It was the start of another day. I reached over to my phone to tweet what I was feeling but then stopped myself. After doing this so many times before, I knew that it was unlikely that I'd hear back from anyone, that or I’d just end up being muted or unfollowed once again. One thing I've learnt of late is that no one really wants to read your early morning emotions. A good morning pleasantry or something equally light-hearted is fine, but not the deep stuff. That's the stuff that will keep you silenced for a week. One moment of emotional indulgence and you're out of the game. Same with humour, a lesser blow but it's so cringe sharing something that you think is funny when everyone else stands silent or says 'What do you mean?'. Story of my life. It's not just direct engagement. Since I set my account to private last year, around 300 people have unfollowed me. Some of whom I thought of as friends, others friendly acquaintances, hardly any that I can recall falling out with. I don't know why, and after all, this is Twitter. Nobody owes anyone anything. But still, it’s more noticeable when your account is private as unless you’re a rock star you don’t really get too many follow requests. There may be some who say that they don't care or notice when unfollowed, but really, deep down it can feel so personal, especially when it's someone you used to know and engage with regularly. My own experiences aside, I think many of us would agree that Twitter is a very different place now from what it used to be. Lots of people have been angered by the changes made to the platform itself, the monetisation, Twitter Blue, the new hierarchies and polarisations forming around these features. Others have become tired of seeing the same old behaviours, content and debates, or they themselves are burnt out from repeatedly sharing content that remains unseen and undervalued. I know that on some days, I wake up and think, shall I just not bother today? Because being on Twitter, giving it what it needs to get you seen can be absolutely exhausting - working for an algorithm with no pay and often no reward becomes arduous, perhaps even exploitive? For anyone reading this who doesn't use Twitter, you might be thinking 'Why bother?'. It's a good question, and honestly, I've been close to closing down my account and walking away so many times. Because sure, it is absolutely fickle at times (like many other social media platforms), but this aside it's also a place of community. When you find the right people and communities through Twitter it can be life-changing. The problem is that these communities and connections seem to be diminishing today, gone are the days when we could go online and be ourselves. In the present day, it has begun to feel that to fit into any sort of group or community on Twitter, you need to adapt yourself to be a breezy positive person, that or you need to churn out the same slogans, memes and images every single day. Anything different or even slightly 'negative' is immediately shirked, and we seem to have lost our ability to have deep conversations. Sometimes it feels like we're in the Truman Show. Whether it's Twitter changing, people changing or both, we definitely seem to be in an era of transition. An era where people are feeling more isolated, less connected and our online communities that we used to turn to seem to be fading away. This has made me think a lot and raises an important question... Are we really still together when the cracks in our communities seem to be getting so deep? This is something that I recently asked people on Twitter. The response was unanimous. People said that they felt that things have changed, and not for the better. At the centre of these responses was a theme. One which highlights how important our Twitter communities are, for friendship, wellbeing and coming together with others to share our experiences. Something so important for those of us who are otherwise isolated. For all of its flaws, it's also perhaps one of the most powerful digital spaces there is for a sense of community. The problem is, that aside from these recent changes that are potentially fracturing our communities, online communities generally remain invisible, unseen and often misunderstood. We don’t tend to talk about how they are more than just a hashtag or other visible symbol. Many of our communities on Twitter are just out there in existence, without any clear visible trace. They aren’t even formally organised or structured as they just seem to happen. People come together and friendships are formed. Another issue is that our understanding remains limited as so much research into online communities focuses on specific groups with a focus on issues such as extremism, or it depends upon the visible features such as the hashtag for ease of data collection. What is missing are the voices within these communities. The voices of everyday people living out their everyday lives. Those who may not even identify as being in a community, yet are such an important part of it. So that's what sparked this project. We want to bring a new story and narrative about what online communities really are and why they are important. Because until we understand them in this way, how can we truly keep them safe and who will care about these changes if their importance isn't more widely understood? These are just some of the reasons why we need this new story, one that comes from the people within these communities. In this series of articles, we're going to share the perspectives of others, people from diverse backgrounds each with different stories to tell about what their Twitter communities mean to them. The good and the bad. This week, me and my good friend Mike are going to chat with you. We’ve both encountered different communities and have different life circumstances, but there are some things that we share. Mike is an unpaid carer and Unpaid Carer Representative with the Cardiff and Vale Regional Partnership Board, as well as an active voice in the carers' community on Twitter. Find out more about Mike here: https://caring-life.co.uk/home/ I myself have disabilities and I’m cared for by J, so here at ASW, we are both greatly inspired by what Mike does. Both Mike and I suffer from depression, and the communities we have been a part of are important for us both to be able to connect and feel less alone. So, here it is, the first of our stories... Interview 1: Me and Mike 1. What do online communities mean to you? Mike: During the early and darkest days of the lockdown at the beginning of the pandemic I was thrown a lifeline in the form of social media. Before I joined Twitter I often felt alone and like I was the only one facing my particular challenges, but from connecting with others I learned that although it's not exactly the same, others had similar challenges they were also facing. Those early days of Twitter saved my sanity, and I will be forever grateful for the connections I made during that time and since. I also look forward to making new connections. Laura: I sort of flit between different online communities. My earliest experience of feeling a sense of community was probably when I started out with my photography during the COVID-19 lockdowns. Before that, I’d only really used Twitter for news and politics, so when I started to share my photos I was surprised at this new world of friendship and collectivism. Since receiving my autism diagnosis I can honestly say that Twitter has been life-changing - I have learnt so much by following other people and reading their stories. It allows you the space to share your version of normal, which is usually deemed weird. But then, when you find your community and tribe, it’s completely normal. I cannot express how validating that is when you’ve been the weirdo or outcast for so long. So for me, online communities are essential for identity, belonging and creating change in the wider world. 2. What recent changes have you noticed about Twitter communities? Laura: I was on a Twitter break for a while last year, and when I came back I couldn’t believe it - everything had changed. People who I’d followed for years had vanished, I have no way of ever finding out where they went or if they are ok, as they didn’t have full name accounts. Overall, the sense of community was completely depleted. I don’t know whether this is just my experience but it seems that people don’t really want to chat like they used to - that or we’re just not seeing each other anymore. It’s quite an unsettling feeling, almost a paranoia as you see one of your previous friends on your timeline but they never interact with you these days - so you don’t want to roll in on their tweet just in case they ignore you or it makes you or them uncomfortable. Social anxiety is a thing online too! I think that going to a private account has amplified my feelings of disconnect if I’m honest, that and the changes in the algorithm. It just feels that interactions now are more chance encounters than solid friendships - it all feels very unstable. Mike: At some point last year when Elon Musk came along with his bags of money, deciding that he wanted to buy Twitter and turn it into a ‘market square of free speech’. Well, it didn’t quite turn out that way and Twitter now feels more like a place where you need to pay to gain the full advantage of Twitter. The consequence of this is that Twitter now feels more and more disjointed, and within our communities, I find it’s becoming harder and harder to connect with others. It’s beginning to feel like people or our communities that we’ve created are simply being treated as a hashtag, a part of the algorithm or a source of income for a man that already has more money than many of us could ever dream of. For some Twitter can be their main or only form of social interaction with others and a great source of comfort and support, but those interactions now appear to be dwindling away before our very eyes. I know there are other forms of social, but for many, the thought of starting over is simply unbearable, so the challenge we have now is finding a way of keeping our communities together or risking having them scattered to the four corners of the internet. To many of us, these communities are far more than just a bunch of random strangers on the internet, they are a very important and valuable way of keeping our sanity and even making new friendships. Having connected with people on Twitter I’ve also connected with some of those same people in the real world and if it hadn’t been for Twitter we may never have met and made those connections in the first place. 3. Have you needed to change any of your own behaviours? Mike: From my own perspective, I’ve had to go hunting for people that I used to see regularly on my timeline, but now unless I go searching for them, I rarely see them anymore. The amount of hatred and vitriol on Twitter has also gotten out of hand to the point where people are afraid of posting for the fear of what might happen or be said if they do. Many a time recently I’ve wanted to post something about my depression or an opinion or about something happening in my life, but after writing the post I’ve sat there with my finger or mouse cursor over the post tweet button and then decided to just delete the entire tweet because I don’t want to deal with any potential fallout. Twitter was in the past a place where people could be open about their struggles and challenges, but now it feels more like a place where we all have to conform to some set of unwritten and unseen rules or we get singled out as a troublemaker or attention seeker. It’s a real shame that one man has single-handedly managed to destroy something that in the past was so good for so many. But when you are as wealthy as Elon Musk is I suppose you can afford to buy a new toy and play with it until you’ve completely destroyed it, before discarding it and moving on to the next project. Laura: This is an interesting question. I have definitely changed my own behaviours but I think this is partly due to my own personal interests and motives transitioning. I take a very critical position on the world which isn’t generally well-received in some of the communities I’m in. I think part of the problem I have is that I’m sort of on the fringes of several very different communities which causes conflict and I can never please everyone. So I’ve stopped trying. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though when friends walk away or start ignoring you. I’ve also recently seen a huge increase in people being launched upon with stigma for speaking openly about disability or mental illness, which is just horrible. For some of us, our Twitter communities are the only place where that version of normal is accepted - because for those of us with severe health problems sadly this is our normal. Sadly, so many of us are now feeling we have to filter or restrict what we say, just because others won’t approve. It’s taught me that digital stigma is a very real problem that needs addressing. 4. What do you see as being the main barriers for our communities in the future? Mike: Polls are just one example of how Twitter is slowly going to become a ‘market square of free speech’ for those that can afford to pay only. I mean, would you pay a fee every time you went to the polls to vote for the government or to vote for your local MP or councillor? I very much doubt many would, so why should we be expected to pay for the privilege of voting in a Twitter poll? Also, if I don’t want to pay to have the privilege of seeing my Tweets in the ‘for you’ tab then give me the option to remove that tab. Laura: I think that as Mike has explained, accessibility to community spaces is going to present a problem for many people as Twitter becomes increasingly monetised. It also amplifies issues surrounding the online attention economy that we are a part of. It’s never been a level playing field in terms of being seen and gaining engagement which will potentially worsen if visibility is centred around who can afford to be seen. My concerns here are the impact this will have on our friendships within communities. How will we know who is truly interacting with us as a friend when the need for attention is so rife - and not just for aesthetics either? For many of us, we need to be seen to survive financially and otherwise. That as well as certain behaviours being restricted such as what I explained above about digital stigma - if we create a culture where self-expression is limited to pseudo-positivity and little else then what does that do for our communities? Finally though, I think it’s really important that we don’t fall into the trap of ruminating over a utopian Twitter past. Because it wasn’t great back then either and all of these same issues were a concern back then too. It’s perhaps that because things are changing and we’re feeling a bit rocky, we are now suddenly paying more attention to them rather than them being new problems. So as you can see from both Mike's and my own experiences, we feel that Twitter has changed, but whether that is due to its owner or something wider, this is complex and cannot be answered in one article. The important thing for us all to consider is what will happen to our communities if people are no longer engaging or able to be how they were previously? Will these spaces disappear or perhaps change into something different? These are just our two perspectives and there are so many more out there. Stories that show different insights on these questions, stories that come from those within these communities. Deeper insights into exactly what is happening within different Twitter communities today. For anyone else who would like to contribute towards this project - your voice matters too. If you would like to add your own story or experiences, either anonymously or otherwise, feel free to get in touch with us. We currently have a private Twitter group chat running, you are welcome to join us :)

So, it’s that time of year when spring is starting up and the bank holiday weekends are here. How do you spend yours? If you’re anything like me and J it’s a time when even just a simple walk is a huge win. Bank holiday weekends may well be perceived as a time for extra rest, fun in the sun, days out, BBQs or just more work - but what is often not discussed is how stressful they can be for those of us with social anxiety. As with our previous blog post about Twixmas, the problem with bank holiday weekends is that for those of us with social anxiety, there is no break. Because when so many people are looking for something to do with their free time at the very same time, this means that we need to be even more creative to avoid the crowds and find quiet spaces. It can feel almost impossible, but there are some solutions. Before we begin it is important acknowledge that for a lot of people the bank holiday is just another day. Many don't get a day off from work or their caring duties. So, here we go, these are five of our own tried and tested bank holiday survival tips: 1. Keep an eye on social media This first one is perhaps obvious, but honestly, it helps to be in the know. One thing people love to do on a bank holiday is to share their plans and activities on social media - after all, this stuff makes for more interesting content than reporting on an average day at work or doing the school run. So, whenever a bank holiday weekend approaches check your social media, but the main thing (and this is key), is to go beyond your own timeline or feed. Search wider, look for people referring to the area where you are or where you plan to be over the bank holiday. Living in Pembrokeshire, it usually takes not more than an hour after someone arrives here before a picture, selfie or reel pops up. On Twitter, you can search by hashtags or even just the name of the place or associated terms that visitors may use. If you get lots of results this is usually a sign that it’s likely to be busy. In a similar vein, also check for journalists or other high-profile accounts posting about your location. The comments on these posts can reveal a lot about how many people are interested in visiting. These high-profile accounts are influential and (unfortunately for us) often attract more visitors. It’s not all bad though - being in the know helps to determine where is out of bounds and where is a potential option. Sometimes, this can work to our advantage as others may be inspired to visit places they’ve seen online, leaving the less popular places free to explore. 2. Watch the weather Most Brits are obsessed with the weather. This is especially true during a bank holiday weekend. You only need to step outside your front door and the chatty neighbour will pounce on you with the usual ‘not a bad day today’ and ‘ it should be brightening up a bit later’. Yes, as introverts, weather talk may well exhaust us. But why not use this obsession with the wind, the sun and the rain to our advantage? After all, if most folk are planning their weekend around whatever the weatherman says, we can easily predict where they will be. So if the forecast predicts beaming sunshine, you know it will be best to avoid the parks and beaches. Why not try a nice shaded forest or visit a museum? On the other hand, if this weekend is predicted to be a washout, get your coat and wellies on and brave the elements. You might get a bit wet, but you will get some peace and quiet too. 3. Be different: Find alternative activities What comes to mind when you think of spring bank holiday activities? Chances are we’re both probably thinking of something similar. Images of picnics, trips to the beach, walks and family BBQs. We’re probably not thinking of what I was doing last spring - sitting in a rusty deck chair in my winter coat with a cuppa and scrolling Twitter! That’s the thing, a lot of what people tend to do during bank holidays is what they think they should be doing because that’s what has been sold to us for so long. Media discourse is powerful stuff. Much like Christmas, we’re given an idea of what we should be doing with our bank holiday weekend, and anything outside of that makes us feel inadequate or that we’ve failed (more to come on this in the next point…). The main point here is that you don’t have to go to the beach, plan a party, get drunk or do whatever else everyone else seems to be doing. Alternative activities are great too. They give us some space and are often quieter because they aren’t part of the ‘how-to-do a bank holiday’ discourse. So, here are some examples of alternative (not so popular) activities for a bank holiday: 1. Indoor activities (especially if the weather is good). This includes the usual such as reading, gaming, sorting out old clothes, drawing, listening to music and watching films. I tend to do things I wouldn’t usually do in the house as this gives the feeling of a leisure activity that is more like a break. 2. Garden time. A word of caution with this one. Gardens are great but can be noisy during spring and summer bank holidays due to mowing, strimming, BBQs and parties. So it all depends upon this as well as whether you have access to a garden of course. If not and you know someone who’s got a good one, it might be worth seeing if you can go there depending on your relationship and how much social is involved. 3. Online activities. A bank holiday weekend can be a great time to be online, whether this be starting a new e-learning course or finding chats and events happening on social media. For us introverts, these activities are often so much more accessible than the local bank holiday carnival - and believe it or not there are far more of us online during a bank holiday than society would like us to believe. 4. 'Bank' your holiday for another day It is often too easy to be drawn in by all the excitement surrounding the bank holiday weekend. The television is screaming at us to get the BBQ out, the supermarket is offering us cheap party packs of beer. Everything and everyone is telling us it is time to get together, let our hair down and have a good time. Our advice to you here is to step back and reconsider all the hype. Use your time wisely. Do you really need to be spending your precious free time just trying to survive amongst the crowds? Why not use this bank holiday as a gift to your future self? Let me explain. It may sound cliche, but you could use this weekend to finally catch up on those chores you've been putting off for months. Clean the house, a spot of home DIY, you could even start work on filing that tax return. It can be anything. The point is that by getting these boring tasks out of the way now, you ‘bank’ yourself some valuable time in the future. The next time you find yourself with a few hours spare on a quiet Wednesday afternoon, you will thank yourself that instead of cleaning the oven, you are out in the wilderness, all by yourself. 5. Some things aren't for sharing So you’ve successfully avoided the crowds and managed to find a place of solitude during one of the busiest weekends of the year - a rarity but it can happen and it when it does, it’s amazing. Our main point here is to enjoy it for yourself in the moment and try not to be tempted to share this on social media. A huge problem with many ‘quiet places’ is that they are no longer quiet because people are posting them out far and wide - sharing pictures of these places in the excitement of a rare find all to themselves. It’s so beautiful when this happens, of course, we want to tell people, but let's also share some introvert solidarity here. Let’s keep our quiet places hidden from the digital world and allow these spaces to remain peaceful, away from the trampling and noise of too many visitors. By doing so we can preserve them for future returns and other introverts in their quest for solitude. So there you have it, our top tips for surviving this and future bank holiday weekends. Whatever you end up doing, we hope you manage to get the peace, quiet and solitude you deserve. If you have any tips of your own, please let us know in the comments below or connect with us on Twitter. Have a good one and solidarity!

Hello and welcome to our monthly blog round-up. March has certainly been a busy and emotional month for us here at Aunty Social World, and we have had a lot to write about. March took us to the Scottish highlands and back, we commemorated the passing of a true music legend and discussed creating a more inclusive world for world autism acceptance day. 1) Social anxiety: A long night on the loch. I’m writing this at the end of a long night, a long way away from home. A long night on the loch and what a night it has been. A very typical story of being on holiday in a quiet location until the guests from hell arrive and immerse you in their noise and wants. I knew that last night was going to be difficult from the moment it began... 2) A journey in the dark: We drove all night... Scotland. What a trip it has been. Highs and lows, everything in between. We really saw Scotland, we saw so much, maybe too much at times. Honestly though, it has been amazing and I’m really sad to be leaving. As I sit here writing this I should be sleeping before a 12 hour journey home but I can’t sleep because I need to reflect upon this last week. I don’t know whether this is something that you do but whenever I go away, it takes me a long time to adjust and even longer to process after the trip has ended. For those who have read the last article about social anxiety and ‘that night’ on the loch, I feel I should maybe give you a brief update on this. If you haven’t read it (and want to), feel free to take a look and come back in a bit to read this next story... From break away to breakdown: A story of post-holiday depression and self-realisation. It has taken me a long time to work out what to write in this post. Even longer to work out what to call it, as well as what I really think about what has happened over this last week or so. When you search online for information about post-vacation or post-holiday blues, there are already many articles that talk about this and what to do when returning home. How returning to routine is difficult, and how existing stresses and problems in your everyday life become even more stressful. Perhaps what is missing in these articles are the personal stories, the deeper and more nuanced picture of what happens when we return from a break away. I had not considered this until this point, and never even searched for post-holiday blues literature, because I thought that I should just be grateful to have been able to get away. There are so many real problems in this world, and a week away in Scotland isn’t one of them... Taylor Hawkins: A personal story, one year on... It's a year today since Taylor Hawkins died. I still remember the day like it was yesterday. It was another early morning, another early wakening. Like most days I was awake before the light had struck and the day had not yet begun. I reached over to my phone and loaded up Twitter to see what was happening in the world. Like many, one of my ‘bad habits’ is spending too much time online and this day was no different. Only what happened in the world that day will stay with me for the rest of my life... Autism Acceptance: Five practical changes that could create a more inclusive world. It’s been three years since the first COVID-19 lockdown took force and completely changed our lives. The dominant message around lockdowns and this period more broadly is the negative impact it had on people's lives, businesses, relationships and overall wellbeing. It’s this same message that saturates the media, research papers, academic discussions and everyday discourses surrounding what we felt, which continues into the present day. We’ve heard the harrowing stories of people separated from their loved ones until it was too late, or the struggles faced by families with unprecedented demands placed on them to simultaneously work, care and facilitate homeschooling. We’ve read the stories of those in disadvantaged positions, those who were isolated, living out the fears and uncertainty of this time completely alone. Then there are the stories of those on the frontline, NHS staff, public service workers, carers, and those who could not shut the door and isolate because life needed to carry on, they needed to be there for those most in need...

Scotland. What a trip it has been. Highs and lows, everything in between. We really saw Scotland, we saw so much, maybe too much at times. Honestly though, it has been amazing and I’m really sad to be leaving. As I sit here writing this I should be sleeping before a 12 hour journey home but I can’t sleep because I need to reflect upon this last week. I don’t know whether this is something that you do but whenever I go away, it takes me a long time to adjust and even longer to process after the trip has ended. For those who have read the last article about social anxiety and ‘that night’ on the loch, I feel I should maybe give you a brief update on this. If you haven’t read it (and want to), feel free to take a look and come back in a bit to read this next story. After the ‘long night on the loch’ things got better. The next night was quiet, then the weekenders went home and we were finally able to enjoy the last few days of the trip. There was a bit of a hangover with it all admittedly. I felt a bit awkward after the panic attack and then the staff mentioned that they wanted to read the article, which was also a bit awkward but it’s fine. After all, this wasn’t an issue with the place or their hospitality, and these stories need to be told to raise awareness about social anxiety. I don’t know about you, but I think that this thing of feeling ‘bad’, ‘awkward’ or even guilty after having a panic attack is something that has been ingrained within us. A way of making us more self-controlled, where in situations where we lose ourselves and need help from others, this then makes us feel that we have failed in some way. But that situation was outside of my control, and when it happened I was frightened, vulnerable and so upset at the prospect of having to leave early. Thankfully we didn’t have to, and I can now share this next story. This one is a bit different. It is another story of the night but it’s one which shows the importance of reflection, having time for ourselves and being away from the wider world and its daylight stare. So here it is. In true form for us it doesn’t hold anything back so apologies in advance. Hope you like it. We drove all night. We drove all night. We knew it was going to be a long one, and we decided some days before that leaving in the night would probably work best. Especially with snow warnings coming in thick and fast, not only for the Highlands (expected that) but now for Wales and home too which wasn’t expected. Unlike other blog posts which I’ve written in retrospect of the event, this one is a bit different and perhaps a bit messier. This includes the shots taken throughout which are also grainy and messy as they were taken in the dark on the move, but that’s the story. Everything I wrote was in real-time through different segments of the journey. I was sleep deprived after an hour of napping and a 4am start the day before, and writing on the move has left some of the notes a little rough and ready. But I think that’s what makes this one what it is. I want to share it with you because it’s raw and real, the good parts and the menial moments, as well as the not so good parts. Midnight: Starting out It began with a midnight breakfast, a police officer and a herd of rams. Literally in that order. The ‘day’ started in the middle of the night at 11:40pm. We had the midnight breakfast of cereal bars and whatever else was left over, loaded up the car with the last of our things, and thought at several points ‘what the hell are we doing, we don’t really have to do this at this time’. But we did. After dropping off the lodge keys, almost falling flat on my face on the grass (now covered with frost), and sending the departure text to the people of the place, that was it. Off we went. Within not more than two minutes of leaving, my car was like ‘no, I’m not in the mood for moving right now’ and decided to freeze up the windscreen. It was like -2 degrees, the temperature gauge was asleep, and we had to pull over and just wait for her to wake up properly. We had pulled over in a small pub car park just around the corner from where we were staying - I kid you not, we could have walked it in less time. J got out of the car to try and sort the frozen wipers, when next thing you know the lights from the hotel come on and out walks a police officer with a stern stare. I sat there thinking, great because you know, the night hadn't even begun yet and the last thing we needed was car checks, driver checks or whatever else. He stood glaring at us and then out came a notebook. I’m still in the car, J being J is quite chilled out about it all and carries on just clearing the wipers and windscreen. Just when I’m sure he’s going to come over and book us for something, J gets back in the car and says ‘alright?’. I ask him what the police officer said, and J said just that, ‘alright’. I was confused but relieved, and then J explained that he wasn’t a police officer after all but a security guard for the pub. Say no more, drama averted. The car is now warmed up and ready to run. We now leave the village and just outside about another mile on now, we encounter a herd of rams out for a midnight walk along the road. White flashing horns everywhere, honestly there must be at least ten of them. We’re used to road herds living in Pembs, but this is quite eerie in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. With it being so dark also quite worrying that they could be hit by other vehicles on such a narrow windy lane. We follow the rams at 5 mph for a few miles, it’s like a parade with the car lights lighting up their movement and synchrony. We’re looking for gateways, fields, a way to help them off the road when next thing we know they disappear around a corner and just vanish. Can’t see them anywhere, can’t see where they have gone except one that got left behind some miles back at the side of the road. To be honest it’s quite creepy. I can only assume that they must have scaled a hedgerow somewhere. I’ll never know. We’ve had to take the route to the A9 because of the ice and snow on the mountain roads. It’s so dark that even J gets a bit scared when we stop at traffic lights in the middle of nowhere - he locks the car doors and says that someone might jump in. Honestly, it might sound ridiculous reading this in the light of day, but everything is different at night. Anything feels possible at this moment. 2:39am: Stirling Pit stop at Stirling Services. Rapid in and out this one. It was much quieter than the stop we did here in summer ‘21. There wasn't music blaring today which I was grateful for as at this time of day I just need quiet, in fact, I need quiet most of the time. What I love about these services is the sight of Stirling Castle as you come off the motorway. Can't see much of it at this hour but it's there, and its light is beautiful. It’s 2:41am now. Routine is dismissed and everything is about moving, travelling, and reflecting. Everything looks different at night, we’ve driven past so many places that look like mere shapes or shards of light, they are hidden away in the darkness and in the night, at this time, creativity flows... 3am: Glasgow Reached Glasgow at 3am. Lights, bridges, wondering how many people are awake in this bright city right now. Not sleeping although I try. There’s just something about being awake in this quiet chapter of night, it’s a sensory bliss seeing all of the lights without traffic. Just the road ahead and the dark surrounding every object. Just saw the towers. They were so bright, like huge golden statues lighting up the landscape. This time of night is so beautiful to travel. I cannot sleep on this journey because I don't want to miss a moment. At night it’s so quiet. Usually, when we’re awake in the night it’s due to pain or illness, or work. Some form of exertion. But these road trips are leisure, when we are travelling home or away we get to see the world differently than before. It’s just amazing. Heading for Carlisle now, but first the Lowlands. 03:40: the lowlands I refer to this section of the journey as the Lowlands when really and accurately it's the Southern Uplands. It's just I've always called it the Lowlands since young, it's magical here. As we move through the hills some words start coming to me. Dark mountains of the Lowlands, Rising in the night, Light may be absent, But you are alight, We may not see everything, But I know that you’re there, Darkness is not defeat, From your eyes and your stare, You watch the road, And its vessels on their way, But the mountains of the Lowlands, Forever you will stay. Writing in this section of the journey is bliss, it’s one of my favourite sections of the road. Whilst we may have had sunrise the last time we did this road trip in summer '21, this winter trip is also amazing in a different way. Closing in on Gretna now, this last leg of Scotland is always an emotional one. Comes from childhood memories of waving my Scotland flag (yes I had one) in the back of my parent's car at every vehicle I saw with Scottish flags and signs. I always cried as we passed over the border. I don’t tend to now but it makes me think of those years. This section of road is quiet and dark, Scotland is about to release us from its beauty and we’re both pretty tired but still hyped. 04:26: Gretna Refuelled. Spilt coffee all over the floor in the service station, well J did. The two ladies were really nice and chatted a bit about their stocktake that night. I find it easier to chat with people like this when it's quiet. I admire those who work through the night as admittedly I’d be terrible. We’ve just checked weather updates and it looks like Pembrokeshire is going to be the worst hit, so snow to snow it seems. When we planned this trip I envisaged being snowed in up in the Highlands, never thought it’d be an issue on the other side. Crazy times, crazy life and nature doing its thing. 05:13: The Lakes Over the border into England now, next up are the lakes. It’s busier here. The bustle of England motorways is almost immediate after the border. You tend to see that few miles that are a no man’s zone and then it just hits. Closer to the lakes now, nice bit of road in the light. Roadworks are a bit intense here, there is a lane closed. Sunrise is on its way; the sky is starting to glow but it's still dark right now. Twitter tells me that it’s snowing a lot down south. A quick chat with a man from Pembs who sends an update about snow and a picture of a snowman he's made. Nice chap. 05:35: Kendal This is surreal, to the left I have the start of a sunrise, and to the right, I have the moon. And a beautiful moon it is, it’s full and bright, creating trails across the motorway; it’s gorgeous. I shoot in so many directions at this point. I’m getting tired but sunrise is coming - need to see this. 06:06: Lancaster (Forton) The Pennine Tower is next, my absolute favourite. This is where I really geek out so feel free to stop reading here. I’m absolutely obsessed with this place, I’ve never seen anything like it and it’s a landmark of social history. I know it means a lot to so many. At this point, we planned to shoot it with the sunrise, having never seen it at this time of day before now. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite work out that way as we are unfamiliar with the southbound side and run straight into the lorry park. No turning back so I leap out of the car onto a frozen grass verge, but the result is that I get the moon instead, and a beautiful moon it still is. The entire theme of this road trip and documenting it has been nightfall, and night, so it makes sense that she was brought to me today with the moon by her side. It’s a bit tense in this car right now, J is exhausted and getting grouchy. We both are; so probably going to take a little break now. Not too much to report until Wales now so time to sleep for a while. We’re driving through what my dad calls the 'bad bit', although right now it’s 6:17 and quiet. So perhaps not so bad after all. 07:23: Chester Didn’t sleep. Spent this time working on an edit of the tower that didn’t turn out quite right so I’ll return to it again with fresh eyes. Beautiful as shot though. It’s feeling weird now. I’ve been staring into my phone for hours and now I’m eyes up everything is light, feels as though I am exposed when it’s this light. The darkness of night comforted me earlier, now I feel a bit lost. I feel as though I’ve had a blanket ripped off my head and all eyes are on me. Too many people around; too much noise. Got the beanie out and hood up for the services. I felt bad as I had to leave J to get breakfast as all of the workers are in there and the day is now starting up. J didn't mind though, he actually prefers to be alone in these places as it's easier for him to navigate it all without my anxiety on top. A loud plastic car ride is in there making a noise, it’s horrible. Messages from friends and family about the snow are that it’s there, but not too heavy as yet. None here so far. I doubt we’ll see it until Pembrokeshire. Dreading it tbh. Anyway, onwards... 08:01: Welcome to Wales Welcome to Wales. Traffic, traffic, queues. This is feeling horrible now, the nice part of the trip is left behind back in Scotland. I feel like this every time we reach this point, likely tiredness but it’s more than that. It’s a sensory experience of overwhelm combined with that. It’s bright and there are people everywhere. When you have been awake for hours already seeing the night through to the day you don’t know how to be when the day hits. Because you haven’t transitioned yet, you are still there in the night whilst the world has shifted and the things of day are here and loud. We're in North Wales. I look out of the window to seek the moon in hope but it’s gone. The night is spent and all that is left is the day ahead, waiting for me to transition into it. No more moonlight until the next night comes. So now I write with a bit of gloom to be honest, but hey, we’re closer to home and home is a good thing too. I just wish the dark hours had lasted a little while longer. 08:24: Shropshire Shropshire; I don’t want to be here long. My place of birth yet I have no connection to the place now other than family and memories. Some I don’t wish to recall. So the sooner we move on from there the less chance I’ll have to start thinking. Yet the traffic is still bad, 8:24 now so in the thick of rush hour. Horrible. 09:23: Woke up in Wales. Fell asleep. Woke up in Wales and it’s snowing, thick flakes coming down. It was nothing like this in the Highlands - strange weather system going on. We’ve still got a few hours to go and we’re both very tired now, but we’re getting there. The traffic has eased now with rush hour over and we are on the windy rural roads into the heart of Wales. Just had a nice message from one of the people of the place in Scotland, hope to go back next year. It was beautiful. Just drove past a road accident. There is one car smashed up but the police are there and thankfully everyone seems ok. That’s the first accident we’ve seen and we’ve driven miles this week. It's a white landscape now, it’s different to Scotland, and carries a weight with it. It’s thicker and hazier. In Scotland, it was more like a crisp hail. J: Why do the logs need to go in both directions? This relates to following a log wagon on the way up to Scotland last week, we were stuck behind it for miles. Now we are travelling through the same area and there are more of them. Strange world. 09:55: The mountain bit (A44) The 'mountain' bit, mid-Wales. Heavier snow here, probably the worst bit we've seen so far. Driving slowly, parts of the road are white. Now the focus is on getting to the coast. Been on the road for around ten hours now, and the last stretch coming up. Nothing to report here other than snow, thicker than the Highlands. Down to the coast. Snowing lighter now so time to stop with the weather talk and reflect. Everything feels different now, I feel I have moved into the day a little more and I’m reflecting on the beauty of the last week. All of the trails, the mountains and the places, it was so much. We did so much with the time that we had there. Now we have to shift back into life, work, and routine, walks are looking to be a thing of the past with the forecast for the next few days. It's all a bit depressing really. Anyway no more weather talk, stop. 10:30: After Aber Just stopped for a quick break. It’s getting intense everywhere now and I’ve decided this is now a good point for the written journey to end. I’ve realised that road trips like this only have that magic in those early segments in the dark. That’s where creativity flows and words come easier, because there is less external stimuli and less visibility. When you cannot see everything, this leaves the mind to wander and personally I find that’s a great place to be. When it’s quiet and everything is dark, you can truly be yourself. You can be autistic, you can be obsessed with a service station or a motorway, it doesn’t matter because without other people there to judge and scrutinise you, you are who you are. Just you and nature. Your world. I wrote this blog post today with very few ideas in mind. I didn’t write it as a travel guide or a how-to-do something. I guess in that respect it’s quite self-indulgent, but what I hope I can share is a story of the night. How having that space in the dark, moving onwards, travelling to a different place, is a thing of transience but also a place of being who you are in the moment. Every section aside from Sterling was written as I got to each place, the photos were all shot in the moment. That’s the point of this story, a reflection of travel through the night, something to look back on and maybe I’ll learn something from it. I’ve just had a cry as it sunk in, 'shit, I've left Scotland'. I said earlier that I don’t do this any more but this time I did. I allowed myself to. I love Scotland so much, it’s so special and has a deep personal meaning for me. It’s not even just about what it is today in terms of its beauty as such, it’s the past, my childhood and my family. Scotland in childhood, many happy years and memories growing up. The first shot is taken at my grandparent's place somewhere in Banffshire, the other two are in Cullen. My dad tells me that this was where I had my first paddle in the sea. I hope you get to take your own journey through the night at some point. It’s long and tiring and doesn’t come cheap, but once in a while when it can happen it’s so powerful for reflection and a great thing to do. You may be a bit cranky for a day or so but it's worth it. If you made it to this point thanks for coming on this journey with us. A huge thank you to J also, as this was way more fun for me than it was for him as he did all of the driving. I did offer to and I'm grateful for the space to write in the night. It doesn't happen very often. Have you had any great moments whilst travelling through the night? Share your stories in the comments below or feel free to come and connect with us on Twitter.

It’s been three years since the first COVID-19 lockdown took force and completely changed our lives. The dominant message around lockdowns and this period more broadly is the negative impact it had on people's lives, businesses, relationships and overall wellbeing. It’s this same message that saturates the media, research papers, academic discussions and everyday discourses surrounding what we felt, which continues into the present day. We’ve heard the harrowing stories of people separated from their loved ones until it was too late, or the struggles faced by families with unprecedented demands placed on them to simultaneously work, care and facilitate homeschooling. We’ve read the stories of those in disadvantaged positions, those who were isolated, living out the fears and uncertainty of this time completely alone. Then there are the stories of those on the frontline, NHS staff, public service workers, carers, and those who could not shut the door and isolate because life needed to carry on, they needed to be there for those most in need. All of these stories are so important, but there is one story missing from all of this. One which potentially represents a vast number of neurodivergent people, those with mental illnesses and those living with social anxiety. This week is World Autism Acceptance Week and I think it’s time to tell it from our perspective. Because many of us struggled with lockdown life at times, but for some of us it was a period of escape and a break from the pressures to conform. For those of us with social anxiety, living in a noisy and demanding neurotypical world every single day is completely overwhelming. Having to mask and pretend to be ‘normal’, having to do smiles and pretend to laugh at jokes that we don’t really understand is overwhelming. As Pete Wharmby has recently discussed in his book ‘Un-typical’ (which is probably about the clearest insight into life as an autistic person at present), people don’t understand the complexity of what happens in our minds. We don’t just say a brief hello to someone and then move on with our day. We think and overthink, and then ruminate for hours, days and sometimes weeks over a single interaction. Being autistic in a neurotypical world is exhausting, and personally, when lockdown life struck it was a relief from all of this. A time when everything moved online, a time when I didn’t need to speak to other people in person, a time when I could unmask. From speaking with mental health and autism professionals as well as other autistic people, I know that this story isn’t just my own. It’s a shared story that has largely been hidden from the public domain. Because the world was determined that it was returning to normal, and our perspectives were ignored. Autism Acceptance Week For Autism Acceptance Week, we feel that rather than just raising awareness about autism or gaining acceptance from wider communities, it’s time to step forward and present new and practical ways of changing things. Amidst the COVID-19 pandemic, so much of the everyday changed dramatically. Things that we took for granted, and would never have believed would ever change. Yet they did and that’s why it’s important to recognise that things can be different. Many autistic people have to 'mask' who they are in order to fit in and find some form of acceptance which evidentally is not really acceptance. Life shouldn’t just be about us masking in discomfort, surely the world can bend for us a little too? So here are five things that could create a more inclusive world, going beyond just accepting autistic people to actually creating changes that are representative of our voices and experiences. For the first time on our blog, I’ve brought Jon in as a second voice. I think it’s important that both of us have a say as two minds are better than one! 1. Shop layout When it comes to shopping, ‘click and collect’ and online ordering is my go-to. Quick, convenient and an absolute minimum of people. Sometimes though, I have no other option but to venture into an actual physical shop. A warren of crowded aisles, ear-piercing noise and smells that not even an FFP3 mask can disguise. I don’t think anyone truly enjoys shuffling around Tesco in search of their overpriced tins of baked beans, but for autistic folk, the chaos of the supermarket truly is an overwhelming hellscape. So, thinking back to those early days of the pandemic, what can we learn from that time when the supermarket was one of the few destinations deemed ‘essential’ and still open for business? For me, lockdown created order in the supermarket. A neatness and sense of direction that could easily be understood. Yes, the bright lights were still there and I don’t think any natural disaster could dampen the bleeps that seem to blast from every corner of the shop. What did happen though was the placement direction arrows pointing you gently through one-way systems and useful spots on the floor to ensure everyone queued correctly. No more pushing and shoving. No more trying to avoid eye contact with the chatty shopper heading straight towards you. It wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly an improvement. Recently I visited a sports shop. It was small and cramped but with all of the pitfalls of a larger supermarket. I dashed in, picked up what I needed and headed straight to the checkout. Disaster. There was absolutely no clue as to which way people needed to queue. A complete free for all. People trying to push in and awkward glances everywhere. Some kind soul offered to let me go first but how could I explain that I would rather wait until it quietens down? Tuts and niceties come from all directions. This sort of thing has happened to me a few times now and it’s completely overwhelming every time. All of this could have been avoided if we simply had our little islands of safety printed in bright, easy to read instructions stuck to the floor. ‘Please queue here. 2 meters apart’. Simple. So, if you own or run a shop or supermarket, please think again before tearing up these signs in a race to the ‘return to normal’. Sometimes, ‘normal’ just doesn’t work. Sometimes a point in the right direction can be a good thing and sometimes it may just save someone from an awkward encounter that may ruin their day. 2. Restaurant booths It’s been so long since we’ve been able to go out for food and sit in a restaurant, cafe or pub. Even whilst in Scotland a few weeks back, we sat outside the restaurant in our coats and scarves to eat which caused some head scratching from others, but honestly, I just can’t eat in front of people. It spikes my social anxiety to the extreme and I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to leave a meal because a group of people decide that they want the table next to us. One thing that was really good during the pandemic period, was how these spaces were adapted to separate people out with the use of booths. Booths are a huge help towards reducing social anxiety. Firstly, being seated in a booth gives you the privacy to eat without someone gawping at what you’re having when it comes out, as well as when you’re actually eating it. Secondly, it allows privacy to talk as well as a sense of an enclosed and private space. I’m sure this may resonate with many other neurodivergent people, but one thing we don’t need when experiencing a sensory meltdown is an audience. A meltdown can still happen in a booth if everything else is overwhelming such as music blaring out or loud people seated nearby. But it is far less likely to happen if we are just allowed a little more space and privacy rather than being in an open seated environment or worst of all, shared tables. So, it might seem a big ask, but restaurant owners, a vast number of the population are autistic people. These are your customers just as much as those who are neurotypical. Personally, I don’t tend to go out for food myself because it’s too stressful, but if booths or more private tables were more of a norm in restaurants I’d be far more likely to come along and eat your entire menu. Not only that, many of us who are autistic are loyal to what we know - give us the ability to enjoy a meal without overwhelm and you’re probably going to see us again. 3. Booking systems As an autistic person, certainty is king. There is nothing worse than turning up to your favourite venue only to discover it is packed with visitors with no room to spare. I have lost count of the number of times we have driven somewhere, filled with excitement for what the day will bring, only for everything to be ruined by an overflowing car park and a queue of eager customers seemingly oblivious to the overcrowded nightmare that must surely await them inside. We don’t bother joining the queue. We don’t even stop the car. A quick turnaround and it’s on to plan B. As a couple with extreme social anxiety, there always needs to be a secret quiet place to retreat to when a plan goes out the window. For this reason, it can take hours to plan a simple day out before we've even left the house. In late 2020, during a brief period when COVID infections were seemingly dropping off, a few tourist attractions began to reopen their doors. This was certainly the case in Wales anyway. It was limited to mostly outdoor attractions such as castles or wildlife centres. However, strict rules still applied. As well as the usual social distancing, hand-washing and mask mandates, pre-booking booking was an absolute requirement. There were a limited number of spaces with time slots throughout the day. It was brilliant. We could buy our tickets safely in the knowledge that there would only be a handful of people there at a time. If the tickets were sold out, we didn’t need to waste a journey. It provided safety, comfort and certainty. Fast forward to the present day and most of these innovations have disappeared just like every other COVID ‘restriction’. Of course, online or telephone booking systems still exist. Just as they did before the pandemic. But the time slots and limited spaces have given way to an attitude that seems to relish ramming as many people as possible into a tight space. I understand that limiting customer numbers comes at a financial cost and many businesses simply cannot afford to turn customers away. Maybe though, there are some lessons here. If governments across the world can grant huge financial support packages to keep businesses operating through a global health crisis, then surely as a society we can come up with equally creative solutions to help those with disabilities who struggle daily. 4. Remote working So, this was one is to be approached with caution as we’re aware that it’s been a hot debate for a while now. The first thing that needs to be acknowleged, is that we know that not all jobs can be done remotely. This in itself is a problem, as it tends to be the more tech-orientated roles that are set up this way - roles that are largely inaccessible for a large proportion of us. There are so many debates here, that it would take an entire series of blog posts to unpack this one fully. So for now we’re just going to focus on the basics, how remote work can be embraced to help create healthy and autism-friendly workplaces. Firstly, the social demands of work are often the biggest stressor for those of us who are neurodivergent. Having to negotiate all of the interactions of the workplace, saying the right thing to the right person, working out who is the top dog and who has the most social capital... it’s all completely exhausting and that’s before you’ve even done any of the actual work itself. Not to mention in-person meetings. Everyone crowded into a room together where it’s presumed ‘isn’t this great’ when actually many of us can't even focus on what is being discussed because we're completely overwhelmed. All of this in-person emphasis has caused such a large amount of pressure on people with disabilities. It’s not a natural environment for us and as Pete Wharmby has recently said in his book, many of us navigate our closest relationships online. So it’s not just remote work that works for us, remote social is a thing too. The digital world allows for greater asynchronous communication, allowing more autonomy and time to navigate interactions that are often so difficult in person. Secondly, I think that a huge problem with attitudes towards remote work is that it's now being used as a reward and punishment system in many workforces. This is where employers are perhaps missing a trick, because remote work isn’t something that we just want because we're being awkward or we can’t be bothered to leave the house. For those of us who are autistic, it’s often an absolute need for us to be able to work without distress, panic attacks and in the end burnout. There’s still a long way to go with this, with many sub-debates and mythical discourses to break down such as ‘remote workers are lazy’. But for many autistic people like myself, giving us the ability to do our jobs, study, socialise or whatever else in a way that doesn’t cause us distress will have far greater results in the end. You only have to look at online neurodivergent communities to see how many people are out there right now hustling for freelance remote opportunities. This isn’t because of laziness or being undisciplined. In fact, quite the opposite. Face-to-face interaction for autistic people in this neurotypical world takes far more work than having to pitch yourself online continuously (and many of us know how tiring that can be). So if we can put away our battle sticks and start to understand that remote work is a solution rather than a threat, this might be one pathway to true 'autism acceptance'. It might allow for more job security for autistic people, fewer people being signed off due to work-related stress and overall better productivity for everyone. So my main suggestion here is to the employers. If you are offering remote or hybrid work that’s brilliant but please don’t use it as a punishment or reward incentive. Doing so only delegitimises the needs of many disabled people by trivialising it as a job perk. Because for many of us, it’s an absolute need, and we can only truly be productive in this way, without the sensory overwhelm of face-to-face environments. 5. Social distancing There’s this phrase that does the rounds in introvert communities, ‘I was social distancing before it was cool’. Jokes and puns aside, we recognise that social distancing was something that many people struggled with throughout the lockdown periods and beyond. But for us autistic people, having space and distance is something that we need to deal with the noise and sensory overwhelm of the world. For many of us social distancing was a break from this noise, it provided order and a sense of security that our personal space was our own. I think one problem with social distancing is that as the world has hurtled back to its supposed ‘normal’, social closeness has now gone far beyond what we encountered before the pandemic. We came across this recently. J and I went out for a walk the other week, there were very few people around (we have to choose our times wisely in Pembrokeshire), and then all of a sudden a couple appeared right across the other side of the field. I kid you not, this lady practically screamed a hello at us from afar - it had to be a scream as they were so far away. It really was completely over the top. It’s not just quiet locations either, busier places also feel a lot cosier than they used to. You can be in a shop or a pharmacy or wherever, and people want to get close, close and closer still. It feels like a collective pushback from being told that we couldn’t get too close to others, to people now wanting to practically sit on your lap. Again, social closeness is also a trigger for overwhelm for those of us who are autistic. Many of us struggle to hug someone we’ve known for years and although I personally like a hug from a friend or family member, I cannot cope with any type of physical or social closeness with someone I don’t know. My suggestion here is mainly for people to consider that others may not have the same social needs as their own. What can feel like a benign ‘hello’, weather conversation, or five seconds of cosy proximity for some, can be hours of distress and sensory overwhelm for another. We also need to stop thinking about what is polite, and consider that it’s not all about politeness. If someone doesn’t smile or say hello when passing by, they most likely have a lot more going on than people would realise. So, maybe we need to move away from these greetings, or if one isn’t reciprocated then not to force it or assume rudeness on their part. Similar to getting up close and cosy in someone’s personal space. I know that we live busy lives and we just need to get to that meal deal sandwich quickly, but really most of the time we are the ones who move out of the way when in the way. Couldn’t we meet in the middle and just give those who need it a little more space when these situations arise? So these are just some of our suggestions. It is by no means an exhaustive list. There are many small but practical changes that could help create a more inclusive world. A world that isn’t just aware of autism or tries to placate us with token gestures of acceptance. A world that offers us a genuine opportunity to live comfortably and safely as our real selves. The COVID-19 pandemic proved that dramatic changes to our lives can be made overnight. That collective efforts for the greater good do indeed work. Of course, change is never easy, but it has been done before and it can be done again. Surely we are worth more than just mere acceptance? Surely we need more than just awareness? Surely now is the time for autistic people to finally thrive. We have mentioned just a few of the changes that could be implemented to make our world a more inclusive and autism friendly place. If you have any suggestions of your own or would like to share your own experience of lockdown, please feel free to connect with us on Twitter or in the comments below.

It has taken me a long time to work out what to write in this post. Even longer to work out what to call it, as well as what I really think about what has happened over this last week or so. When you search online for information about post-vacation or post-holiday blues, there are already many articles that talk about this and what to do when returning home. How returning to routine is difficult, and how existing stresses and problems in your everyday life become even more stressful. Perhaps what is missing in these articles are the personal stories, the deeper and more nuanced picture of what happens when we return from a break away. I had not considered this until this point, and never even searched for post-holiday blues literature, because I thought that I should just be grateful to have been able to get away. There are so many real problems in this world, and a week away in Scotland isn’t one of them. Fast forward a week and I reached a very different place. No more lochs and mountains. The long road home had ended. Instead, I’m broken down in tears sitting in my GP’s office, with a referral to the crisis team and being told, ‘This is real Laura, we need to get you some help’. So what happened to me? This is what I’ve been trying to work through over this last week. How I could go from being a bit flat but doing ok just after we returned, to completely crashing just a few days later? Holiday blues are one thing, but those blues were jet-black for me. I couldn’t validate myself though, not until my doctor did. Where we live in a world where depression caused by a thing such as going on holiday is deemed ‘not a real problem’ then might this stop others from being able to speak out, or worse seek help? We know that being able to go on holiday is a relative privilege, but the aftermath isn’t. If we keep talking about depression and other mental illnesses through the lens of what is a worthy cause and what isn’t, then this will only prevent people from getting the help that they need. Irrespective of the reason, depression is real. Two photos, the first while in Scotland last week, the second earlier this week. This shows how quickly depression can hit. So first of all, I’ll share what happened. We got home on the Wednesday after driving through the night. Throughout that journey I documented everything, and now reading back through I can really see the transitions in my mood throughout. The highs of the Scotland and northern segments are evident, as is the change in mood as light hit and we got closer to home. But it wasn’t that I didn’t want to return home. Home is a good thing, it’s familiar and comfortable and after all, we live in Pembrokeshire, it’s gorgeous here. So again, how could I be so ungrateful for those things? How could I be so selfish? This is the voice of depression, invalidating any painful emotion caused by a good thing as a personal problem. Because society does that. It tells us that we should be grateful, and for the most part, we are, but it also stops us from acknowledging when we are unwell and what can be understood as a real problem. In the days that followed, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, again things were okay-ish. We had returned home to a lot of worries and stress with my brother being in hospital over the weekend, and then my mother being unwell too as well as worrying about my dad juggling care for different family members. Yet worries and health concerns aside, I was still hyped over Scotland and everything that we had done and seen. Then, on the Saturday, amidst hospital and illness, my dad called to say he had booked us another week in Scotland next year, and that he was going to join us. To say I was over the moon would be an understatement. I know I’ve said this before, but Scotland has a deep personal meaning for me and my dad in particular. My dad was travelling around the Highlands back in the day, in the years when you could rock up at someone’s house in a remote corner of the north and be invited in for a meal. Pitching up a tent in gateways, washing in a loch.. his stories are so much more exciting than my own but that’s perhaps for another day. The last time we were in Scotland together as a family, was a complete nightmare. My mother fell and broke her arm on the first night, only she wouldn’t go to a hospital for days and we didn’t know the extent of her injuries. That trip back in summer ’21 resulted in my mum being hospitalised for months due to complications arising from her disabilities. Adding to that we were grieving for a close family member at the time, and to be honest that entire trip was just immersed in a dark cloud. We got home in a rushed haze of stress, grief and hospital admissions and my mother has since said several times that she will never return to Scotland again. But it’s still special for my dad, so you see, making this work and planning a trip where he can be there with us is so important. Because Scotland has his heart as much as it does my own. So that Saturday was stressful, exciting and emotional in equal measures. Seeing my nan who had lived in Scotland for years and showing her the photos was also a special moment. I know that she misses the Highlands so much and I also know that it meant so much for her, to see the places that were such a huge part of her life for so long. So, Scotland is an emotional place, it’s heavy. Then Sunday hit and my word, did it hurt. That was the day when my blues turned black, excitement was gone and I completely crashed. I tried to write, but as you probably know yourself, writing or trying to do anything creative or productive when you are in that place is almost impossible. I drafted and deleted so many tweets on that day. I couldn’t share what I was feeling because I thought that people would think I was being ridiculous. After all, I thought I was ridiculous, I mean come on, many of us don’t like Sundays and especially not after a break away from life. But this break away was causing a breakdown, one that was happening without me even being able to recognise it. Because again, society says that post-holiday blues are not a real problem and therefore I wasn’t allowed to claim it as one. Here are some words that I wrote late on the Sunday evening. You can see the social anxiety in this: When leaving life for a little while, be it a break or otherwise, returning to things and life resuming can absolutely terrify you. For those of us with social anxiety, it is an indicator that you need to put back on a mask, a mask that is broken and no longer works adequately. For too many of us going back to life after a break from life is something that we’ve spent the entire break dreading. Many people have that return to routine dread, worry or even full-blown anxiety, but social anxiety specifically adds another dimension. Because it is not only about having to adjust, it is about having to pretend again and that might not be something that we can do. It’s a return to daily and nightly panic attacks, pressures to conform and pressures to say the right things in the right way. Once unmasked how can we mask back up and pretend, when we are broken inside and out? This is how much social anxiety impacts my life, and I can only assume I am not alone in this going by what I see online. It’s not only about interacting with people, it’s interacting with yourself, thinking how can I be that person again? How do I perform that version of myself? Maybe for some, it is easier, or even a release to be someone else. That's both valid and logical. But for others, returning to routine is not welcomed because that routine is filled with complete overwhelm. It’s not my routine, it is someone else’s clock that I need to fit into. I don’t think that people without this form of anxiety, will ever fully understand how worrying it is thinking about how to adjust your mind, body and overall composure to fit within an environment that was never made for you. It’s the little things, such as thinking and rethinking about what you said, what you might say, how will you answer certain questions and even when you have completely planned every little thing out you then end up saying something completely different and ridiculous. I’m tired of being around people. It’s not that I don’t like others because I do mostly. I just can’t give the world what it wants of me - to be the chatty Laura that everyone thinks I am is just not me. That version of me comes at a great cost, it is such a performance that it keeps me awake at night. It’s embarrassing because it isn’t me but I know that if I was to be my true self I would be considered to be rude. Because I don’t want to talk to people, there is too much to plan and too much that can go wrong. This is where a lot of my social anxiety comes from, being around others is not something I can do readily, although it may appear I can. I’m a daft person when I do meet with people. I say silly things, act too friendly, or I'm too chatty. I don’t shut up, but that’s because I’m nervous and if I stay quiet I worry about what they are thinking about me. We live in a hard world where our true selves are not accepted, so when we are allowed the time to be for a while it’s little wonder that we are completely overwhelmed when we are commanded back. Back into our broken masks. One day things may change, and hopefully, these masks will be discarded. Maybe one day we will finally be understood and accepted so we can be truly who we are. As you can see, there was potential for some powerful stuff here but I wasn’t well enough to write it. It’s messy and disjointed because I was writing in a state of distress. That night I didn’t sleep, and almost ended up needing to go to the hospital. At that point I realised, be it the holiday or something else, I wasn't well and I needed help. There are a couple of points I want to share about this story. The first is about underlying medical conditions. 1. Premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD): That next day was when I saw my GP and she referred me to the crisis team. She said that this was the worst that she had ever seen me and that she was really worried. Another important revelation from this consultation which I am happy to share is that following a pattern in these cycles, she has now diagnosed me with PMDD. I know from speaking with others online that hormonal changes can be debilitating, but PMDD is seldom spoken about, often replaced with PMS or ‘that time of the month’. But mood fluctuations with PMDD are serious, and this was another contributing factor to my sudden onset of depression. If you would like to read more about PMDD for yourself or a loved one, Mind have a useful article about this: https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/premenstrual-dysphoric-disorder-pmdd/about-pmdd/ 2. Sensory overwhelm The second thing that I think is important to share about my post-holiday blackout, is what I’ve learnt about myself in terms of sensory experiences. Following my GP appointment, I was contacted by an autism mental health specialist based within our local CMHT. I’m always very apprehensive about speaking with mental health professionals following years of negative experiences, but this time it was ok. They were incredibly supportive. We spoke through everything that had happened over the last week, starting from Scotland, the journey home and everything after. What she told me is something that has helped me to understand everything not only through the lens of mental illness but through my autism and how this affects my processing. We spoke for some time, and she said that basically my brain is overstimulated from processing too much. She told me that as someone who is autistic, all of the things I have seen, and the scenery across all of the different places we visited takes so much processing and that I needed a break from it. If you have recently watched Chris Packham’s documentary about autism this makes a lot of sense. Chris himself has said that when he visits his favourite woodlands, he isn’t just seeing the trees as one simple object but all of the finer details and connections between them. This was me in Scotland. I do a lot of photography, and honestly, whilst we were on the road pretty much every day, it was so beautiful that every single minute presented a new frame. It was actually exhausting as in hindsight I spent so much time taking photos as there were just too many to take. Beyond every corner, there was always a new image to shoot, a new creative opportunity. The mountains weren’t just mountains, there was the snow, the mist, the waterfalls, the rivers, it was just so much. The irony of this is that since we’ve been home I’ve not been able to really work with these images as I’ve been overwhelmed by it all. For the first day or so, all of the familiar scenery of home was like looking at an image that has been greyed out. Nothing could compare to that scenery of sensory overwhelm, and my interpretation of this is that my brain wanted more but also couldn’t take any more. I made this image throughout this time which is called ‘Shades in the dark’. This is not because it’s anything fancy or abstract but because basically, I’ve had to wear my sunglasses all week as everything feels too bright. So more broadly, it relates to this experience of post-holiday sensory overwhelm. Sensory issues have not just impacted me visually. The days of this week have passed by in a blur, and I’ve not been able to do so many of the things I would usually do. I tried to listen to music the other morning, something I do regularly to start my day but it was too much. Listening to a song, I could hear every layer of sound so much more intensely than before. A bass buzzed through me, a drum hit me hard. I couldn’t write anything down because I didn’t fully understand it, and I couldn’t read because I was in so much pain emotionally and physically. The weather has been intense too, wind and gales create so much noise and movement that getting outside during these times hasn't been an option. This has been really difficult to navigate, as on top of feeling so low when sensory overwhelm is thrown into the mix, this prevents you from doing the things that you love just as much. So as you can see, this story is not just one about depression or post-holiday blues. It’s a more nuanced picture, of emotions, underlying medical conditions, the complexities of being autistic, and trying to process everything that comes from going away on holiday. I'll be honest, after all of this I’ve been thinking that I probably won’t be able to go away again. That said, I know that having the opportunity to do so is important, and taking that trip with my dad is greater than just a holiday, it’s so special for us both. So I do hope to do so again one day, but maybe next time I’ll have to take things at more of a gentle pace and give myself more time to process and recover from whatever sensory needs arise. I hope that sharing this today will help you too. Because my story is just one, and I’m sure that many other people also have their own to share. What I hope you can take away from this, is that depression, holiday blues or whatever else we are calling it is real and can be caused by good things as much as bad. Because as with many things, there is always a more complex picture than that which we assume. Society just needs to allow us to share these stories so we can be better understood. I would like to say a big thank you to everyone who has sent supportive messages over the last week, as well as those who have been accomodating and compassionate. This is really appreciated. As a final note on this, I would like to take the opportunity to share a recent post from my good friend, Mike, who writes about depression from the perspective of being an unpaid carer. Mike is a huge source of support to so many and we will be collaborating on various topics coming soon: https://caring-life.co.uk/2023/03/19/lets-talk-depression/ If you have ever been affected by depression or sensory overwhelm following a break away, or anything else like this, feel free to share your experiences in the comments below or connect with us on Twitter.

I’m writing this at the end of a long night, a long way away from home. A long night on the loch and what a night it has been. A very typical story of being on holiday in a quiet location until the guests from hell arrive and immerse you in their noise and wants. I knew that last night was going to be difficult from the moment it began. It had been a quiet couple of days leading up to the weekend, beautiful weather, beautiful Scotland. I’d already been through the early stages of holiday anxiety. The worry and apprehension of how many people were going to be here. Whether I’d be able to find a quiet place to think, whether we’d be able to find a quiet place to eat or a tranquil spot to just be. Whether I’d missed something back home. Perhaps part of me was left at home because after all and as the saying goes, home is where the heart is and right now in this state of anxiety and noise induced sleep deprivation, I certainly don’t feel completely myself. It’s strange how we often want to escape from life but then when we do often all we want is home. When you’re so far away from home, home becomes a magnet drawing you back into its clutches. Even when you want to get away, getting away isn’t always an escape. In my case, it has been both an escape from one sort of stress, only to be replaced with another. I don’t speak for everyone with social anxiety, but my own experience is that being away from it all leaves you with a new set of challenges to overcome. Home isn’t there, your usual escapes don’t exist in new places, and you only have a very limited window of time to find new ones. Even now as I am writing this sat in a lounge overlooking a loch on a stunning day with snow-topped mountains in the distance. It’s beautiful but I know I’m probably not going to be able to stay for long. In fact, by the end of this blog post, I’ll likely be sitting in my car or accommodation again, because, for those of us with social anxiety, we can’t stay in one place for too long. We’re always looking for the next escape from the next threat, and when you’re away from home that can only be intensified further because you might not know where to escape to. There’s still a long way to go before social anxiety is understood in depth beyond the people who are experiencing this. That’s why I want to draw upon this away-from-home experience to highlight some of the things that could help people like us. How places, spaces and people could become more friendly and inclusive to those with social anxiety. So first of all, I’ll briefly tell you what happened last night so we can come up with some potential solutions together. A long night on the loch... I could feel it as soon as I got back to the place where we were currently staying. It was Friday. Arrival day. Cars everywhere, new faces appearing, groups emerging and holiday cheer at its peak. Since I’ve begun to learn about myself in a sensory way following my autism diagnosis, I’ve become fine-tuned to my senses in greater depth than just ‘anxiety’. When I’m propelled into a new social situation, whatever that may be, I feel my body tense almost immediately. Before I even see the person or people, I can sense that they are there. I can feel their energy, their eyes seeking contact and their laughter often internalised as being about me even when this isn’t the case. The guests were a large energetic group who from the onset had the energy of a party. They came brandishing gifts and presents, excitement filled the air. Even at this point, early in the situation, I knew that a large group with presents on a holiday resort means one thing, a party. Parties that are an extrovert haven and an introvert hell. So throughout the evening, I was on edge, I dismissed this at first as being tired after a long day out on the West coast. Yet by the time I went to bed, it started. Thump, thump, thump…not them, me. My heart was racing, my body would not ease itself of its tension. Although at this point it was quiet... Back to the lounge for a moment, there’s a Hoover just starting up. Disrupting me from my flow. Ok, it’s someone just doing their job, they won’t want to talk so I don’t worry about that. Safe noise, disruptive but safe. I’ll continue. So last night, even when the room was quiet my mind and body were in adrenaline mode. Within an hour of going to bed, I was launched into a full panic attack before anything had even happened. That’s one thing that people don’t understand about social anxiety, it’s not always about the event itself, a panic attack can occur from apprehension of the event or something that may not even happen. Unfortunately in this case my senses and intuition were correct and it did happen. I tweeted out my panic attack because right at this moment I needed Twitter. I needed familiarity and without my home surroundings, Twitter was the next best thing. It was familiar and at that moment, whilst J was trying to get me some help whilst dealing with his own anxiety, I received some kind words in response from a very kind person. I won’t ever forget that person being there for me just at that time, so D, if you are reading this, thank you. What you did in that moment was validate me, and I cannot thank you enough. Following that other people also offered support, I am truly grateful to every single person who was there. As much as I moan about Twitter, last night Twitter was home during a time when I was so scared and very much away. So thank you all so much. Following this, I spoke with another kind person, this time over the phone. A lady called M, who works at this place and connected with me almost immediately. We sat and spoke for some time in the early hours and then later at around 6:30 am this morning, and I am truly thankful for her time, support and interest in what we are trying to do here at ASW. The guests arrived back and sure as anything they were drunk and ready to continue the party. They decided that the party was going to happen in the place next door to us, so we were already dealing with my panic attack, being sick and crying my eyes out to then be dealing with very real noise. At one point it was like a scene from Benidorm, there was dancing around the car park, singing, shouting, banging on doors and I half expected someone to dig out a karaoke machine. J went out to ask them to be quiet. It was gone midnight by this point and we were both completely exhausted. M went around to see them too, but they decided to carry on with their cheer, all in the place next door. We gave up on sleep, there wasn’t anywhere to escape to, and there was no option but to endure it. I’ve dealt with many noisy neighbour scenarios over the years, home and away, and what I’ve learnt is that often people don’t realise how loud they are being. We live in a world where everyone has their own needs and wants, with little consideration for anything outside of that. Their need to party and celebrate came above and beyond our need for sleep. This is often the case in life, needs and wants battling it out in the landscape of life with very little dialogue between them. As introverts, we are all too often told that we need to get involved, conform or if we really must be ‘boring’ then don’t stop other people’s fun and enjoyment. Ok, that’s fine, we all have our needs but do we consider other people's needs enough? I've said this before, what can be one person’s want is another person’s sheer distress. By 6 am the noise had long settled and whilst our neighbours were all now snoring in their alcohol-induced slumber, we were still wide awake and now seriously considering going home. Only ten hours in the car, a week long holiday turned into a mini break... I went out for a walk to clear my head. I needed to see everything in its fresh morning state, untouched by the intensity of day. Because this, leaving, has happened so many times before. I’ve had to leave early and miss out on things because it’s been too noisy or busy, all about other people's wants and fun. That early morning walk was so beautiful and still. Nothing but myself and nature, early morning frost coating everything and the air was so fresh. It was like breathing pure oxygen. I sat down after taking some shots and soon enough two ducks came wandering over and just sat beside me, it was comforting and everything was just quiet. After this long night on the loch, I needed a moment for myself to enjoy it, for my own needs to finally be acknowledged. It was emotional because I knew that if I left this place now, I would frame it as a negative experience and might never return again. So I wanted to capture every moment of that moment, to take the beauty of this place with me and leave the bad parts behind. This video shows how exhausting social anxiety can be. So that’s the story, I know it’s probably quite standard in this loud and chaotic world we live in but it’s still an important one. One which raises the issue of differences and how our individualism means want and need remain personalised and social anxiety is rarely considered in this mix. It’s not over yet nor have I left for home. I really don’t want this to be yet another failure, another moment of having to walk away. It’s happened too many times and I want to be here, and try to enjoy the break as they don’t happen too often. There’s still another night to get through and I don’t know how this next one is going to go either. But I have learnt a few things since being away. The first is to be honest with people, and where relevant tell them about your problems and barriers because although you may not always get the response you want, people cannot help you without knowing. I didn’t tell the staff here that I’m autistic or that I have social anxiety before coming and had I done so things might have been different. They have all been so supportive, and have said that if they had known they would have ensured we were not in the party area. All of the staff have been absolutely fantastic so far, this story is not a fault of theirs or the place. It's perhaps my own for not speaking out, I take accountability for that. Secondly, I’ve learnt that whatever barrier I’m facing, there will be someone out there who understands, often closer than you think. Whilst chatting with people online and offline over these last few days, I’ve realised that social anxiety impacts so many of our lives. That leaves me to think that things surely need to change, and perhaps they are changing slowly, but there’s still a long way to go. So, a long way away and a long way to go, but the main thing is that we can be open and talk to each other. Because once we can do that we can begin to find ways to create more inclusive spaces and experiences that accommodate social anxiety. Doing so may be the start of a new beginning. Have you ever endured a social anxiety nightmare while away from home? Feel free to share your expriences and tips in the comments below. Or connect with us on Twitter.

It was another start to another 4am morning. I often wake at this time, but I’ve learnt of late that I shouldn’t go near social media when this happens. All too many a time, I’ve shared my early morning emotions with the world that it’s now become the girl who cried wolf. The only difference was today I wasn’t actually distressed, but when you have shown a pattern of behaviour to the world over some time it tends to be assumed that if you are posting at that time, it has to be about the same thing again. As the result, you may be seen but won’t be heard. True enough analytics showed a leap in visits to my profile but engagement remained at zero. People are there but not for you. It’s human curiosity playing out in the digital realm. Social media is a minefield for those of us with disabilities and mental health struggles. We’ve all had moments where we see someone else tweeting about their struggles, it resonates and so we then do the same. Only we don’t get treated the same. For some of us tweeting or posting about our disability can have a vast detrimental effect on how we are perceived, leading people who we thought of as friends to give us the cold shoulder and those in our wider circles never being seen again. For others it’s rewarded, the metrics leap and the supportive comments flow. Because they have a different network and perhaps a more engaged audience to share with. This is why online communities are perhaps so important, because without them we are sharing into a void of people who are there but only want to lurk at best. When you are an active user of a platform, posting regularly about your ill health or struggles in the world you are faced with the following options. Join a community where the behaviour of sharing is accepted. Join a community but don’t speak out. Don’t join a community and be prepared to be silenced when you do speak out. It may seem a bit of a dismal picture being painted but part of what ASW is about is calling out the bad and the good of both offline and online behaviours. The behaviours that are not really being spoken about. Without doing so we only stay in the same place, being snowballed into the next trend or evolved behavioural norms that come our way. So that brings us back to the question, why are some of us seen and not heard? Quite simply, from what I’ve seen from my own experience of sharing and that of others, it’s complex and interconnected. Things like conformity to online norms, societal stigma, and of course the way the algorithm treats us in terms of who we are shown to. We cannot underestimate the impact that the attention economy has on our digital behaviours too. When people come to rely upon likes, comments and followers for emotional or other reasons, we tend to become quite adept at knowing what will put us in a better or worse position for visibility. Interacting with someone who is being Twitter punished and thus ‘unpopular’, might cause people to disengage through fear of their own online identity being damaged or associated with a ‘bad account’. Let’s be honest, it’s run through our minds at times. We’ve all seen the person who is tweeting out in distress, threads of sheer emotion but at best one or two likes. Maybe a comment here or there. Because a norm of social media, and Twitter specifically is that ‘having a wobble’ is ok, but when someone really roars and lets out the rawness of mental illness or other disabilities, it’s bad. That or it’s too ‘negative’, or ‘too much’. Sadly, the only time when this type of expression is permitted tends to be within online communities that are specific for mental illness, or autism or other disabilities that we are talking about. Yet to truly become a part of these communities takes a long time, and a lot of work to become an active voice. So honestly, if we can only share the surface expression of our struggles and never truly be ourselves online, is this really any different than offline society? Are our digital communities and societies truly inclusive, is it really a site of free expression or is it perhaps just because Twitter is ‘off’ right now? These are questions that I cannot answer alone and would require a lot of research to uncover, but one thing is for sure. Too many of us are being seen but not heard. Next time you are feeling alone online, know that while it feels isolating there are many other voices out there also being seen but not heard. You are not alone in this. Here at ASW, we aim to bring more inclusion to our communities, which is one of the main reasons why we need to speak out about this stuff. Because if we are to be allowed to be ourselves, and if the digital world is the answer then we need to be able to have a voice. So next time we see a thread or post from someone in distress, maybe, don’t ignore them. It doesn’t have to be a full conversation, but honestly, even just liking someone’s post when they are in the dark can bring brightness to their day. Because knowing that someone is there helps us to feel less alone. If you have anything that you would like to add to this discussion, feel free to comment below or come and connect with us on Twitter.

When we talk about social anxiety online, it’s often written about in terms of upward comparisons, trolling and feeling isolated. What we don’t seem to talk about is how social anxiety can play out from the very thing that we’re supposed to be doing. Engagement. I’ve noticed a change in myself of late. I’ve had a Twitter account for years, used for many different reasons. Yet recently I’ve come to dread having to speak to people online, much the same as when offline. We all know that one thing we have to do to feed and please the algorithm is to get chatting. We’ve all seen it and been it, piggybacking off a popular account, replying to a group of people in our communities daily, just simple things like ‘have a nice day’ or ‘hope you’re good’. Sounds benign right? Of course, there is nothing wrong with anyone exchanging such pleasantries, but we know that there are some forms of engagement and attention that we don’t want. I was on a personal Twitter break for a little while late last year. Since I’ve returned everything seems different. When you return to your old Twitter space and that same space isn’t who you are any more, it can be quite surreal to see how much has changed. I’ve found myself in a site of cultural mismatch, that has resulted in a lot of anger, pent-up frustration and calling what feels like everyone and everything out. What I’ve perhaps failed to acknowledge is how anxious I am online these days, speaking with people carries too much weight but at the same time I do want to keep in touch with friends. Then there are the reply guys. Since I started using my personal account again it has felt relentless. It happened on Christmas day, my birthday, there was often one there. In these moments of happiness and excitement, we don’t have time to go and check out everyone who is engaging with us. We reply to them thinking, ‘they’re just being friendly’ but actually it’s all about them wanting to boost themselves by targeting a large group of women and seeing who will engage. Many of us have fallen into this trap, it’s not a weakness, more a social norm that we know we should be polite to those who are friendly to us and they exploit that. So there’s the algorithm, the norms, the pests and our own moral compass – all hitting out and laying on the pressure to engage. Is it any wonder that social anxiety online goes beyond what we are seeing and consuming, to how we feel pressured to behave and engage? Replies… The problem with Twitter replies is that they are unpredictable. Unless you insulate yourself and disable them you’re open to anything that could come your way, which in itself causes a lot of anxiety. When you see that notification go off and lines of text appear in your mentions, it can put you into fight or flight mode. I’ve lost count of the times J has said ‘someone just replied to us’ on ASW Twitter and my first reaction is literally ‘Oh no, what now?’. Because after years of dealing with replies, you come to know how it can go. We’ve all had the smarmy reply when we’ve argued a case for something, or the ambiguous reply, but you’re not allowed to ask what they mean in case it makes you look stupid. We’ve been mansplained, trolled, and even had debates with friends at times. Even the more benign and friendly replies can become exhausting when there are too many of them. You often don’t know who you are talking to, and at times you don’t know how to respond. It’s a site of social anxiety that is under-explored and not considered enough. Solutions… You might be thinking, well if it’s really that bad then maybe just take a Twitter break. I can completely get behind that but sometimes we just want to be online without having to take part in the theatrics. We just want to read stuff, perhaps comment here or there and be able to share our stuff without a comeback. But some of us are also trying to network on Twitter, trying to build a life, a movement or other venture. You could be someone who is completely burnt out but to be seen and visible you need attention, and that means you need to engage, no matter what. On my personal account, I tend to restrict replies to people I’m following or sometimes I disable them altogether. But at times we need to engage and learn from others because it’s not just about who we are as individuals. I’ve been speaking with people about this recently, and what that taught me is that we don’t need to reply to everyone. We may feel that we do because we’ve internalised the norms of being polite and the fear of being unfollowed, but really, this stuff is not more important than our health. The problem is that because this isn’t being spoken about at large, and Twitter is renowned as a place of chatting and debate, it’s not something we consider for ourselves. If we suppress how anxious we are feeling, eventually we start to lash out. We lose sleep and worry about what’s coming next. I’ll be honest. I started to disable comments on my tweets by the evening because I was waking in the night fearing the replies that might be waiting. If there was one waiting I would be awake, at times for the rest of the night wondering how to respond. That’s how bad it got for me but I’ve acknowledged it now, and I think it’s important to share this because I know I’m not alone. Twitter is a place of community, and without it, many of us would perhaps feel a bit lost. However, if we are to build communities on the platform that are inclusive and valued to the same extent as offline communities, then we need to consider the anxieties that people have. Because social anxiety online is just as prevalent as offline. If you are reading this and have also experienced social anxiety on Twitter, then I hope this helps. I don’t have all of the answers and solutions, but acknowledging and speaking openly about this issue might spark some discussion and help others to understand, whether they experience it themselves or through a loved one. A key point to end on is that replies will arrive, and engagement will always be there, but it’s ok to step away from it when we need to. We don’t have to reply to everyone.

I recently watched Causeway. I was struck with emotion at points throughout the film, and left with this reflection once it ended. Everything about this story spoke powerfully, from its social realism, to overcoming trauma, a narrative of broken lives and finding new ways forward. At the centre of its gravity, change. Change can feel impossible, despite being inevitable. Some of us need it, some of us want it, sometimes it is forcefully imposed upon us. It’s generally framed through a positive lens, yet not all change is for the better. Sometimes it’s more to do with enduring what is put before us. Hoping that we can make some meaning out of it. What is emphasised about change? We tend to perceive change though life events, milestones, rites of passage and moments of transition. Yet change is broader than this. Everything is continually changing, ourselves included. When was the last time you watched a film, read a book or a news article that told an everyday story of change? Something that simply presented change without significance, such as the weather changing from rainfall to heavy rainfall, or a story of someone who decided to wear a different coat on a given day. Thinking of such examples feels strange, abstract and perhaps even mockable. Because change isn’t valued as an everyday story. What this does to us. The problem isn’t so much to do with the essence of change. It’s more to do with how we are unable to value ourselves in a landscape of grand stories and life fulfillment. We dismiss so much of our lived experiences that we neglect to see what has changed, and how much we have changed. We value the wrong types of change, often the types that are individualised and status driven rather than collective and prosocial. Not everyone has the same access to positive change, and it is often those in the most precarious positions that are exposed to unwanted and negative change. Some of us have to work much harder for positive change, some of us may never face any significant change. Others may live their lives in a continual cycle of change that feels so intense that it cannot be ignored. Whatever our experience of change, we still don’t feel that we have done enough. Whether we want to stay in one place, or move on, all too often we don’t have this choice. Yet, it is those of us in disadvantaged positions who are in the greatest need of change. Moving on. Moving on.. As shown through the stories of Causeway, we all need to move out of bad situations and painful experiences. It’s our survival instinct. Moving on isn’t just emotional though, it’s economic. To move on indicates that we have the agency to create change for ourselves. How many times do we see a story about someone who climbed a mountain or did something really ‘life changing’ as an act of moving forward? Yet rarely do we question how the person raised the funds to do this. It’s often glossed over as setting up a business or a charity fund. Yet to do that requires a great level of social and economic capital. It requires being noticed by the right people, and most importantly time. Even following trauma, so many of us have to propel ourselves back into the world without any scope for creativity or innovation. When we are economically disadvantaged, we do not have the time to move on and create change. We have to do whatever is needed to financially survive, stories that are not so interesting to read. Yet these are the stories that we should be reading. Hearing those who couldn’t move forward, those who didn’t move on. Because those stories are where the truth lies, those are the stories where change is needed the most. A new story. Life changing events will continue to sell as social and cultural resources, because they promote independence. Yet unless change can be for collective benefit by equalising society, then ultimately it isn’t inspirational. It’s ideological. Another divisive measure of class and socioeconomic advantage. But there are the small, everyday changes too. Those that tell us more about where we are going collectively, as well as highlighting our flaws as a society. Those that arise by us thinking critically, questioning who we are and what we need to do differently. We may not all be able to climb mountains, but we can change our lives and we can change this story. Change in this sense is inspirational, because we are all a part of it.

You don’t need to be middle class or even semi-privileged to write, craft, study or learn something new. But you do need to be allowed time to express yourself in this way, and you need this time whilst maintaining an income. For those of us from less advantaged backgrounds, we perceive our lives to consist of less creativity. Why? Because we learn to suppress it. We don’t have the status or power to control our lives. We work for others, we do as we are told to financially survive. We often go unseen, but this doesn’t have to define who we are… A new image.. Creativity, boundaries blurred It’s very difficult to envisage yourself creatively. What do you think when you imagine an artist? How do you think of a writer, an illustrator, or a photographer? I can imagine. I think of those pristine black and white images too. Beautiful, successful, powerful, all with a strong background in marketing, design and of course the key sales pitch, ‘I was lucky, you can be like me too’.. Apart from we all know that it isn’t true. These tropes and stereotypes work well. They keep us in our place, and serve a strong message that creativity should be reserved for those who know best. Those who are experts, those with the time and skills to dedicate to professionalism… But we are experts and professionals too… Working class creativity in action… Think of someone you know well. Someone who you might see every day, be it the neighbour, a family member or even one of your Twitter friends. Look at what they are doing. It’s creative. It’s just not been sold to us in this way. Whether you are an online activist or someone who simply makes others smile, you are creative. You are enough. You just need to be allowed the time to be. So how do we do this? There is never an easy solution out of the constrictions of life, especially for those of us without privilege. For me, it’s mostly finding the small moments (like now), sitting on my sofa with ten minutes to spare, writing this blog on my phone and wondering if it is even worth sharing. But I will share this, because I feel that I can be creative as a writer, and I hope that this will give others inspiration to find their own creativity too. We all have creativity within us. It’s society that tells us that we shouldn’t be, a society that likes to keep us in our place.. But art is for all, and we can be professionals too.

Twitter… Dare we admit, but for so many of us it’s a staple of our lives. For those of us who use Twitter daily, the thought of its demise is bleak. Even the lurkers of its world would arguably be lost without it. Ironically, I’ve actually been on a personal Twitter break for around a month now, yet I’m still checking in regularly through my alternative accounts. Where else do we go to gather such a rapid fix of news, culture and updates? To be away from it entirely is a tough break and not one for the faint-hearted. FOMO jokes aside, as humans in the digital age we need to know what’s happening as it’s happening. Gone are the days of waiting for the newspaper to drop on the doormat. Identity… Twitter runs deeper though, it’s a rich source of identity, a way of life. It hosts our friendships and communities. Where we live in a world that runs so rigid on norms and social etiquette, Twitter allows us to be something different. We can be accepted as disabled people in our full entirety, and we can learn about who we are outside of being marginalised in wider society. We can set up businesses, try out new ideas, get published, and finally find ourselves accepted. Twitter isn’t just a news outlet. Its hashtags and communities are what brought us together, and now we collectively worry about whether it will leave us apart.. Where do we all go now? (Credit: @jon1987) What now? Tweets and DMs flying around in a state of frenzy. People checking in with their close friends and wider acquaintances trying to find a way to keep in touch, just in case. Can we truly cast any judgement on such acts given the global crises we’ve found ourselves within over recent years? Twitter going down is not inconceivable in the era of crisis, it’s just another new problem to resolve. If there is one thing we humans are adept at, it’s this and our need to socialise. Digital life is no exception. What will become of our movements, our regular chats, seeing that tweet from your friend every day, the one that always makes you smile? Where will we find new discourses and embrace our new identities that arise from them? The argument is that there will always be alternative spaces and platforms, but there is nothing quite like Twitter. Nothing like its breadth and openness to find new friends. Our communities there are a family, an outlet, and a full-scale army when we need to call the world out. Where is Twitter going? So, where is Twitter going? None of us can be sure, but whether it will remain, change or vanish as the place we once knew, there’s a valuable takeaway from this. One that shows us just how real digital life is, with our online communities at the heart of this.