or not alone but equally unhappy, to take to Twitter to chat to strangers who are feeling the same way. Whilst the idea is a sentimental one, the discussions held by participants can be about any mundane or simple topic. It can be an emotional confession, a chat about your favourite food, or even an update on what you’re up to. #JoinIn is simply a way for everyone to feel part of a community on Christmas day if they may not be able to find such community at home.

My second recommendation is one I’ve mentioned in a previous post: Venetia Falconer’s podcast Talking Tastebuds, and her recent episode with Dr Robin Hart. The episode, titled ‘How To Manage Stress & Anxiety At Christmas’, was released a few weeks ago and provides the perfect detox from Christmas chaos. I’ve already listened to it several times, going back to particular sections that really resonated with my anxieties and gave some welcome support. Dr Robin Hart speaks with such genuine knowledge that it’s impossible not to listen to his wisdom. This, combined with the compassionate dialogue he has with Venetia, makes this episode of Talking Tastebuds a joyful and comforting listen. (Available on iTunes, Acast, Spotify, and more).

Finally, I have to include some yoga in this post. Yoga has been intrinsic to my improved happiness in my mind and body over the past six months, so I couldn’t leave it out. The wonderful thing about yoga is that it embodies so much: physical exercise (endorphins), stretching (physical relaxation), and mindfulness. Practicing mindfulness can be of immense support during a time of chaos, reminding you to return to yourself and not get caught up in the external. However, I think the physical element of yoga is equally important. By connecting with your body through the poses and by connecting movement with breath, yoga makes practicing mindfulness much easier. It allows you to form a seamless path from movement, to body, to breathe, to mind. With that in mind, I urge you to take half an hour to follow this cozy yoga practice from the YouTube channel Yoga with Adriene, led by yoga teacher Adriene. Mishler. Best enjoyed with comfy clothes (fluffy socks optional).

All of these tools will make difficult Christmases a little less difficult. You might love Christmas but just feel the stress hit hard, or you might hate it altogether; any feeling is perfectly fine and valid. So stretch yourself out, plug in your earphones, take to the Twitter, read Matt Haig’s tweets, watch your favourite TV series, listen to non-Christmassy feel-good songs, have a bath, take time for yourself.

Either way, I hope you have a bearable Christmas, if not a genuinely pleasant one.

Here is a Christmas doggo, just because.

My 10 favourite books this year

I may not have reached my Goodreads reading challenge this year, but I found some incredible books nonetheless, so I’m calling that a win. I always remember the books I’ve read as companions throughout individual periods of my life; like photos, they take me back to when I first picked it up. As the year now draws to a close, it seems only natural to reflect on my life in books this year, having poured through so many wonderful and diverse texts. Here is a summary of my favourite ten books, detailing their personal significance and contribution to my life:

1. How To Be Champion by Sarah Millican

I’ve always loved Sarah Millican. She’s hilarious, doesn’t take things too seriously, but also speaks openly about issues of self confidence and happiness. Her autobiography was everything I’d hoped it would be – hilarious, chatty, honest. Never before had I received genuine advice on how to lesson my anxiety and lead a happier life whilst also falling off my chair laughing. I was also surprised by how easy this was to read; I usually find autobiographies to be quite heavy, but How To Be Champion was refreshingly the opposite.

2. We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I’ve picked up this book at several points throughout this year, when I’ve needed a boost in self-assurance and empowerment. Small in size yet massive in its message, We Should All Be Feminists is one of my favourite reads of all time. When Adichie says that we should all be feminists, she really does mean all; this book does not speak exclusively to women, but to all people. She speaks not only about sexism against women, but also about confinements placed upon men. However, for me the most poignant aspect of this book is Adichie’s perspective as a woman of colour, and specifically as a Nigerian woman. Her insight is personal and political, and totally inspiring.

3. Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud

I read this book for my contemporary literature module at university whilst studying graphic novels. I’d never read a graphic novel before, and loved the first one I encountered. However, this love was mostly for the storyline alone, and the same love I feel for novels. Realising that I had no critical insight into graphic novels, I picked up McCloud’s guide and immediately loved it. Set out in comic strip style itself, it is incredibly informative, interesting and gorgeously illustrated. By the end, I wanted to write my own comic and read every graphic novel in existence. If you’re new to the genre, or have any interest in books or comics, this is simply a must read.

4. Kindred by Octavia Butler

Kindred is another book that I read for university; this time for my sci-fi module. I’ve always been drawn to books that write about slavery, because they’re always such emotionally hard-hitting reads and present extremely strong-willed, independent characters. Kindred presents a fictional hybrid of the slavery narrative with sci-fi time-travel. The main character, Dana, is a woman of colour who is repeatedly transported back to a plantation in antebellum Maryland, where she has to learn to live and communicate with the people she encounters. This novel is totally captivating and different from any other I’ve ever read.

5. A History of Britain in 21 Women by Jenni Murray

This book is a staple for any feminist to brush up on their history. What’s great about Murray’s book is that it’s not an overly heavy read; each chapter provides a brief overview of one remarkable woman’s life, achievements and greatest contributions. In just a few pages you can brush up on an adored feminist figure (I’m looking at you Mary Wollstonectaft, aka queen of my dissertation), or discover a whole new inspiration. I’d never heard of – and – before reading this book, and frankly I think everyone should know about these women. How else are we going to inspire more girls to get into maths and computer science? (Says the girl with the English Literature degree…)

6. Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge

In my blog post ‘Navigating intersectional feminism as a cis-gendered white woman’, I explain why this book was so revolutionary to me. If you’re the kind of person (like me a year ago) who says you don’t ‘see’ colour, and believe the best way to be an ally to BAME people is to see everyone as just the same, then you need to read this book. Reni Eddo-Lodge vitally confronts white people and forces the reader to acknowledge their own privilege. Not only did this book teach me facts and case studies and anecdotes to shut down any claim that racism is not still a violent force of oppression in society, it also taught me the importance of checking my privilege and always being conscious of the background from which I think, speak, and live my life. I genuinely believe every single person should read this book.

7. The Power by Naomi Alderman

Although I’ve heard mixed reviews about this book, I had no hesitation in adding it to my list. The Power is a tantalising piece of fiction that depicts a world in which women suddenly develop electric powers which allow them to completely upturn patriarchal society. Whilst on the surface the idea of women gaining power sounds like a world I want the sign up for, this book follows the dystopian route of showing how excessive power can only leat to destruction. Alderman’s characters are passionate, emotive and strong-willed, and my favourite aspect of this book was the personal journey they all pursue. Whilst the world falls into chaos as women rise, I loved this unique twist on classic dystopia, and the inspiring stories of women who reclaim the power that had always been taken from them.

8. Notes on a Nervous Planet by Matt Haig

Notes on a Nervous Planet is another book that everyone HAS to read. I honestly think it changed my life. I’ve had anxiety disorder for nearly three years, alongside periods of low mood and a terrible relationship with food and my body, so Matt Haig’s voice of experience was an invaluable comfort for me. Haig’s book talks about how we can navigate this chaotic and confusing world which feeds on our unhappiness and anxiety, often focusing on issues of technology and capitalism. More than any other book I’ve read, every page of Notes on a Nervous Planet had be thinking ‘wait, yeah, of course, that makes SO much sense’, as if teaching me something I should’ve always known, but which we’ve been untaught by a cruel and predatory society. I’m not normally a fan of rereading books, but I plan on reading this book every year. You absolutely should too.

9. Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton

After struggling with reading for months, Dolly Alderton’s Everything I Know About Love was the perfect book to get me back in the pages. This memoir is simply gorgeous, and writes about love – in every sense of the word – and friendship, ambition and careers, life and loss. My review of her wonderful debut, ‘Self-love and friendship: Dolly Alderton’s Everything I Know About Love’, describes in more detail why I loved this book, but one thing I will say is that it would make the perfect gift for a beloved female friend.

10. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

This list is in chronological order, yet ‘save the best until last’ certainly fits The Bell Jar. I read this book recently and it reminded me of why I first started reading classics. Sylvia Plath writes in a beautifully personal and honest style, depicting the character of Esther to whom I instantly related. Whilst some may struggle with the content of this novel (TW: depression, suicide), I surprised myself by not feeling triggered and by actually feeling comforted by Plath’s novel. The Bell Jar felt like a close friend and a form of medication all in one. I’ve written more about this in my review, ”I am I am I am’: Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar’, although I honestly don’t think any blog post could be long enough to explain my love for this book.

The mince pie polemic: obsessions with food at Christmas

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, for most. Christmas exudes joy, gratitude and celebration in every corner, and from 1st of December that corner is one we’re rapidly backed into. Above all else, Christmas is simply more intrusive than any other time of year, with adverts and products and gifts constantly thrusted upon us.

I love Christmas, but I understand its many issues. The capitalist obsession that plagues on parents lacking money; the bombarding of social obligations testing our mental capabilities; and the food. Food is an issue for many people, but it’s often an understated one. As a nation we yearn for passing around the Quality Streets during Doctor Who on Christmas Day, yet we don’t consider the effects of food at Christmas. Christmas is one of the few times of year when the associations of food with tradition are enormous. Whilst this is often derived from the food itself, such as Christmas dinner and advent calendars, there’s a generalised notion of indulgence at Christmas that lingers throughout the season. Then, come January, the ‘getting back on track’ mentality projects through self-critical New Years resolutions and resentment at any gained weight.

I have a huge problem with the notion of December indulgence and January reformation. Food advertisement is truly excessive in the festive season, and being surrounded by so much food can trigger a ‘fuck it’ mentality. I know that I have that feeling a lot when confronted with food at every turn – show me a pack of cinnamon spiced cookies enough times and I’ll eat them all. Now, I am not in any way criticising eating, over eating, under eating, whatever eating, because I believe that that is every individual’s own business. I am criticising not the actions of us, the people doing the eating, but the cultural obsession with food shown through advertising and retail. It is the influence of this cultural obsession with food, rather than the healthiness or will of the individual, which leads us become negatively affected by food at Christmas. For one thing, it makes us overtly self-conscious of a bodily function which is better reserved for our physical and mindful instincts.

If there were no such thing as the January come-down after the December high, people would not insist upon hitting the gym to shift any weight gained over Christmas. We would not internally demonise food and build up a fear of its consequence. This cycle portrays food as the party drug; something dangerous whilst also something we yearn for, which ultimately evolves into shame once the thrill wears off. How has food become a criminal indulgence? Why do I feel guilty for eating two mince pies in one go? It’s nonsensical. Eating is often an emotional process, but we need to cut the baggage that’s been unconsciously loaded upon us. Eat to feel energised, satisfied, full, nourished, and happy – and try, as much as possible, to disconnect from the overcharged focus on food at Christmas. If you over eat, you might remember next time that your body didn’t feel good last time you ate that amount. If you put on weight, your body will continue to exist and function, and whether or not you choose to change, it should remain a choice based on how you feel in yourself. Remember, most of all, that food is a function and the external qualities connected to it (body shape/size/weight) do not deserve your emotional attention. That is reserved for having fun and being happy.

Beyond more general issues surrounding food, and the notion of over eating, Christmas can be incredibly overwhelming for those with issues with under eating. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, Christmas is more intrusive than any other time of year. The emphasis on having a great time and being surrounded by friends and family creates a hyper-vigilence that is difficult to escape. During my greatest difficulties with eating, my (understandably) concerned family sometimes acted like a supervisor over my eating habits when I was with them, frequently asking what I’d eaten that day. Whilst I genuinely understand the positive intentions, this is often the least helpful environment, as it heightens the pressure over what we’re eating and can actually be triggering. Particularly with the excessive presence of food at Christmas, any reluctancy to engage in that tradition is more noticeably juxtaposed, heightening that feeling of abnormality.

In the most recent episode of Venetia Falconer’s Talking Tastebuds, Dr Robin Hart gave the most wonderful advice:

The kind of rule of thumb is this: don’t ask people why they’re not drinking; don’t comment on people who eat a lot; and don’t ask people why they’re not eating anything, because it’s not your business.

Dr Robin Hart

I love this. It may seem counterintuitive to abstain from questioning people’s habits, but the effect of intruding can be far more dangerous. Hart himself recognises that:

Obviously it is your business if you’re a close family member or you’re very fond of somebody who’s clearly having difficulties, it very much is your business, but it may not be the best time to raise it, because of all the stress that’s around Christmas anyway.

Dr Robin Hart

This, I think, is essential advice for those struggling, or who know people struggling, with food at Christmas. For many, the aim is simply to get through this chaotic and stressful time. With the upheaval of daily routine, it is easy to feel less stable and self-assured; particularly with the year’s end approaching and tendencies to self-reflect.

Within and outside of food, stress and emotion are high throughout the festive season, and it’s vital that we respect our own and others’ needs. For me personally, I have realised this year the importance of a self-care routine for my mental health. I use my journal to document my meditation, yoga, exercise, reading, etc. – all things that help me maintain a happy and calm mind. Whilst Christmas is of course a wonderful occasion for spending time with others, that doesn’t mean we should sacrifice those habits and that time that we have for ourselves throughout the year. Taking twenty minutes to yourself on Christmas day or choosing to do a few Christmas activities alone is a choice that should be more widely taken. That way, we can keep at least a fraction of our own normality and lesson the suffocation that can come from being overcrowded and overwhelmed. If we take time to understand ourselves, to respect our needs, and to cater to our state of mind, Christmas really can be the most wonderful time of the year.


‘I am I am I am’: Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar

I had discovered the name Sylvia Plath during my A Levels, yet here I am having only just read her novel The Bell Jar. I am extremely grateful that I hastened from reading this book until now, because at 16 I was an entirely different person. Now, in my experiences with mental illness, it seemed the right time to finally pick it up.

The Bell Jar resonated with me more deeply and sincerely than any other book has. I found myself identifying with Esther’s personality on every page; from her ambitious nature to the chaos and confusion over what she should pursue in life. It is not only her mental illness, but the challenges she faces as a young person trying to find her way in the world, that made me connect with her so well. Esther is serious and dignified, yet innocent and delicate, and her narrative inhibits a raw honesty that I was immediately drawn to. Perhaps deriving from the novel’s semi-autobiographical influence, there’s a realness to The Bell Jar that makes every joyful moment more special, and every dark moment more painful.

One of my favourite moments in the novel is when Esther runs herself a bath as a way of detoxing from the tiresome socialising she has endured. She describes her experience in the bath in such a soothing and comforting way:

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them. Whenever I’m sad I’m going to die, or so nervous I can’t sleep, or in love with somebody I won’t be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: ‘I’ll go take a hot bath.’

I meditate in the bath. The water needs to be very hot, so hot you can barely stand putting your foot in it. Then you lower yourself, inch by inch, till the water’s up to your neck.

I remember the ceilings over every bathtub I’ve stretched out in. I remember the texture of the ceilings and the cracks and the colours and the damp spots and the light fixtures. I remember the tubs, too: the antique griffin-legged tubs, and the modern coffin-shaped tubs, and the fancy pink marble tubs overlooking indoor lily ponds, and I remember the shapes and sizes of the water taps and the different sorts of soap-holders.

I never feel so much myself as when I’m in a hot bath.

The Bell Jar, pp. 18-19

This passage utterly warms me. The way Plath writes about the bath is almost romantic, like a person remembering all the people they’ve loved. This appears to be the reader’s most honest view of Esther as peaceful and content, truly at one with herself in this intimate moment. Her baths are like lovers who make her feel safe, secure and whole.

Extracts like this, showing the beautiful character of Esther, make her subsequent mental illness all the more heartbreaking. Speckles of symptoms appear from the start of the novel, growing and growing until Esther is ultimately overwhelmed by her feelings, finally sectioned into an asylum. Esther’s experience was the first time I had read a narrative about asylums before. I think I’ve always been scared to read too deeply on issues of mental health, worried that it would trigger my anxiety. Reading about Esther, though, was the opposite. She presented the asylum is a place just like any other, depicting its daily mundanities and creating a sense of norm. Although she never loses perspective over staggered scale from Wymark, Caplan, Belsize, all standing as landmarks of health, once in Belsize Esther learns the normality of her mental illness in its daily practice. When she chats and plays cards with the other patients, she realises the lack of disparity between inside and outside of those walls:

What was there about us, in Belsize, so different from the girls playing bridge and gossiping and studying in the college to which I would return? Those girls, too, sat under bell jars of a sort.

The Bell Jar, p. 227

What I love, is not only how Esther sees herself and the other patients as normal, but how she also sees people in the outside world as similarly afflicted. The above quote achieves what so many of us are fighting for now – the abolishment of black and white views over mental health (amongst most other things in life). She ditches the notions of ‘sane’ and ‘insane’, instead opting for the beautiful, honest and at times painful truth that mental health hangs over every person, in every moment of their lives.

Throughout this book I was haunted by the knowledge of Sylvia Plath’s own struggles, and her ultimate death. Holding this knowledge, I made the blind assumption that the ultimate outcome for her protagonist would be detrimental, and was surprised by the analogy of rebirth when Esther walks through the door to discuss her discharge from Belsize. The space between Sylvia Plath writing this hopeful ending, and the hopelessness she faced in taking her own life, is a space that terrifies me, but also reminds me to focus on the former.

I was ready to finish this novel feeling sad and hopeless (whilst celebrating its beautiful writing), and the surprise with which I found Esther’s of rebirth is part of why I loved this book so much. It reminded me to not let go of hope and positivity; to remember that there is always time to start again. Sylvia Plath’s early death with always be mourned in the literary world; but on the other side of the scales, her monumental contribution to literature with The Bell Jar will always be celebrated.

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