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[emmalt24]

Understanding your struggle

Growing up some girls at my school had eating disorders and my best friend also had issues with food for a number of years. I empathised and had a strange admiration for these peoples will power but vouched that I would never be able to simply not eat. I would have viewed skipping a meal similarly to getting up at 5am to go to the gym or for an early flight, I’d do it every so often but I wouldn’t make a habit of it. Also because I’ve always been into sport, I’d have probably worried I’d faint half the time if I wasn’t eating enough. I have never had major body qualms either so I never felt the need to loose weight or be super skinny. I also just didn’t think it looked that nice. I remember going on holiday with my best friend when she was going through a rough time with her eating problems. I was always amazed how she functioned on so little food. My tummy would always be rumbling around her and I would often have to request we had lunch, to which she would sip on a black coffee and wait till the evening before eating a bland looking salad. 

Eating disorders / problems are not a choice. I did not wake up the morning after the man who had just shattered my heart and declare, ‘as a bad way of ‘coping’ I’m going to get an eating disorder’. It slowly developed over time and I didn’t even realise it was a problem for a number of months or admit to having the problem until November the following year. Now I was free to my own devices, I had a lot more time on my hands. I would use this time to exercise more and eat less. I no longer had to worry about providing meals for the two of us or making fry ups on the weekend. I was back home and my mum's meals consist mainly of protein, low carb yippee (I shouldn’t be saying that). So, without really realising my diet and exercise patterns we revved up a notch. 

Lock Down 2020 Hit 

When the first lock down hit my school closed and I again had a lot more free time than I would have had if school was running normally. I would go for long bike rides which seemingly got longer and longer as lock down went on. I got into the habit of going early having not eaten anything. I would pack a meagre ginger biscuit or two if I decided miles from home I was going to faint I would succumb to eating them. Luckily I never felt the need. I often cycled through Wimbledon Village and would inhale the delicious smells wafting from Paul’s Bakery, but would of course never go and treat myself. I remember towards the end of a nearly 30 mile bike ride I was feeling so light headed I had to run into an off licence to buy a Snickers bar (my fav) for an energy boost which I devoured within seconds. A group of teenage boys were standing outside, I jumped off my bike, it fell to the floor and I ran in. Surprisingly my bike was still there when I came out! 

The start of my lock down cycling phase. My bike was shiny then!

I got into a strict lock down routine of cycling, home workouts, long walks and under eating. My family live virtually next door to Richmond Park but for some reason (still now) when I go I feel compelled to walk around the entire park. During the initial lock down it was closed to cyclists for a time so on days when my back was too sore from my incessant cycling I would begrudgingly walk around the park. 

Stretching after a bike ride during the first lock down in March.

Some days whilst doing my relentless exercise I would decide that when I returned home I would treat myself with a snack and don’t get me wrong I sometimes did. However sometimes I would get home, pour myself a bowl of crisps, eat one or two and then pour the rest back into the bowl or I would take a single bite from one of my foil wrapped ginger biscuits and then quickly discard the others in the food waste bin. It was as if my stomach was saying yes but my mind was saying you shouldn’t be rewarding yourself, you don’t deserve it. 

Trying on some swimwear towards the end of lock down. I would thrive off taking pictures of myself looking as thin as possible. I’m glad that I now agree I don’t look great! 

In the months that followed post lock down I was still exercising but not as much as during lock down. The added pressure of being back at school teaching ‘normally’ again and not having as much time to exercise took it’s toll on my eating habits. I have always worked hard and put a lot of pressure on myself to perform and do well. A very challenging class and longer hours due to COVID meant that my stress levels were going through the roof and on top of that I wasn’t giving my body the fuel it needed. I was spiralling out of control. More on that in my next post..!

[emmalt24]

A Significant Relationship

When I was 23/24 I went through a real I have no idea what the hell I’m doing with my life phase. I was working as a nanny and going through an incessant clubbing and running phase. Even though I was worried about the judgement from my parents and more straight edged high school peers it was one of the greatest carefree times in my life. I would be clubbing until 4am at a private members club in Mayfair then ferrying my insanely talented children I nannied around to national swim practice, tennis, hockey, you name it they did it. 

Maddox Mayfair - A favourite old haunt! Left to right; me, Jazz & Suraya (aka Susu / Island Cutie) 

Anyway, despite the fun of this laissez faire blip in my life. I was my harshest critic and I would constantly berate myself for not having chosen a graduate scheme in the field I had trained in. I had done well at school, in my degrees and had completed numerous internships and even worked alongside my masters degree. I don’t know what it was, office life just wasn’t for me. I felt I’d put all my eggs into one basket. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I’d always loved working with children and heavily considered becoming a teacher. So alongside my nannying job I also became a Teaching Assistant (just for one term, thank god) to make sure it was the path I wanted to follow. Alas, I decided to follow through and become a fully fledged teacher. 

My first day as a Teaching Assistant. I was happy I was taking a step in the right direction.

Let's just backtrack a little. I was lost in what I was doing. In that time I didn’t have a boyfriend per say but the occasional post clubbing hook up / casual dating but nothing which led to much. I remember my last full day of nannying before shortening my hours to work at the school as a teaching assistant, I went on a date with my (little did I know at the time) long term boyfriend for the next (nearly) four years. I may have told a little white lie on the date in telling him that I had been at my school for longer than I had just so he would think my life was a little more ‘on track’ than it was at the time! 

We met at a pub for a drink and the rest was history. In the years that ensued we went on numerous trips, moved in together, our families became close and we became a very established couple. From the moment we met, I felt that he filled in my blips, patchy career path and that we complemented each other. His education and career trajectory was a lot smoother than mine. He got four As at A Level, went to a top University and went on to build out startups and secure shares in them as he went along. I felt stability knowing that he was so professionally secure and in the time we were together I focused on getting my career on track. He supported me with applications, essays and he even convinced me not to quit Teacher Training when I felt I couldn’t go on. Without him I’m not sure I’d be where I am today. I was the sporty, lateral thinker and he was the intellectual, logical pragmatist. We balanced each other out (or so I thought). His Whats App messages were like poetry, carefully crafted with skilful intellect. I miss them a little . . . 

Obviously no one can ‘complete’ you. As I alluded to in my previous blog post, there is a reason behind the fact I often felt intellectually inferior to my ex and others. ALSO the cleverest girl in my class at school was also called Emma which didn’t help my situation, she was like Einstein. Throughout the relationship I never felt clever enough for him but I loved how he admired and appreciated the work I did and the level of patience he knew it required that was not in his repertoire. 

A predominately happy 4 year relationship (minus the fights…)

His friends wedding on a private island in the Philippines 

Dinner with friends 

The Break Up 

There obviously are reasons why every couple break up and I do not think it fair to post the nitty-gritty publicly online (nor can I really be bothered to write it all out). 

The crux of it was - we argued quite a lot and often blew very small things out of proportion. The slightest change of mood could turn into days of passive aggression and I often felt as though I were treading on eggshells to avoid the inevitable. He was hyper vigilant to any mood change on my behalf so I would always feel like I had to be a perfect girlfriend who was happy all the time even when he had upset me. I tried really hard but sometimes it’s impossible not to let your emotions show, especially when you live together, have had a stressful day or are not feeling your best. 

The days leading up to the break up 

We had been at one of my best friend's wedding together in India for nearly a week. I had to return for work but he had just left his job so he stayed on for about 10 days travelling.

The first night of my friends incredible Indian wedding in Mumbai.

I was back at our flat and was busy with work. He would send me daily updates and pictures of what he’d been up to. Some days he wouldn’t message me at all but when he did reach out he assured me that it was because of the lack of WiFi connection on the Karalan waves - fair enough. At the time I did not see our relationship in jeopardy. He returned on a Tuesday evening. I remember I had felt really unwell at work that day which was unlike me. I was susceptible to coughs and colds working around children but they would never stop me from going to school and generally getting on with my normal, everyday life. This evening in particular I felt feverish and just generally really bad. He had made dinner for me and was eager to tell me about his trip. I tried to act as interested as I could but I genuinely felt so awful, I think towards the end of the meal I admitted to him, ‘I think I’m coming down with something’. He had never been overly sympathetic with me when I had been ill in the past but he’d never had to be because I’d always bounced back in a day or two. I wasn’t so sure if I’d be able to this time… 

In the days that followed I felt worse and worse and I felt like the biggest nuisance to him despite not being able to help being unwell. I was off work a little and he used this as an opportunity to not be in the flat when I was there too. I remember on one of the days that week work sent me home at lunch because I felt so awful. I got home and had a hot bath, which only spiked my raging temperature higher and then bundled into layers of clothes and hurled myself beneath layers of blankets. I was incessantly shaking, coughing, genuinely felt like death. I was messaging him asking him to buy some things to make me feel better but he didn’t reply all evening. When he finally did return home he eventually made his way into the bedroom, gave some half hearted, ‘my phone had died and I didn’t see your messages’ excuse and offered me some vitamins?! I stupidly somehow went to work the next day, although I really shouldn’t have because I still felt terrible. Then the next night I was feeling extra awful again. I woke up in the morning and again was getting ready for work when I felt incredibly nauseous and sick. I decided to stay at home so I lay on the sofa while he was still asleep, booked a doctor's appointment and got my best friend's broth recipe to hopefully make me feel a little more human. He was suspicious as to why I wasn’t at school, questioned my prognosis and said that I was taking out feeling unwell on him. He left for the gym he was doing a trial at and then proceeded to spend the rest of the day at his parents house and didn’t message to see how I was doing until late in the evening. I went to the doctor, got some advice as to how to deal with my raging temperature, made my broth but still felt awful. I just remember trying to have a ‘room temperature’ shower amid shivers and just willing to feel normal again. 

That night he returned and the minute he walked in the door he could see from the look on my face that we needed to talk. I explained how hurt I was that he hadn’t supported me or checked in more over the past few days of not feeling well. He was half heartedly sympathetic and we ended up talking for the best part of three hours although the time escapes me, it was all a bit of a blur. All I remember was a long speel towards the end of the talk on our relationship - one was on making it work and moving forward and the other was the opposite. He built up both of the options like skyscrapers, one would stand tall rooted to its foundations and the other would come crashing down. He went for the second option and in that moment my entire world came crushing down. I just remember starring at him in astonishment, ‘this is over?’. I said in deep blindsided shock. ‘Yes’. He confirmed. I just couldn’t believe it, we were over, this was it, the end of us. 

The Catalyst 

That night I tossed and I turned, I just couldn’t sleep, I was in deep shock and utterly heartbroken. He wasn’t sleeping overly well either and I remember waking at the same time and asking him if last night really happened. It was a very tumultuous night but despite being unwell and exhausted I proceeded to having a very productive day despite not being able to make it through most hours without bursting into tears. He had a boozy lads Christmas Day planned with his football friends which he of course felt obliged to attend so I used the day to run errands and stay productive. He gave me that day (Saturday) to get my head together and then on Sunday he said he would help me pack up my things to move back home. I had some eBay items to sell so I first of all cycled to the post office to sort them out then I went on to a garden centre a few miles on to buy him a plant (we were obsessed with them) as a little parting gift. My head was all over the place, I probably would have bought him a car if he’d have asked for one! I returned to the flat briefly to shower then I went to a friends house up the road to walk their dog and hang out there after. They were going to be out for the day so they said I could stay there. I’d messaged them in the morning explaining what had happened so they were happy for me to stay there and keep their dog company. I just didn’t want to be alone in what I knew wasn’t our flat anymore. It was too heartbreaking, we had chosen the majority of the furniture together and had built a life there. Now it felt as though the rug had been completed ripped from beneath my feet. I even popped down the road to get my class an end of term gift, did a little workout at the house before collapsing into a heap of tears to which the labrador I was with tried to console me. Eventually (at around 9pm) I watched the film Marriage Story at the house, (which of course was totally the wrong film to watch at the time) and made myself a sympathy drink.

At this point I had barely eaten anything all day, it had slipped my mind a little. I was too focused on keeping busy. In the morning before my ex departed he made me a bagel, baked beans and a fried egg. This would be a typical weekend breakfast for us which I would usually lap up but I remember taking one bite of the bagel and not being able to go on. I had no appetite and food was last on my agenda. I had a few sips of coffee and got on with my day.

The next day was moving home day which physically hurt. Again I barely ate anything, I was too focused on packing everything up and dreading having to move back in with my parents. Not that my parents arn’t lovely, it just felt like the biggest step back. I tried to leave with as much grace as I came with, I was not angry and I did not shout, I was just so so sad. I remember loading up the dishwasher as he loaded up my car but then when I sat on the sofa and immediately noticed the dust on the table I thought to myself nah love you can do that! I think the way I dealt with the break up surprised him. He saw a side of me I didn’t even know I had. Nothing can prepare you for something like that, when you are shocked to your core. You don’t know how you’re going to react, you just ‘cope’. 

My parents helped get the bundles of clothes and other things out of my car into my room. There was a lot of stuff and I still had quite a few things left at the flat. I just remember my not very big room floor being covered with bags and I felt like I didn’t even know where to begin. I felt physically awful still and was just so shocked and sad. I somehow managed to sort it all and put some clothes out for work the next day, the last week of work before the Christmas Holidays. 

The week that followed at work was a bit of a blur. I’m not really sure how I made it in each day and put on a brave face. I remember on the Monday morning I’d just gotten into work and the Head and the Deputy Head were putting milk in the fridge in the corridor and as I walked past them I wanted to explain what had happened but I knew I’d burst into tears so I refrained and instead went over to my classroom. My teacher friend came straight over to my classroom, coffee in hand and hugged me tight (I burst into tears then surprise surprise!). She was (and still is) one of my biggest supports. I had the sweetest class at the time and each day that week after lunch during the register they would say, ‘Miss Thompson I hope you have the best Christmas ever’, I had the biggest lump in my throat when they said that to me! That week I didn’t eat lunch in the staffroom, I didn’t eat at all. Maybe a baby tomato or a banana but nothing substantial. Black coffee and chewing gum were my main sources of fuel that week. Little did I know that week would lead to a year of restrictive eating and purging. The breakup was the catalyst that lead me down a slippery path of self destruction as a subconscious way of numbing the pain of the breakup. 

[emmalt24]

About me: History, background, CONTEXT!

Where my insecurities lie

I think that we all have our self-doubts and insecurities and it would be hard to go through life without experiencing them in some form. I believe that the majority of our insecurities can be traced back to childhood events, traumas, rejections, shifts in family dynamics etc. There is a reason behind why we are the way we are, we just have to trace the triggers back to their sources and try to use them to motivate, empower and drive us forward. 

‘Do not let rejection define you. Let how you cope with rejection after define yourself’ - Jia Jiang from ‘What I learned from 100 days of rejection’ TED Talk 

Here are four of my deepest, darkest insecurities. Not in order of pertinence. .  

I have never felt bright enough. 

I am the youngest of 4. I have three older brothers and we are quite close in age (7 year gap from the eldest). My mothers parents were devastated when they discovered she was a girl as they wanted her to inherit and take over their lavish country estate. Through no fault of her own she never felt wanted in her own family which I think in turn affected our relationship. Many people assumed because I am the youngest and only girl I received some sort of special treatment. I was treated (and definitely dressed) like one of the boys. I wore all of their hand me downs (even pants!), played football and looked a bit of a state half the time! 

Thank God I met my well dressed best friend when I was 10, if not who knows where I’d be now! I have always felt that my mother has subtly resented me and undermined me partially due to the fact I am a girl. I understand why but I so wished (and still do now) to have a closer, more emotional, open relationship with her which I feel I have with my friends and friends mums! We by no means have a terrible relationship and I am grateful for lots of the things she has done but it has never been an open, easy one and I have accepted it for what it is. 

I don’t think I grew up in a very intellectually stimulating environment. 

My early days before I started school consisted of me being ferried along on school runs, completing chores and going here there and everywhere with my brothers. Don’t get me wrong I am sure my mum did lots of lovely things with me too but when you are the youngest of four you are on the back burner of importance a little. When my best friend had her first child she would map out days for her consisting of sensory baby classes, swimming and massage - I think my schedule was a little different! Then I started school - I don’t remember much of my first few years of school except for having a complete block when it came to maths. I remember sitting next to a boy completing subtraction sums and being so confused (I think he was too). I was copying his work but he kept rubbing it out. Teachers were coming over to help him but not me. I was too shy to ask for help at school and I didn’t feel like anyone had time for me at home. I became a little lost in the classroom and I always felt a step behind my peers. I don’t think my parents supported me with my early reading, maths or spellings which would have been such an important foundation. Perhaps unsurprisingly my job now is to give children a good foundation of knowledge and to support parents so that the children in my care hopefully will feel confident regardless of their ability and never have to feel like I did. Primary school was quite an uphill battle for me and a move at the end of Year 3 from a large sporty school to an all girls small academic school knocked my confidence once again. I got by in most subjects and loved sport but maths was always my nemesis. It just didn’t (and still doesn’t) make sense for me! I hated it. I remember my mum's bright idea for my impending 11+ secondary school entrance exam was to get my short fused middle brother to ‘explain maths’ to me probably in return for a chocolate bar. I remember dreading our sessions after dinners which basically consisted of him getting frustrated and making me feel even more stupid and worried that I would never get into a secondary school of my choice. Most sessions would end in tears and he would storm off vouching to my mother that he never wanted to help me again! 

I don’t really understand a lot of the decisions my parents made regarding mine and my brother's education. We grew up next to some of the best schools in the country which I am sure we would have all done well at but instead they sent us to far flung expensive (some not very good) schools and boarding schools. My mum only put me forward for one entrance exam to a secondary school (probably only because my friend was also applying there and her mum suggested she at least sign me up to one school). I felt so unprepared and nervous about the entrance exam. I still really struggled with maths and my only tuition support (if you can call it that) was from my brother who made me feel worse about the subject and myself! My friend who was also sitting the exam had practised some of the papers at her school already and her sister was at the school giving her an extra foot in the door. The English papers went fine but I knew I flopped on the maths. The weeks after the exams waiting for the results were tense. What was I going to do if I didn’t get in? Where would I go to school? I have a vivid, painful memory of the day my mother told me I didn’t get in through a passive aggressive rhetorical reply. It was a Saturday morning and I had a feeling she had received the letter. My room was at the top of the house and she was ironing on the landing. I sat on the top step nervous to broach the subject of my impending doom... ‘So did you hear back from the school? Did I get in?’ I asked sheepishly. She glanced up from her ironing as if I’d asked her what the time was. ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘I didn’t get in did I?’ I said glumly. ‘No, you didn’t’. Then she just continued on with the ironing. There was no discussion, no chat, no let's actually think carefully about what to do and how we can support you, your future. NOTHING. 

To this day I still beat myself up because I didn’t get into that school. I ended up going to a pricey but good secondary school which did not require an entry exam (yippee). It was a small all girls Catholic school and I ended up doing the International Baccalaureate which I only recently discovered I actually did pretty well in compared to A-Levels. I looked at IB grade boundaries compared to A-Level results and it turns out I got the equivalent of three Bs and three Cs in the IB. As someone who has never flourished academically, that’s actually alright! 

Walking towards to the end of my high school days with a close friend. 

I have never felt pretty enough. 

Growing up with three brothers was nice in the sense that I never had to fight over clothes or make up with sisters. Although I would have loved to have had someone to braid my hair or to steal their clothes (obvs not the other way round!) Up until my last year of primary school I was the biggest, sportiest Tom Boy. I lived in my brothers hand me downs and refused to wear dresses or pink clothes. It wasn’t until I met my best friend that my style changed. She was tall, well dressed, sporty, academic and drop dead gorgeous. I swapped my brothers hand me downs for hers and over time became less dishevelled and a little cooler (haha)! I spent the majority of my free time as a teenager competing in tennis tournaments with her and my other tennis friends. I was rarely at home and was almost adopted by other families. In the holidays I would spend weeks at friends houses and would tag along on family holidays. I related more to these families and felt more accepted by them. I’m just so thankful they were from nice, sporty, intellectual backgrounds so I stayed on the right path and grew up still doing the things I loved. My parents barely knew where I would go from the age of 10 as I started taking buses on my own so I could have easily ‘gotten in with the wrong crowd’ but luckily I chose some good eggs! 

ANYWAY back to the point of this and this explaining / understanding this insecurity. My best friend did a lot of modelling growing up and I never really felt pretty compared / next to her. We couldn’t walk down the street without heads turning, her being accosted or people staring left right and centre. She was good at blocking a lot of it out but it was so noticeable to me and although she didn’t like most of it, it often left me feeling like I wasn’t pretty enough because she got all the attention. I remember one time when we were 16 and we went together to the new Abercrombie & Fitch store in London. For some ridiculous reason (I knew this would never happen), I really wanted one of the models to ask if I wanted to work there. Obviously there's a mould you have to fit, you need to be attractive but not necessarily a model. SO I put on a lot of makeup and my nicest outfit at the time, tried to be subtle about it, as if I was going to admit that to her?! We traipsed up to London on the train on a wet and windy day and 5 minutes into browsing some booty shorts (although who really knows because it’s so bloody dark in there!) an attractive tall, dark, ripped model swooped in and approached my best friend, asking if she wanted a job there. I also think he used it as a bit of an excuse to chat her up! She had a sidekick phone at the time and he was asking her a lot about that. I remember we walked out, it was raining, I felt so dejected and idiotic for even assuming there may be the slightest possibility someone would approach me with the same offer. I tried not to let my disappointment show or let it tarnish the rest of the day. That night when I got home I took out my scissors from my pen pot and made a cut at the top of my wrist so deep the scar still remains today 14 years on. That was a one-off self-harm incident but still my way of punishing myself for not being approached, not pretty enough, they don’t want you, why would they, they want her. 

Looking like a bit of a hobo next to my best friend at a fashion show circa 2008.

A nicer pic of the two of us. Still my best friend to this day. :) 

I was never good enough at tennis and my back held me back! 

Growing up tennis was the biggest and best parts of my life and it still is today. It brought me so many friendships which I still continue to have. I remember the first time I went to the tennis club, I must have been about 4. My mum hadn’t played since having my oldest brother and wanted to get back into it. We went up to the club with old school wooden rackets and heavy yellow balls. I just remember trying to bounce the ball on my racket and longing to play properly. I don’t remember officially learning to play, it was so long ago! Tennis quickly became part of my DNA. Despite not being overly academic tennis was my trump card and was what I was known and respected for at school. Teachers and friends showed genuine interest in competitions and would stick newspaper articles up in the halls showing my successes. 

Despite being a good county player I was never a top player which I so aspired to be. My best friend was one step ahead and in every tournament we entered together she seemly always got through to a further round. I never held this against her or let it affect our friendship, I just accepted that if we were in the same tournament the likelihood was she would eventually knock me out (unless we were playing doubles together). Nonetheless this was an extra unavoidable comparison; I already felt she was prettier and more clever than me and this was the cherry on top of the cake. 

When I was 12 my back problem was spotted. 

I remember when I was 10 going on 11 about to start at my secondary school I had to go to my doctor for a medical exam. I was sitting in the chair and the doctor was not overly complimentary about me. He said that my school would be shocked by the time I ‘finally reached puberty’ and that I had a terrible posture and needed to sit up straight. . . thanks

I LOVED PE, I could have done PE all day at my school and enjoyed all the sports my school offered. It was international so we got to play volleyball, basketball and baseball which I preferred to British sports like netball and hockey. One day at school I had the most terrible back pain but I didn’t want to admit to it. I just really hoped it would go away by itself… I tentatively got in to my PE kit not telling a soul. Then we started our running warm up on our field which I would usually take delight at being first for but I ran just a few steps and had to stop due to crippling back pain. My PE teacher (who I adored) could see my pain was genuine and sent me off with a friend to the nurse. I heard her on the phone to my mum as I lay forlorn on the bed, ‘I’ve never had Emma in my room before, this really does seem like she’s hurt herself. I would come and collect her and see if you can make an appointment with the doctor’. My mum collected me before the end of the school day and managed to get me an appointment later that day. We drove down to the doctors office. Pretty much immediately she said I had scoliosis, curvature of the spine. I had never heard of it but I immediately saw my mum's face drop. My main concern was whether it was going to affect my tennis / sporting interests / career. 

In the years that followed little was done to stop the noticeable curve in my spine dramatically increasing and I could have done more (maybe) to avoid the traumatic surgery I underwent when I was 15. I continued to play tennis regularly, was extremely right hand dominant and carried the worlds heaviest one shoulder school bag equipped with my whole weeks learning every day (not clever). Maybe I should have had a brace in that time and taken greater care, maybe I should have done physio. There are arguments for and against. Some doctors think a curves inevitable and to let it happen and then consider bracing or surgery and some think trying bracing during pivotal growth spurts can reduce the degree of the curve. Anyway, I had check ups every 6 months and after the summer when I turned 15 I went for my check up in September time. I had just had a growth spurt and my curve had gotten dramatically worse. The doctor told me I’d need to try a back brace and referred me to a spinal surgeon in London. The surgeon filled us with a lot of confidence. My curve was just on the cusp of having to have surgery from a safety point of view but he assured us that the surgery was also aesthetic as my shoulders were out of line and the straightening would enable me to grow a few inches. He also assured us that I could play tennis a few months after surgery assuming everything had gone to plan. I opted for surgery which fortunately was successful. I think because I was active and healthy I made a quick recovery and was out of hospital in under a week which is pretty much unheard of. I spent half a term off school, was fueled on codeine and ibuprofen and spent days in bed watching property shows and my friends from school often came over to see how I was doing. All in all I am glad I had the surgery however my back is now by no means perfect. I take great care to ensure I do not over strain it and try to still complete daily physio exercises to avoid twinges and minor discomfort. The surgery was a ‘fix’ and not a ‘cure’. Two metal rods spanning three quarters of the way down my spine were inserted and 18 rods are fused to the vertebrae. I am petrified that something will go wrong, one will pop out of place on a cold day or what if I had a bad bike accident and something shifts? It’s really really scary and I wish I didn’t have it - but I do! Lying in bed you can feel the rods, sitting isn’t comfortable, I’m never really comfortable! People say to me, ‘oh Emma you have such a straight posture’ and I think to myself yes I do but also I have to sit up straight, I can’t slouch. This really does affect me and it’s too scary for me to talk about even with my closest friends. I need to see a specialist in London just to get some piece of mind on it. Anyway I have gone a little off topic but my back did impact my tennis and playing career. I’m not sure I would have made it anyway but it did throw a bit of a spanner in the works… 

A family tragedy was never properly dealt with. 

Growing up I had this aunt called Miranda. She was tall, slim, elegant, well spoken and incredibly beautiful. She lived far away in a beautiful country house stooped in generations of our family history. She lived in a house that was on land close to castle grounds (which was pulled down when my mum was five). I always felt a deep connection to where she lived and although I didn’t go many times I felt at home there and protected. I would explore the acres of land that surrounded the house and pick flowers to place by the graves of my deceased ancestors who I felt in some weird way were looking down on me. I didn’t and have never really been able to speak much about my time there growing up or the tragedy that ensued because it was and still fills me with such sadness. 

Where my mum grew up and the church next to the country house my aunt lived in.

I can’t remember when my mum told me she had bone cancer. She had had it a few years before, received treatment but it had returned. This time she didn’t want any treatment she just wanted to hang on for as long as she could. She didn’t want her parents to find out because she didn’t want her father to change the will which was mainly in her daughters favour over my mums. My mum didn’t mind as she didn’t need to inherit that much money anyway and she wanted her niece to be financially secure. She was a heavy smoker and drinker and she usually had one or the other (or both!) in her hand when I was in her company. After her diagnosis, each time we saw her she seemed to have deteriorated physically a little more and it broke my heart as the years went on leading up to her death. I remember at my grandfather's funeral, it was held at the church next to her country house. She was painfully thin yet still managed to walk elegantly across the cobbled path to the entrance clutching her husband's arm. 

The next month we were sitting at her funeral in the same church. One of the most devastating, heartbreaking days of my life. The aunt I hadn’t spent overly much time with growing up but whom I adored so deeply. What I’d give to be taken on another tour of her exquisite house, indulge in a family meal or hear a story of her arguing with her husband over a miscommunication over a turning in France. After the funeral and the time that followed her death I could tell that my mother was extremely sad but she didn’t express her emotions openly and instead we quickly got back to normal life. I don’t think she really realised how much the death impacted me growing up, it hung over me and I had an inability to speak about it to anyone. I just couldn’t, it was so sad. My parents didn’t ‘grieve’ or openly display their emotions regarding what had happened. I felt I had to stifle my emotions too. As a coping mechanism, I would cry myself to sleep and then wake up and go to school and get on with my day. When I was 15 I got so drunk, I cried the whole night in my friends arms but I couldn’t tell her why (it was for her). I just kept repeating, ‘I couldn’t hear what she was saying’. A day or so after my grandfather's funeral we stopped at the house to pick something up. She was ill in bed so didn’t greet us at the door. I was in the courtyard and she was banging on the window but I couldn’t hear what she was saying but she kept repeating it over and over. I wish I heard because that was the last thing she said to me. My friends mum called my mum to discuss my drunkenness which was very embarrassing, she was furious with me. Maybe she would have eased off a little had she known why I was so upset… 

[emmalt24]

First post coming soon :)