Being me: part 2

I can’t really remember what it was like when I didn’t have to hide part of who I was from the world. I have been doing it for so long it just feels normal. Learning how to come across as ‘normal’ took up most of my later teenage years. Unlearning the things that had used to keep me safe from pain to allow myself to become more socially acceptable took time. Getting to grips with the oddities expected from society meant learning to put aside my own views and trying to get my head around the bizarre nature of people who aren’t driven but logic and reason.

When I tell people that I’m autistic the first response is often that I don’t seem very autistic. I get why they say this, I have spent years learning to how to come across as normal, but also people have this idea of what autistic people are like, often taken from quite unreliable sources and very gender stereotyped. I am not interested in prime number like Christopher in the curious incident of the dog in the night time. I am able to hold a conversation and am great at faking eye contact.

I struggle with the way autistic people are portrayed in the media and the lack of understanding between how it differs between men and women. People often don’t seem to understand that we grow up and learn the same way non-autistic people do. An autistic child is very different from an autistic adult. I know it is a spectrum and that what is true for me isn’t true for everyone but what people believe about autistic people and the inaccuracies of that affect me.

I’m happy to talk about being autistic and feel to some extent I have a duty to inform people of the reality of it if people like me don’t speak up who will? Parent advocates are not autistic themselves seem to forget that autistic adult exist too. Mst of the work done by charities is aimed at those who are less able to stand up for themselves ( this is obviously necessary) but it does mean that people like me are often sidelined, too autistic to fit into to general society but not autistic enough for the autistic community.

People like me are an awkward in-between. We have learnt to hide the fact we are autistic so most people will never see it but we still struggle to navigate through a world not built for us.

For the past few years, it didn’t matter too much, I had little contact with the outside world but this January I started a job.

While I would like to live in a world where you can tell someone you are autistic and have no judgment at all I know I don’t. Most people have too many misconceptions about it to something that I would tell potential employers about.

These days I’m good enough at hiding it that it doesn’t matter. I have learnt how to interact with customers properly and I know the right things to say. It seems easy enough, I basically stick to a script that has been well polished over time.

In many ways, there is no reason to tell anyone at work that my brain works a little differently. It has no impact on my ability to do my job, sure I say pretty much the same thing to everyone but it works. I’m highly methodical and organized things that most employers like. So there is little reason to risk my chances of a job by telling them. It is, however, something that it hard to keep a secret forever. I don’t have a great mental filter, I say what is in my head especially when I’m nervous or excited. I have a mental list of things I run through in my head but in a new environment, I don’t filter everything.

The other side of it is that I like to be honest. Sometimes in conversations, it can be hard to find an excuse for any slightly odd thing I say. We recently had the work Christmas party (yes, in February). I had thought that as I had only started in January I wouldn’t be expected to go but it seems I was wrong. I don’t do parties, I can’t be anywhere with loud noise and lots of people. I’m pretty good now at making excuses to why I don’t want to go and explaining a bit about my noise sensitivity issues, (although I still seem to find it impossible to just say I’m busy which would be way easier) but people seem to struggle to understand and will often keep trying to persuade me to go.

It’s not a big deal, I’m used to it, but it highlights social expectations that can be difficult for other people to understand why I wouldn’t want to go. I seem incapable of making a normal excuse, really I should just say I have a prior commitment but I never too. I end up trying to explain why I don’t want to go but avoiding mentioning that I’m autistic.

It feels silly. Life would be so much easier if people would understand that they don’t understand. If people like me could say we are autistic without having to explain ourselves and how yes we don’t seem autistic now but we are adults and have learnt to hide it as otherwise we would get nowhere in life. I want people to understand that just because I can come across as ‘normal’ it doesn’t mean I’m not autistic.

brighton 10

I hope this hasn’t come across too much as a lecture.

If you have enjoyed this or learnt anything from it please share so others can too!

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

Back to the real word

Before Christmas, I was getting to the stage where I knew I was ready for something more. My body was craving the chance to get out and do something, I was missing human contact and the days that used to feel well filled where getting dull. After three years I was finally at that place I had dreamed of for so long, I was ready to find a part-time job.

Now I know that for most people working isn’t something they typically get excited about. It’s just part of life, something that must be done and put up with, something to pay the bills. But for me, being ready to work made the world feel so full of possibilities, everything felt possible, it was hard not to go round with a mad smile on my face, the years of fighting to get better had worked, the goal I had spoken about for so long felt achievable, I was walking on clouds.

All that I needed to do was find a part-time job that would allow me to work hours that I could manage, 15 a week tops, and get it. Seems simple.

By this point, it had been well over 3 years since I had last worked and my CV had a large gap in from the years of illness. I also wasn’t really sure what kind of job I should be looking for, most of my experience has been waitressing in hotels, something I didn’t really want to go back to, I needed hours that would let me get out of bed at a reasonable time and be back home and ready for bed by 11.

I needed to be choosy otherwise I could burn myself out and end up worse off that I had been, something I was not prepared to do. The chances were this would take a while but I was cool with that.

When my mother came home and told me an outdoors shop was looking for people I thought I would check it out, that was somewhere I could work, I did a bit of looking around on their website and some others and found a position that I quite fancied. After umhhing and arrring about it for a day or so I reminding myself that the worse thing that could happen was that they say no and it was worth applying.

It had been a while since I had to deal with my CV or write a cover letter and even with advice from the internet, it was a painful morning trying to get it right. A few days later I was invited for an interview and despite things getting a little sticky when I said I only wanted to work 15 hours they phoned me that afternoon to offer me the job!

I was more than pleased with myself, not only had I got a job, I had only applied for one and didn’t need to write any more cover letters!

The next day I joined the string of London commuters as I sat on the northern line into town wondering quite how I was going to get through a 9 hour day.

I managed well, adrenalin played a big part but it was by far my best first day of work. I have now had three days. My forth is tomorrow, as I only work two days a week. Fitting ski boots is reasonably interesting (if you like skiing and technical things) and we are busy enough that I don’t have downtime to get tired in.

The day after work is one of rest, knitting, and binge-watching TV but that’s fine, I knew it would be, the fact that it only takes me one day and two 12 hour nights to feel like myself again after a days work is something I’m pretty pleased by, after all, it could’ve been a lot worse.

Working has changed the shape of my weeks drastically, they no longer follow what has become a familiar pattern of kayaking on Sundays and Mondays, knitting on Tuesdays and trying to fill Wednesdays and Thursdays and writing on Fridays.

My novel has been edited so I’m working through that when I feel awake enough, I don’t work on Sunday so I can still kayak (as long as I’m not working Saturday and Monday) and I’m even hoping to go on a ski holiday!

I know there is still a long way to go until I’m am better, but this time last year I thought concentrating for 20 minutes a day was a big deal! So much has changed for the better and I’m filled with hope.


Flying high above the alps!

Sorry it has taken so long to post, but life has got busier, I plan on writting at least one every two weeks if I can mange it.

Hope you ahve enjoyed,

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

Just me and the cat

For most of the week, I am home alone with only the cat as company until about half seven in the evening when my parents come home. I’m used to it. I know how to keep myself occupied but it still gets lonely. I’m used to loneliness. It’s a familiar feeling for me. When your autistic it is an inevitable part of growing up.

As a kid, it was the feeling of not belonging. Of wanting desperately to be part of something but not fitting in no matter how hard I tried. There is nothing more lonely than being alone in a crowd. That feeling of total isolation despite being surrounded by other people. I learned quite young that it was much better to appear to choose to be alone than to let yourself be isolated by others.

I suppose it was part of my survival mechanism, I would tell myself I wanted to be alone rather than admit it was forced on me. I would take myself off to worlds inside my head where I had friends and people were kind. I would live in my make-believe as that was so much better than the real world. I could hide from anything, even myself.

It’s not that I didn’t have friends. I did, but highly emotional autistics aren’t always the easiest people to be friends with. There was also the fact that quite a lot of my classmates didn’t like me, I was too weird for them, over sensitive and easily upset. I remember the feeling when things went wrong, when the people I was trying to be friends with told me that they didn’t like me and I wasn’t to talk to them anymore. When I was told by others that I wasn’t to talk to the one friend I did have at school anymore as they were her friends now. It was totally crushing.

As I got older I made friends out of school. That helped but I still spent most of my time on my own. There is a common misconception that autistic people are anti-social and prefer to be alone. While that may be true for some people it’s not for me. I need human contact. I need friends and conversation, while I am happy to be alone some of the time it cannot be my constant.

Now it’s being on my own with no one to talking to for most of the day. Missing the sound of human voices, needing something to break me from the monotony of daily life. My friends are amazing but spread around the country and therefore I don’t see them very often. Visiting is difficult and tiring and even being visited uses more energy than normal. Then there is the fact that even when I’m able to visit they have their own busy lives, with uni, work and boyfriends.

As I have been getting better my need for social contact has increased. Even though I am now out twice a week and go to a cafe to write (and make faces at the babies) I still find myself needing more. I know in many ways this is a good thing. It means I’m getting better, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of loneliness.



Jakey my closest companion

This most likely will be my last post before the new year! So have a good December!

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx



Three long years

It’s hard to think it’s been almost three years since I got the cold that caused the CFS. They have, in many ways been the stranges three years of my life. No one expects to get a chronic illness at 19, it’s the time when people should be out, exploring the world, doing new things, full of energy, but instead, I had to move back in with my parents and try to come to terms with the new limits of my body.

The first year was the hardest by far. No one knew what was wrong with me and it was hard to believe things would get better. At that point, my whole identity was built around the things I did. Climbing, skiing, spending time in the mountains, that was who I was. Losing that and having to move to a large city far away from everything I loved almost broke me.

The second year, I found purpose. I started writing a novel, it was an accident at first. I just woke up one day with an idea in my head and I knew I wouldn’t rest until I followed it. I had the time and even with my problems concentrating I managed to write. Often I would be left exhausted by the effort I made each day working on the novel but it was worth it, it gave me something to focus on and if I didn’t use my energy on writing then all I would be doing was binge-watching TV and knitting.

For a while, I tried to convince myself that this was enough. The internet was full of stories of people who never got better, who had to learn to live within the confinements of CFS and it was hard to believe that I would get better at all. My life, it seemed would be spent inside a house with only my imagination and once weekly kayaking as an escape.

I tried hard to make myself believe that this was enough, that I could live within these parameters. But I knew deep down I was doing that because it felt safe, I was scared of losing the few things I had by trying to get better. While I tried to convince the outside world that things would change and I would get my life back I struggled to believe it. I have written about this in more detail in Stuck in a bubble

Getting better was always the aim, getting to a point where I could live the life I wanted to. I thought as I got better things would just get easier and some things have. (Please note I am not complaining at this point, I am thrilled at my progress but it can still be damn hard) What I didn’t expect was that even as I got better some things would get harder.

As I have said before CFS is a constant balancing act. I’m always having to think about everything I do. Is this worth the recovery time? Am I ready to introduce something new into my week? What might be causing this excess tiredness? On top of this, I have to balance all the considerations for my depression and diabetes. It can feel like I spend half my time trying to balance one aspect of my life against another.

I know this is something I will always have to do to an extent. Carbs will always have to be counted, depression will always need to be kept on top of. It is just a fact of my life. And I don’t mind for the most part but every now and again it gets to me.

Sometimes I want to get away from it all. I want to be able to do things and eat things without needing to think too much. I won’t talk about this readily normally. I don’t want to be seen as complaining after all things have got a lot better. But it doesn’t stop it being hard. Getting better, it seems means more thinking, more balancing and more patience.

It’s also more lonely. Before I didn’t have the energy to go out and too much social interaction would leave me exhausted, I couldn’t cope so I didn’t crave it as much. I was too tired to want to do things, life was boring but I knew I wouldn’t cope with anymore. Now I need more, my week is managed day by day, Sunday is kayaking, Monday is also kayaking (being out two days in a row is a big deal!) Tuesday is recovering from being out two days in a row, Wednesday is normally cooking dinner and lots if knitting, Thursday, and Friday are writing days, either one or the other I will go to a local cafe for a few hours with my laptop and write and Saturday is just dull. I don’t want to tire myself out before my two days kayaking.

For a while, this formula worked but now I’m needing more again. In the new year I know I will need something more, preferably something that pays money. I need to have more interaction with the world. 5 days a week with no one but the cat to talk to all day is too much alone time. But I’m scared that it will be hard to find something that I will manage, after all, it’s been three years since I last had a job and I will only be looking for a few hours a week.

I feel a million miles away from where I was. It’s hard to believe that a year ago I would go days without leaving the house. That I didn’t know if I would ever get better. Now I know I will. I know I will get back to where I want to be it’s just going to take a while. And in the meantime, I will write, kayak and knit my way through each day. Until I run out of words to write, yarn to knit with or the Thames runs dry.


Sorry, it has taken so long to get another post out, I have been a bit preoccupied with my novel and vast amounts of Christmas knitting!

If you like what I do please help spead the word on FB and twitter ect.

thank you

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx


Being me (part 1)

I’m autistic, it’s something I have wanted to try to write about for a while. It’s one of those things that is spoken about a lot but still misunderstood by most people. People talk about autistic kids but rarely about autistic adults and when they do it tends to be the ones who are non-verbal or can’t manage the world on their own. And there is still limited understanding about autistic women, making it hard for us to be recognized and diagnosed and often meaning people dismiss the difficulties we face.  And the only way to change this is for autistic women, like me to speak out and try to help educate the rest of the world.

I’m never going to be able to say everything I want to in one post. There is far too much and my brain will end up going on and on forever trying to get it all down and soon it won’t make sense to anyone. So I’m going to try to break it down. When I’m writing about being autistic it will be a Being me post. And hopefully, I might help some people understand a bit more.

It’s hard to know where to start. I’ve changed and grown up. I’ve learnt so much about the world and myself. Most of the time people won’t guess that I’m autistic. Most people think I’m a little weird but that is about it. I (try) to come across as a confident and cheerful young woman. I have learnt to hid and reduce any signs that I might be different. I have spent my life learning how to fit into a world that made little sense to me.

It might seem like a good thing. Learning to come across as neuro-typical (non-autistic). It certainly makes life easier for other people. And while it has allowed me to fit in and cope with the world, it has had quite a heavy toll.

Most of the autistic you will meet have done the same thing. That’s why we are the ones you meet. We were able to adapt to your world, to learn how to act like you, talk like you, we copied the things you did and watched you interact with the world until we could do it too. We suppressed our natural behaviour to seem more normal. We did anything we could to fit in.

I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 18. Compared to a lot of people it’s quite young but there was still a lot of re-understanding to do.

I was about 8 when I started to realize I was different. I couldn’t seem to connect to my classmates the way they did with each other. When I got upset I would lose control and hit myself and until my thighs burned and hands hurt. I never understood jokes and hated it when the classroom got too loud. It was like I was on one side of a glass wall and everyone else was on the other. I desperately wanted to fit in but I didn’t know how to.

I remember trying to explain to my mum how I felt. I was 8 or 9, it was winter. She was in the kitchen cooking and Simon and Garfunkel’s I am a rock was playing. For those who don’t know the song, I have added a few parts:

I have no need of friendship
Friendship causes pain.
It’s laughter and it’s loving I disdain.
I am a rock
I am an island

Don’t talk of love
Well, I’ve heard the words before
It’s sleeping in my memory
And I won’t disturb the slumber
Of feelings that have died
If I never loved, I never would have cried
I am a rock
I am an island

And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries


I’m named after an island, the Ailsa Craig. So I thought I was being really clever when I tried to explain to my mum that it was a good thing I was named after an island as I was like one. I was part of something bigger and yet not fully connected to it. While I could see my classmates play and interact I couldn’t be part of it because I wasn’t quite connected to them. I was an island and they were the mainland.

I was really proud of my analogy. But my mum seemed less impressed and told me not to be silly. At the time it really hurt, yet again I was being told the way I thought was bad. Now I can see that it must of be quite concerning for her. Parents want their kids to be happy and there I was trying to explain how I could never really connect with other people because I was an island.

Whenever I said that I was different I would always be told that everyone felt different and it was normal. When I got upset and hit myself I would be told off and be made to feel like I was being naughty. My classmates would tease me and make me feel small. There was nothing good about being different. I was a freak. I didn’t belong and people made sure I knew that.

I didn’t like being different but I didn’t know how to be like other people either. I had this sense of who I was that I couldn’t get rid of, even when I wanted to. I tried to embrace it. When people told me I was weird I would thank them, when people were telling me I wasn’t good enough I would repeat my ‘motto’ to myself ‘I am who I am and nothing you say or do is going to change that’. It might seem like I was taking pride in who I was but really it was all I could do to keep my head above the surface.

As I got older it just got harder. The more self-aware I became the more I hated myself for not being able to fit in. When I got upset I would get angry that I still lost control and would hit myself. I knew physical pain made me feel better but when you are 13 and standing in a corridor punching yourself in the head people talk. Frustration would burst out of me and I couldn’t control it. And I would then get angry that I couldn’t control myself and everything would spiral.

If I was violent towards other people it would have been picked up on. But I loved rules and hitting other people was bad, hitting yourself, however, was never mentioned. My teachers thought I was overly emotional but never more than that and I got better at waiting until there were no adults about before I let myself lose control.

I was told over and over that the way I got upset was wrong. The way I dealt with emotions was wrong. The way I saw the world was wrong. Everything seemed wrong so I started to learn to hide it. The older I got the better I became at hiding who I was. I hated doing it but I hated being picked on and made to feel worthless more.

These days people often try to be different. It’s seen a cool. I used to hate it. I would often wish that just for a day I could know what it felt like to be normal. I desperately wanted to be like everyone else. To not be a freak, to fit in and have an easy life. I was fed up of being told I was worthless or that the world would be a better place if I had never been born.

So I got good at hiding who I was and pretending to be normal. It took a long time but now most people can’t tell I’m autistic. I can cope with the world easily. I know how to act and what the right things to say are and while sometimes I mess up, for the most part, acting neuro-typical is second nature.

I hope that this rather long and rambling post has given a little insight into what it was like being autistic when I was younger. There is obviously so much more to say but I recond this post is long enough as it is. I welcome any questions you might have, either get in touch via my facebook page or leave a comment 🙂

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

Those pesky things called feelings

CFS isn’t an easy thing to live with. I guess that’s not really all that much of a surprise. Having a body that doesn’t seem to want to function in the way it should is never going to make things easier. Losing my independence wasn’t easy either. I had always thought that when I left home it would be for good. The idea of going back was never considered, even when I got ill in Canada I knew I would be able to cope on my own.

Leaving home gave me the space I needed to come to terms with a lot of things. It allowed me to stop being angry and start to understand why somethings had happened the way they had. I’m autistic. It’s not a big deal, not anymore. I’ve learnt to understand what it means for me and for other people around me. It’s all I know and I wouldn’t change it for the world, but that doesn’t mean it made growing up easy.

Misunderstandings made me fiercely independent at quite a young age. For a long time, I believed the only person who could look after me or understand me or even like me was me. Growing up feeling different, wishing that for just one day I could be like everyone else, hating myself for not being able to understand other people took its toll. It’s hardly a surprise I have had depression for over half my life.

I don’t want to dwell too much on the past. Those things happened a long time ago. I’ve come to understand why they happened, and I don’t blame anyone, not anymore. Shit happens, it’s a fact of life. There is no point trying to find someone to blame or holding on to anger from the past.

I do sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I never got ill. If I had been able to run as far away as I wanted too and not look back. Would I be happy? Would I have forgiven my past? Would I be in contact with home? I don’t know, but as harsh as it sounds I don’t I would be.

I don’t believe in fate, or that things happen for a reason or anything like that. I believe in people and in making the best of things. I believe in not giving up and looking for the good in every situation. And I think I have got quite good at that. Sometimes I worry that I have got too good.

Since getting CFS I have perfected my ability to smile when I really want to scream. I have become an expert at telling people I am fine and wittering on about all the good things because I know that’s what they want to hear. I don’t like to admit when I’m struggling. I don’t want to pick up the phone and just cry because life isn’t fair and I’m fed up. It doesn’t seem fair to subject anyone else to that.

And often getting overly upset about things doesn’t help me either. I know it’s important to allow emotions to come and be felt, but I also know dwelling on them just makes things worse. As much as I don’t want to subject other people to me when I’m upset, I don’t want to let myself feel that negativity either.

I hate the feeling of falling apart, of not being able to cope. I have always been proud of my ability to cope with shit. I have always seen it as a strength but maybe it’s not. Remaining positive is one thing, forgetting that it’s ok to not be ok is another. And recently I think I have been forgetting.

I know why, I’m scared my depression will come back. I have been able to enjoy almost two years of feeling good and being happy. Something at one point I didn’t believe would ever happen. And when I tell myself I’m happy, things feel ok. When I push aside the uneasy feelings and paste on a smile, I can kid myself into believing things are good.

But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I do need to cry. Sometimes I need to let myself no be ok for a few hours. Sometimes I need to pick up the phone and cry. I need to remind myself it’s ok to not be ok.

It’s not an easy thing to do. I have to psych myself up for it. One of the things about being autistic is emotions come all at once. I’m either fine or totally overwhelmed. And the feeling when too many emotions are coursing through me is horrible. There is often a physical pain. I feel like I am drowning in feelings and I just want to push them out. This is why autistic meltdowns often are loud and violent. It’s also one of the reasons I’m so keen on being fine all the time.

But recently, I was able to get it right. I knew the feelings where coming, I had that uneasy feeling in my stomach which is my early warning system. A red light was flashing and I knew unless I did something soon I was going to implode.

So I did the thing I hate to do. I picked up the phone and I cried. I talked to one of my best friends about how I felt and she listened. I put my pride to one side and admitted that it’s sometimes necessary to let those pesky emotions come out. And I felt better for it. We talked and I cried until we talked and we laughed. I knew what I needed but I have always been scared of reaching out and asking for it.

I knew what I needed but I have always been scared of reaching out and asking for it. I don’t really know why. If one of my friends was upset and needed to talk to me I would want to be there. But for some reason, I feel bad about asking it of them, even though I know they don’t mind.

It’s something I’m working on. Something I know I need to do. CFS has taught me a lot but also made me forget a few things. Now I’m getting better I need to start remembering them again.

sarah and the rest


Sarah, who will always make me laugh even when I’m crying


Me and Naomi whos one of my oldest friends

I hope this makes sence, it made sence to me when I was writing it!

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

Road to the river

I have always been active. For years I climbed competitively, training 2-3 times a week. I walked everywhere. When I was bored I would go out for 10+ mile walks just the pass the time. I have always been happier outdoors.

So when the CFS meant I was too tired to exercise and even go for a long walk I felt trapped. I remember the first six months I was in London. Having moved from the wide open spaces of the Highlands, London was a claustrophobic prison. My mental health suffered badly. For a long time, I have known that I need to get outside and exercise if I am to keep my depression at bay. The meds have worked wonders but exercise, the outdoors and social interaction are even more important.

But how do you exercise when you have no energy? Where can you get outdoors in such a crowded city? How do I make friends when half the time I’m too tired to manage a sustained conversation?

The less I did the more trapped I felt. My world had shrunk to such an extent I didn’t think it would ever open up again. All the things I used to enjoy I could no longer do. What was the point in even trying, when I knew I would just end up exhausted and not able to leave the house for a week?

Due to having depression I was sent on CBT (cognitive behaviour therapy) course. Most of it was pretty self-explanatory. I taught myself the basics using common sense when I was a teenager, a distinct advantage of being highly self-critical but also being able to look at myself objectively. The one thing that did come out of it, however, was that I needed to stop making excuse to why I couldn’t go out and exercise and start doing something, preferably something that would get me outside and interacting with other people.

Climbing would have been my first choice, I have climbed since I was a kid, but I was having problems with my hips and climbing was really painful so I needed to find something else. I had kayaked when I was younger but had to give it up so I could climb more. It was something I had always enjoyed so it seemed like a good alternative.

Having only recently got to London I didn’t know any places where I could try kayaking but a google search soon pointed me in the direction of the Westminster boating base. Not only was it easy to get to it is a charity and so membership for youth member (which I was) was super affordable (£15 a year with everything you need included in that!) So I went to try it.

It was perfect for me. Sure I got tired after a session, I was always going too. But I was outside doing sport and with other people. Going up to the river every week made time pass more quickly. I had something to look forward too. I was making friends.

The hardest thing was not over doing it and leaving myself too tired to do anything for the rest of the week. I like to push myself, try new things, keep up with everyone who didn’t have CFS. Over the winter I learnt to roll. The sense of elation when I got the boat upright for the first time was one of the best feelings I had had that year. It was a true achievement. It wasn’t something I had to tell myself was good because of the CFS or anything else, I had learnt a new skill and I was excited by that.

I went every week no matter what the weather was like. The days it had to be cancelled due to poor water quality (the Thames isn’t known for its crystal clear water) I would find my mood dipping. I need to kayak.

I could talk about the skills I’m trying to learn, the fact I managed my first (almost) stern squirt the other day but that will mean very little to most people. I enjoy learning the skills, but I often find the line between pushing myself enough to learn and overdoing it a hard one to walk. But there is more to it for me. Kayaking is where my friends are, it’s something I can do that lets me feel the power of nature, something that can be hard to find in such a big city. And my progress over the last 2 years in a boat is showing me how far I have come with the CFS.

If kayaking has taught me anything it’s that I still can do the things I love. Now I’m getting better I can look forward to the day I can try whitewater and river running. I know that in the not too distant future I will be able to keep up (ish) with my friends and play as hard as they do.

For me kayaking isn’t just about having fun in a small boat, it’s my social life, the place I go the spend time with other people and get chased by massive river boats when we get in the way of their pier’s. It’s a break from my everyday routine and a chance to let my hair down and have fun. If anything in the past few years has helped me come to terms with and start to beat my CFS it’s kayaking.


Bridge climbing



playing in a boat that fits


I hope you enjoyed reading this. Maybe you want to give this great sport a go as well? As always if you want to give me a helping hand and spread the word, please like and share on social media!

With love,

the girl with the braid in her hair xxx