Judge me not

Some weeks what I’m going to write about just hits me in the face – like every day something will happen and I’ll think – that is worth writing about!! This week it’s about judgement.

It’s been a week where Cameron thought he was being a ‘big man’ when in fact he was being a ‘big bully’ as he criticised what Jeremy Corbyn wore. Emily Watson got involved in a talk about feminism.  The only thing the papers could think to talk about was her new haircut, dress and her eyebrows.

It’s not only the famousness’s that are criticised though.  I’ve witnessed lately  criticisms on peoples weight (too fat/too thin), criticism on someones clothes because they were ‘dirty’ (a bit of mud from some walking!) and I was was criticised this week because….. wait for it………. I spelt a word wrong!!!!!!  I don’t want to boast or anything (cue boasting because I worked bloody hard for it over six years working and raising 2 children…..) – I have an English degree and I’m normally a decent speller!   For some really bizarre reason I thought that bit at the bottom of your back was a coxis!! I now realize it is in fact a coccyx!

There were two things I was criticized heavily for in the abuse on twitter – the first was that I disagreed with what a medic said about the ineffectiveness of homeopathic medicine.  I was once treated for severe pain of the coccyx (get it right Dwysan!)  and this magical woman transferred me from a spluttering crying wreck to being pain free in about 3 minutes! It truly was amazing!  I was ‘mocked’ for falling for ‘sugar water’ and also further mocked for my spelling mistake!  She lost her ability to spell with her pain said the twitter woman, a barrister at that. Nice!

So judge we do.

When I trained volunteers to work at Women’s Aid one session was about being non-judgemental.  I always started the session by saying that is impossible.  You can’t be non judgemental.  Walk into any room and you will judge – she’s pretty, he’s cute, she’s a bit overweight, his hair is a bit greasy, she looks rich, he looks like he needs a wash……… everyone does it.  Everyone.

The trick is not to turn that judgement to hate.  To cruelty.  To mock.  To jibe.  Because really what on earth do you get from it?   Being cruel is just… well shitty!

I’m accused of being too fluffy at times on here and I probably am because I really think we can make this place a much better world if we all tried a bit.  My mum always said Ito me…. you can’t change the world (she was just trying to protect me because I was campaigning for Superman says no to cigarettes* from about 8 – she knew where it was going clearly).  Maybe you can’t.  You can make a positive difference though.

So go judge, we all do it. We just don’t have to be mean about it.

Go make the world a better place!



*Ps I stopped campaign for that particular cause at about 14 when I discovered silk cut…

*pps thankfully no longer a habit of mine!



My fu**ing great life (warning this post contains expletives )

 “I don’t spend half my life writing about how fucking great I am”*

That’s what someone said to me this week.

And that’s the title of my blog this week.

I won’t give the owner of those words more air time than that.

It just made me think how odd it is that we are constantly criticised if we dare to feel proud of ourselves. Yes, it’s so British.  Put yourself down.  Don’t take a compliment.  Be submissive. Go along with stuff. Don’t ask questions.  Big everyone else up but ignore yourself. Point out your weaknesses. The list goes on. It’s far easier isn’t it. Being negative about ourselves is the simple way.

I have a friend who has just gone through a break up. When I visited her she clearly was upset. I asked how she really was.  She looked and said to me.  I’ll be fine.  I’m  attractive.  I’m good fun to be around.  I’m kind. The words struck me powerfully.  How many times do you hear people say that about themselves? What a strong person you have to be. It’s not arrogant.  It’s healthy to have the confidence to know your strengths.  It’s super confident to share them.

So. Back to how fucking great I am.

Taking a leaf out of my friends book I’d like to tell you how great I am. My name is Dwysan.  I’m fucking great. I’m fucking great because ..(oo this is much harder than I thought it’d be)….. I’m kind,  I’m thoughtful,  I’m honest,  I’m a good friend,  I work hard, I’m passionate,  I’m a good mum (to humans and pets!), I’m interested in people,  I want to help. Phew. That was hard. Even harder not to write a caveat that I have plenty of flaws too…  but no I won’t do it!!

So. You. Reading this. Next time you get a compliment.  Say thank you.  Next time you’ve done something good. Share it. Your true friends will be happy for you. Tell your boss what you’ve done well at. Tell your other half about your positive bits. Tell your kids you’re a great parent and why. Instill  them to have the courage to be positive about themselves too.  If you can’t tell others then tell yourself the great things about you.

Tell yourself you’re fucking great.

Sadly i don’t spend half of my life writing about how fucking great I am but from now on I certainly will spend a few moments  of the day reminding myself…yes I am fucking great…. and so are you x

*reading this blog is not compulsory


Calon lan

I hadn’t really wanted  to write a post about love today, not about love on Valentines day. Way too cliché.  But hey. Love it is. Not the soppy kissy kind of love. Just love.

This blog came about because as I was watching Wales play rugby last weekend at my local, a guy commented on my blog and it touched my heart.

Our local was full of mostly middle aged blokes shouting and swearing at the TV.   He was standing by the bar. Drink in hand. Red shirt on. I stand next to him as I buy a drink and we exchange polite talk. How are the children? We even talk about cars.  The entire conversation is in Welsh. He stops. He looks at me and says his friend shared my blog that morning. That was a surprise to me that he even knew I blogged! He looks away from me and shakes his head gently. He stares down at his feet and I barely hear him when he asks, how do you do that? Do what? I ask. He looks up and says… how do you open your heart like that?

At the same time the room takes a mutual intake of breath as Wales give away another penalty.

I’m still looking at the man who has asked me the question. It’s clear that my blog has really touched the guy with a pint.

I couldn’t have felt more proud inside. I don’t think anyone who writes can want for more than to know your words mean something to the reader.

I dont answer him. I just smile a lot and say thank you.  Later though I give thought to why some of us find it easy to open our heart? I don’t just wear my heart on my sleeve, I wear it on my jacket, my scarf, my jeans, my shoes, my socks. Everywhere.  I don’t know how else to be.

So it’s Valentine’s …  be you hugging your partner, husband, wife, dog, pet tarantula or a glass of wine.  Maybe take this day to open your heart to someone or even  to yourself. Practice opening your heart. Say what you feel with love.  Express your love! Love you! Love who you are and be true to who you are. Be open and honest, with love! Love what you do. Say love. Express love. Creak open the door of your heart,  it’s far preferable to it staying closed.

So thank you Mr Rugby man. You said you could  never open  your heart in that way.  But you did exactly that. With it you made me feel proud of my open heart.

Wales didn’t put a smile on my face that day. You did.


Dwys x

Hop, skip & jump

As I rush ahead through my 30s (ahem) quicker than Tim Peake arrived in Space…. my taste in so many things have changed.

One is my choice of radio stations. I’ve clung to radio 1 by the end of the end of my fingernails.  How can I be ‘young’ if I can’t chat about Harry or Justin with ‘the kids’?  Alas. I now give up. The last straw was when the apparently famous instagram dog Tuna was interviewed recently.  Yes. A dog. Was interviewed.  I tried Chris over on 2. Even though I’m apparently in the right ‘age bracket’ I feel about 93 as Enya’s Orinoco flows gently through my car speakers. 

So. The point I’m coming to is I’ve  escaped and turned to radio 4*. It sounds boring perhaps but I’m gaining knowledge!! Humphries bugs me but I’ve more understanding of Syria,  a vague idea about this opting in or out business, a slight inkling  of what’s going on over in China and also the fuss about oil prices, I’m more worried about the stuff in Korea. Basically I’m feeling all informed and I like it!

Last week there was also a programme looking back at what they did the last time it was a leap year. They had asked their audience ‘to take a leap’ for leap year.  I assumed it’d be something literal like throwing yourself out of a plane but I was pleasantly surprised. 

The first story was about a guy from Swansea. He’d had to retire early from a professional job due to severe anxiety. His ‘leap’ was to  get on a bus. Something he hadn’t done for ten years.  I gulped as he narratted his journey. His angst at the bus stop. His fear taking his seat. His elation at getting there. His relief at seeing his wife who waited for him. His tears of joy.

This may have resonated with me more because I was like him once. Over 20 yrs ago I avoided buses. Not just buses but the cinema and even supermarkets at one point. In fact most places that I’d feel confined in.  Hardly anyone knew that I suffered severe panic attacks in my late teens and early 20s. I was a master at managing to avoid most triggers. It lasted about 5 years. 

I’m told at times I can be too open when I write but for me it’s important.  When I tried to talk about my panic attacks I was told not to think about it and also this … you don’t want to go down that road.

Like I didn’t know that. I didn’t want it. I wanted help.

After that I decided not to talk about it. That doesn’t work. 

One day I leapt. All the way to Australia for 12 months. On my return I leapt again, this time as a mature student to college. It was while studying A level Psychology I learnt about our internal involuntary response to perceived danger. Fight or flight. There and then I made sense of my panic. I controlled it instead of it controlling me.  I’m fortunate not to have had any panic attacks since. Like most fears though it does lurk. 

Getting on a bus may not seem like a leap to some but it can be a gigantic jump for many. And that’s what we’re all doing isn’t it. Some of us would never even think twice that getting  on a bus could be something anxious. For others it seems impossible.

We all have our internal worries.   As goes that famous quote circulating …. everyone is fighting their own battle inside.  The important thing is to keep fighting.

This February perhaps we could all take a leap. It could be a huge leap or a little one. You could face your fear or you could just decide to do that thing you’ve been putting off.

Whatever it is I think taking a leap can only mean one thing. You’re moving forward.

Good luck.

Dwys x

*I also listen to my own music like Muse and Paloma so am still entirely ‘cool’!