Category: Commentary

In their own words

In their own words

sandybarker

I’m a reader.

I love reading and I read widely across genres—though, lately I tend to read mostly in my own genres, romance and women’s contemporary fiction. That said, I also love a good thriller or a crime, historical or horror novel.

Lately, I’ve been on an autobiography kick, reading about people of note in their own (or close to) words. The last time I read back-to-back autobiographies was about 30 years ago when I was obsessed with the Golden Age of Hollywood and read everything I could. Lauren Bacall stands out. I sobbed like mad when Bogie died, even thought I knew it was coming.

Perhaps that’s part of the fascination when reading an autobiography of a notable person. We already know the broad strokes, the highlights and lowlights of their (just as) notable lives. This type of storytelling—and it is storytelling, for aren’t we all storytellers when we regale our loved ones and new friends with anecdotes from our lives?—fleshes out those ‘Kodak moments’, the ones everyone knows about. Autobiographies give us insight into the author’s thoughts and feelings during those public moments, and often we get to read the result of reflective practice—the ‘What was I doing?’ and ‘What was I thinking?’ questions that we ask ourselves. We can learn about how those decisions impacted the person they became. We can, quite often, learn from their mistakes.

But I mostly love reading autobiographies for the moments in between the world-renowned events, the moments that reveal the person, the one who eats microwave meals almost every night, the one who suffers from crippling self-doubt, the one who judges their friends’ performances and choices. Those nuggets are GOLD.

So, here are my latest reads in order since the start of 2023.

This is literally Alan Rickman’s diaries, which he wrote in most days—sometimes just a line about where he went for dinner or what show he saw, sometimes paragraphs, especially if he was riled up about a friend’s performance (on stage or on film) and had a lot to say about how it could have been improved. There is insight into how he felt about working on the Harry Potter film (essentially, he and the other crème de la crème of British acting were simply ‘extra’s while the kids showed up not knowing their lines and emoting all over the set). There is little in this about his relationship with his wife, one that spanned decades, but his relationships with close friends get a lot of ‘page time’.

It took a little bit of time to get into the cadence—he didn’t write his diaries for us, he wrote them for himself—but I found I could read a year in one sitting, some of it interesting, funny, heartwarming, some of it dull. I cried at the end—again, even though I knew how it ‘ended’—because he was a favourite actor. I fell in love with him in Truly, Madly, Deeply then again in Die Hard, Prince of Thieves, and Sense and Sensibility. As Emma Thompson says in the foreword, he was complex and talented and (oh so) sexy.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

I was SO excited to read this book.

I’m not a royalist, per se, but I watched Harry and his brother grow up under the scrutiny of the public eye. I adored his mother, evening staying up VERY late (as I was living in the US at the time) and watching the royal wedding on television, aged 11. I will never forget Diana transposing Charles’ names—Charles Arthur Philip George, instead of Charles Philip Arthur George. It rocked me to my core when she died (I don’t claim to be the only one). I was on tour as Tour Manager for Contiki, came down for breakfast in Austria and the radio was on. I had just enough German to understand that something bad had happened to Princess Diana. We switched the radio to BBC and got the news. I was on tour, I had to tell the (mostly) Brits, Aussies, Canadians and Kiwis what had happened. So many of the 53 people on the tour were devastated and for the next week or so we bought and exchanged every English language newspaper we could get our hands on . We arrived back in London on the day of the cortege, a few hours after she was laid to rest. And London was a ghost town. I said goodbye to the tour group, holed up in my hotel room, and watched the entire thing on TV weeping. And all I could think was ‘those poor boys having to walk behind their mother’s coffin’. And the image of that card on the wreath of white flowers with ‘MUMMY’ scrawled across it … that image will never leave me.

Years later, I was thrilled when Harry found Meghan, who seemed to be a true love match. And then I watched from afar as the monarchy and the press tore her apart. Why was this a much-anticipated read for me? Because after years of the other side of the story, I wanted Harry’s. Yes, it’s ghost written but it’s written so beautifully, so immersively, I felt like I got a strong sense of how it was to grow up and head out into the world for Prince Harry, how it felt to meet a likeminded woman who cares as much about people and the world as he does, how it felt when his place in his family was reinforced again and again (the spare), and how it felt to be that little boy who was left motherless in the most public way.

I devoured it.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This book, in contrast, was not ghost written. It started as hundreds of lines of poetry, and with the deft encouragement and support of an excellent editor became mostly prose, with lines of poetry (SO CLEVERLY) retained at key points to really drive home the pervading emotions of a particular incident or time in her life. Many people will feel like they know exactly who Pamela Anderson is. I suspected there was (MUCH) more to her than her dual personas of bombshell and activist and guess, what? There is!

What I came to discover was a bright, interesting, interested woman who is well-read, well-travelled and has had a lifetime of trauma but is still standing. She speaks of people in her life, including ex-husband Tommy Lee, with such compassion and love, this could read as a lesson in forgiveness and inner peace. She’s funny, sexy, smart and savvy, and she seems to be at peace with her place in the world, something I will take with me. It is also BEAUTIFULLY written, with a flow and energy that drew me in and kept me immersed.

By the end, I metaphorically pumping my fist in the air, shouting, ‘Go, Pammy!’ I absolutely adore and admire her. What a human being.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

I wanted to love this. I (along with 1/2 the planet) was a massive Friends fan. It’s still my ‘go-to’ when I’m on a plane and the selection of movies is rubbish. Could it be any funnier? Of course, I knew at the time that Matthew Perry suffered from addiction—he was rake thin one season, bloated the next. As he says in the book (and I’m paraphrasing), ‘If I was skinny, it was the pills, if I was fat, it was the booze.’ I’ve followed his career since and have especially loved his guest appearances in shows like The West Wing, even though his appearance has always belied the demons at play. I really have a lot of respect for his talent and he seems like a decent human being.

That said, this is a rough read—and not because of the subject matter. It’s just clunky and repetitive (at times, stream of consciousness) and there were many passages and chapters that were just self-indulgent and dull . I am not sure if these were stylistic choices—let’s make the writing and format reflect the chaos of your inner life—but they didn’t work for me. I especially found it odd that the only girlfriend he ever mentions by name is the most famous, Julia Roberts. The rest are by their first name or are nameless, which is an feeble strategy to protect identities when a three-second Google search reveals who he is talking about. And what is his beef with Keanu Reeves? He actually says it’s a shame Keanu is still walking around in the world. (Back off, Matty—Keanu is a righteous dude.)

Could have used a strong editorial arm and been 1/3 shorter. A few interesting insights but not my fave.

⭐⭐⭐💫

Next up…

I can’t wait for this and expect it will similar in tone and style to this book, which I read years ago and LOVED:

If you’re a Rob Lowe fan, he’s a brilliant writer—funny, self-deprecating, insightful. Great stories told by a wonderful storyteller. I will let you know what I think of Sam Neil’s book.

Till next time …

Guest blogger: Authors for Mental Health – Lucy McLaren

Guest blogger: Authors for Mental Health – Lucy McLaren

sandybarker

Welcoming Lucy McLaren to Off the Beaten Track today to wrap up the Authors for Mental Health blog series. Lucy is a fantasy author and professional counsellor, who is passionate about writing stories that include a realistic representation and exploration of mental health issues. Her debut novel, Awakening: The Commune’s Curse Book 1, releases on 1st May 2022 with Santa Fe Writers Project.

Over to Lucy…

How to implement positive mental health practice in your writing routine

As a writer and counsellor, I am really interested in the ways in which we can implement and explore mental health both within our stories and our lives. Writing is arguably a challenging pursuit, especially if you’re submitting your work out to various people and publications. The inevitable rejections that will come rolling in are bound to have an impact on anyone, no matter how thick their skin. In this post, I’ve collated some tips and advice that may help if you’re a fellow writer (or even if you’re not; this can really be catered to anyone) who sometimes finds yourself struggling with aspects of your mental health.

Comparison to others

This one can be tough, especially if you’re part of the many writing communities on the various social media platforms. Being part of these communities can be incredibly helpful, allowing you to find like-minded individuals, friends and readers who will support you in your journey. But with this comes the other writers sharing their journeys too—both their rejections and their successes. If you see a fellow author has a success, you’re likely to feel pleased for them, of course, but it can also lead to feelings of frustration, stress or anxiety. Research has found that social networking sites can negatively impact upon mental well-being because of the resulting feelings of envy that come from social comparisons (Krasnova et al, 2013; Lee, 2020).

So what can we do to counter this inherent urge many of us have to compare ourselves to others? Hagan (2015) suggests that rather than comparing ourselves to others, we could try comparing ourselves to our past selves, otherwise known as temporal comparison (Stuart, 1977). Utilising this method allows us to set goals for ourselves and see how far we’ve come, which can be really helpful for a writer. Perhaps you could compare a first draft of work to the current version, noticing the improvements in your craft. Perhaps you have written more short stories, received positive feedback from beta readers or met some great writer friends online. Whatever you may find through your temporal comparison, it is bound to be a more positive experience for your mental health because you are focused inwardly and not on comparing yourself to other people and their experiences, which will never be the same as your own. You will be able to keep focusing on what you want to achieve in your writing, realigning where necessary, and taking the little steps towards your bigger goals.

You might find doing the following will assist you in keeping on track (and away from those pesky comparisons):

  1. Keep a journal noting down your hopes and dreams for your writing.
  2. Note down whenever you accomplish a certain goal such as meeting a word count or completing a story.
  3. Remind yourself of the positives such as feedback from otherwise and what you enjoy about writing.

Imposter syndrome—how can we counter it?

I’m not sure I was really aware of how imposter syndrome (Clance & Imes, 1978) strikes until I became a writer. It impacts upon people from all walks of life and in all sorts of situations, but for me it’s really taken hold since I’ve taken on the official title of “author”—and this is a sentiment I have seen repeated by others in the writing community.

In a nutshell, imposter syndrome involves “a pattern of behavior where people doubt their accomplishments and have a persistent, often internalized fear of being exposed as a fraud” (Dalla-Camina, 2018). This resounds with me and, I’m sure, with many other authors. In a profession that rejection is so intrinsically a part of, perhaps it is difficult to avoid feelings of self-doubt. If you’re persistently feeling inadequate and questioning your abilities, however, it can be difficult to keep going—to keep writing, keep submitting, keep reaching for your goals. Here’s a list of suggestions for how you can help yourself overcome such feelings:

  1. Recognise the persistent negative thinking. You could start by noting down whenever you notice a negative thought popping into your head. This is often the first step I note to counselling clients—if they are able to tell me about and recognise a negative voice in their heads that is repeatedly telling them bad things about themselves, that is the first move towards gaining self-awareness, and with self-awareness comes the ability to  change.
  2. If you’re struggling with being able to pinpoint the negative thoughts, utilise tools such as mindfulness. I have personally found the Headspace app to be very effective, but I’m sure there are many options to choose from. Sometimes all it takes is a few minutes of mindful breathing and relaxing to feel calmer and better able to sort through your thoughts. That may allow you to begin to notice certain patterns of thinking.
  3. Keep a gratitude journal. Being able to reflect on the positive aspects of your writing, and to keep reminding yourself of them, will help to combat those self-doubts. And the more you focus on gratitude, the easier it will become to keep reminding yourself. If you feel the imposter syndrome type worries sneaking in, bring up that gratitude journal and re-read over it.
  4. Notice whether there are any particular triggers to your negative thoughts and self-doubts. It might be that earlier tendency of comparing yourself to others I covered, or something totally separate. Whatever it is, if you notice a pattern then you are more likely to feel prepared to cope as and when you encounter those triggers in future.

Be kind to yourself

This is a piece of advice I give out far more than I implement—and I know it. What is so difficult about being kind to ourselves? I’ve asked counselling clients before whether they would speak to a friend the same way they speak to themselves… at the same time fully recognising the fact that this is an aspect of myself I should confront far more than I do. But I’m going to tell you what I tell my counselling clients: we are all human, we all have tough days, and we all deserve kindness. Self-care is the first step towards feeling that kindness we deserve, and if the earlier sections of this post have resonated with you then I’d argue that you need some self-care, too.

Self-care can look different for everyone. It might be having a bath, going for a walk, sitting in the garden, doing yoga… whatever it is for you, make a concerted effort to do a little something for yourself as regularly as you are able. Schedule it in your diary, if that’ll help. Step away from your laptop, phone, or tablet, and give yourself a breather. Your writing will be there when you get back, and you might just feel better for taking time away from it. From personal experience, I can say that I feel reinvigorated in my writing whenever I allow my mind time to unwind and my thoughts time to calm down.

Writer or not, we are all human and being kind to ourselves is a great step towards improving our mental health.

References

Albert, S. (1977). ‘Temporal comparison theory’. Psychological Review, 84(6), 485–503.

Clance, P. R., & Imes, S. A. (1978). ‘The imposter phenomenon in high achieving women: Dynamics and therapeutic intervention’. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research & Practice, 15(3), 241–247.

Dalla-Camina, M. (2018) ‘The Reality of Imposter Syndrome‘.

Hagan, E. (2015) ‘3 Reasons to Stop Comparing Yourself to Others‘.

Krasnova, H., Wenninger, H., Widjaja, T., & Buxmann, P. (2013). Envy on Facebook: a hidden threat to users’ life satisfaction? Proceedings of the 11th international conference on Wirtschaftsinformatik. Universität Leipzig, Germany.

Lee, J. K. (2020) The effects of social comparison orientation on psychological well-being in social networking sites: Serial mediation of perceived social support and self-esteem. Curr Psychol. 2020 Oct 14 : 1–13.

Vaish, A., Grossman, T., and Woodward, A. (2008) Not all emotions are created equal: The negativity bias in social-emotional development. Psychol Bull. 2008 May; 134(3): 383–403.

Guest Blogger: Tania Chandler – Authors for Mental Health

Guest Blogger: Tania Chandler – Authors for Mental Health

sandybarker

I’m pleased to welcome Tania Chandler to Off the Beaten Track today. Tania is a Melbourne-based writer, writing teacher, and editor. Her books have been published in Australia and internationally; shortlisted for awards and selected for reading programs. Tania writes about time, trauma, memory and mental health. All That I Remember About Dean Cola is her third novel.

Over to you, Tania.

A TORTURED MIND

I wrote All That I Remember About Dean Cola — a novel that examines mental illness and trauma — while battling a major anxiety disorder. Reading back through my journals from the time, I’m not sure how I managed to achieve anything. I have decided to share with Authors for Mental Health part of my experience to let others suffering with anxiety know they are not alone, and to contribute another voice to the conversation hoping to reduce the stigma surrounding mental illness.

At the time, I thought that being unwell was helping me to write, to get into the head of my protagonist, so I didn’t seek help until a few months after finishing Dean Cola. I found a new doctor who ordered blood tests, which showed that some of my brain chemicals were at levels you would expect to find in a patient with a tumour. He introduced me to neuroplasticity brain science, which is about rewiring the brain, and — most importantly — he prescribed a medication that worked for me. Those things were life changing. Life saving.

I have had anxiety all my life. I was first diagnosed with panic disorder and GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder) about 20 years ago. Back then, I didn’t believe I had anxiety. I argued with doctors that it was a heart condition and insisted on having tests. Anxiety disorders are different for everybody living with them. For me it has been mostly heart palpitations, insomnia, stomach pain, and fear that I’m dying. ALL THE TIME. Sometimes also breathing difficulties, chest pain, muscle spasms, numbness, tingling, odd aches and pains, shaking, migraines, dissociation, dizziness, visual disturbances, irrational thinking, and a million other emotional and physical symptoms that constantly change, just to keep me guessing. As soon as you get used to one set of symptoms, your anxiety disorder will produce a whole range of new ones for you to deal with. And anxiety disorder is: Sitting on the couch in the middle of the night with chest pain and heart palpitations, breathing into your cupped hands, paddling your feet and doing all the other things your psychologist has told you to do. Phone by your side, ready to call triple 0. Heart attack or panic attack? The symptoms are terrifyingly similar. A false-alarm trip to hospital is not appealing, even less so if you have health anxiety as well. So, you wait and see if you die; if you don’t, then it’s just another panic attack. A psychologist once summed it all up for me so perfectly in just three words: A tortured mind.

Cruelly, becoming a published author — my lifelong dream — only made my anxiety disorder worse. Possibly, I think, because the things that come with putting your work (which is really yourself; it’s hard to separate the two) out there — exposure, judgement, reviews, social media, public speaking — are things I would have previously run a million miles to avoid. And the fear of failure and rejection gets worse too. There is far more (mostly self-imposed) pressure on writing a third book than on a first. I have read a lot of advice recently about not putting your writing (or any kind of work) before your health. I am weighing this up before I commit to writing another novel, while at the same time wondering if not writing is just as hard as writing.

Anxiety sucks — you can’t fight it and you can’t run away from it; it will always win, it will always catch you — but there are ways to cope and learn to live with it. Things (aside from medication) that have helped me include exercise and talking to others. Anxiety doesn’t care much for exercise and usually leaves me alone when I go for long walks or sessions at the gym. Talking to somebody you trust, your GP or a therapist, also brings relief, as do the forums on mental health organisation websites. Lifeline is another helpful service. Anxiety is a terrifying and lonely place to be. It’s hard, but reaching out to find you are not alone feels like letting go of the heaviest weight you’ve been carrying around forever.

Guest Blogger: Jess Hernandez – Authors for Mental Health

Guest Blogger: Jess Hernandez – Authors for Mental Health

sandybarker

It’s a pleasure to welcome Jess Hernandez to Off the Beaten Track today as part of the Authors for Mental Health blog series.

Jess Hernandez is a not only a writer, but also a librarian, teacher and all-around word girl.

When not being used as a human canvas for baby food art, she writes books for kids. Her debut book, First Day of Unicorn School, illustrated by Mariano Epelbaum, was published in 2021 with Capstone. 

Sometimes Jess writes essays, poems, and short stories for grown-ups, too. Jess lives in a very small, very loud house in Washington with her husband, their three children, a puppy and four chickens.

And now over to Jess.

Outrunning My Kidneys

It was an inconvenient time for a breakdown. I was four years into my marriage, five into my career and adulthood was in full swing. I had a dog, a loving husband, car payments, health insurance, and a 401K [superannuation fund]. Things were going pretty much according to plan.

Except I couldn’t have been more miserable if I’d tried.

An average night found me watching Food Network and binge-eating cupcakes on the couch, feeling exhausted and terrified by the things my mind kept telling me. “You’re useless. You’ll never be happy. There’s something wrong with you.” And most pervasively, “What right do you have to feel sad? Nothing really bad has ever happened to you.” For no reason and for every possible reason, it was the absolute worst time of my life.

Using Dr. Google, I tried to cure myself from the outside in. I filled my apartment with houseplants. I took up crochet and started playing the piano again. I prayed and I exercised. When that didn’t work, I quit my job, changed careers, and went back to school. I even moved to a tropical island. (Yes, really.)

But it only made it worse. My very soul hurt, and I fantasised about ways to make it all stop.

Trying to escape my depression was like trying to outrun my kidneys. My job, my apartment, and the weather didn’t make me like this. My brain did, and until I did something about that, nothing would ever change.

So I got help. I got a diagnosis, a therapist, and a prescription. And while the pills have saved my life many times over, the most helpful thing didn’t come in a bottle or on a therapist’s couch.

The best thing I’ve ever done for my depression is to accept it.

Unlike a lot of people, my depression will never go away. It’s not something I’m going to get over or leave behind like an outgrown sweater. I’m permanently and forever mentally ill. It’s part of me, like my crooked nose and bowlegs. I can treat it. I can ignore it. But I’m never going to get rid of it.

It was a tough truth to swallow. I wanted so desperately to be normal again. Every time I felt something like happiness, I wondered, “Is this it? Have I cracked it?” Tentatively, I’d wean myself off pills and declare myself better.

When the darkness inevitably came back, it knocked the wind out of me, and I would grieve the person I once was all over again. It took years, but eventually I learned to understand that this is who I am now. This person who gets hobbled by sadness and gutted by pointless guilt. This is me. I finally kept taking my pills and stopped trying to convince myself I was better. I know now that my depression isn’t going anywhere

It was a hard realisation. But there was some good news, too: there might not be a way out, but there was a way through.

I don’t always feel so bad. Not every day is an uphill slog through endless suck. Instead, it varies. Some days I have depression. It’s like having a cold – a nagging tickle in my throat that I can power through. But some days – not all, but some – depression has me. It kicks me in the teeth and shoves me down the stairs. It stands on my throat and screams in my face. Those days are bad. But I know now they won’t last forever.

What’s more, I survive them. With practice, I learned to see them coming and take cover. I learned to be kind to myself. I talk back to my brain when it tells me I shouldn’t be feeling this way. And I accept that this is not my fault.

Mental illness is not a moral failing or a lack of faith or will power. It’s a straight up medical condition that requires medication, not self-flagellation or guilt. I try forgive myself for being broken and glue myself back together the best I can.

I learned to do it openly, no longer hiding my struggles from people.

At first, I kept my diagnosis to myself. I was scared people would judge or run. Some did. But most didn’t.

Most love and accept me for me. Most wish I’d spoken sooner so they could help. They make space for my illness and try to understand. But that only happened when I stopped being afraid and talked about it. When I did, I discovered I wasn’t nearly as alone as I thought. Instead, my being brave helped others overcome their fear of telling the truth. So I learned to speak up and speak out. I learned there are people I can help.

I’m not saying this is some sort of blessing in disguise. It’s not. But it’s not a death sentence either. I will survive it. I just have to believe that the good things in my life outweigh the daily pain of living. And they do. The biggest things in my life are the good things. And the longer I live, the more good things I have. Like a family and a home and a job I love.

So I stick around.

I keep breathing, even when it hurts. Because there are beautiful things still on the way and I want to be here when they come.

Image ‘Holding You’ by li.fe fotografie. Flickr.

Guest Blogger: Dani Vee – Authors for Mental Health

Guest Blogger: Dani Vee – Authors for Mental Health

sandybarker

Today, I welcome guest blogger, Dani Vee, as part of the blog series for Authors for Mental Health. Dani is the host of the popular literary podcast Words and Nerds. Her debut picture book ‘My EXTRAordinary Mum’ is out in August (huge congratulations, Dani) and she loves dark chocolate, camomile tea, and books that surprise her. And she thinks Oscar Wilde is the bomb!

Over to Dani …

AN ANXIOUS MIND

Anxiety is something I’ve always lived with, but haven’t always talked about. It’s taken many forms over the years; sometimes it sits beside me quietly, sometimes it ebbs and flows, and occasionally it swallows me whole. 

If anxiety has always been part of my life, so have creative pursuits, and there have been many – theatre groups, drama classes, bands, writing, podcasting – however, regardless of the creative activity itself, these are the times I feel most as peace. 

NOTHING TRUMPS THE MOMENT

If anxiety is caused by an uncertainty of the future or a sensitivity to a complex world, its kryptonite is presence. Creativity forces us to live in the moment, because when you’re creating something new there is no space to think about what the future may or may not hold. 

BEING AFRAID

The Words and Nerds podcast was born from that fear. I had just come out of the fog of one of the most terrifying and debilitating episodes of anxiety I had ever experienced, triggered by a challenging IVF pregnancy and the sudden passing of my aunty/godmother two weeks after having my first child. I couldn’t function, I woke every morning at three am in the middle of a panic attack and spent every moment as a new mother feeling afraid. 

I went to psychologists, I meditated, I experimented with prescription medications. My mental health improved little by little but there was still something tugging at my gut. Despite knowing very little (aka nothing) about podcasting, I started one. I learnt as I went, I made mistakes, I asked questions but what I didn’t do was stop, because when I was recording an interview, it was the only thing I focused on. For thirty minutes my anxiety no longer existed and this feel good emotion became addictive!

TRIGGERS & CURES

With a clearer head I discovered three confronting things about anxiety: 

  1. anxiety wasn’t always always caused by a specific trigger, 
  2. anxiety didnt have a cure and
  3. creativity was the key to managing an anxious brain.  

The freedom that came with the idea that anxiety is not always caused by a specific trigger was a huge relief! Gone was the over analysis of every single thing I’d done that week and I began to accept that my anxiety was mostly caused by a psychological and physiological response to a complex world. 

The realisation that my anxiety would never be cured was as confronting as it was liberating. So if I have this thing and it’s unlikely to go away, I needed to learn to live with it, maybe even make friends with it and accept that it probably always going to sit beside me. 

As my creative pursuits increase my anxiety decreases. I’m learning to live with its ebbs and flows, and have accepted that my anxiety is dependant on my environment, sleeping pattern, diet, menstrual cycle, health, unexpected stuff life throws my way and sometimes nothing at all. I’m learning to accept that I am likely to have another debilitating episode of anxiety in my future, but I also know I will come out the other side relatively unscathed. 

An anxious brain needs to be gently reminded to live in the moment, and because of this knowledge, I make sure I carve out something creative every single day. I’ve come to view vulnerability as a strength and I’m working on not being so afraid. 

The School of Life says it best ‘Anxiety is not always a sickness, a weakness of the mind or an error to which we should locate a medical solution. It is mostly a reasonable and sensitive response to the genuine strangeness, terror, uncertainty and riskiness of existence.’ 

Coming next: Kate Foster and I will be on Dani’s podcast April 3, with special guests Wendy Demarte, a Mental Health First Aid trainer, and fellow author Anna Whately. We’ll be discussing the how we explore mental health in our writing, how we can practice self-care, and how we can reach out to others to support them.

Artwork by: Devil Katy. Image description: Illustration of smiling woman with her eyes closed and ideas and creativity flowing from her mind, depicted as different patterns and swirls.

Guest Blogger: Khale McHurst – Authors for Mental Health

Guest Blogger: Khale McHurst – Authors for Mental Health

sandybarker

Today, as part of the blogging series for Authors for Mental Health, I welcome guest blogger, artist and author, Khale McHurst. Khale creates on the lands of the Wurundjeri people where they live an incredibly boring life with their wife and pets. Khale has been using graphic storytelling to connect with others since their mid-twenties, writing stories about mental illness, recovery, queerness and religious trauma. Khale’s illustrations are influenced by their Australian upbringing (which involved both an avid interest in native flora and fauna, and a steady diet of pop culture) as well as time spent living in rural Japan. Whilst learning to diversify, Khale prefers to create with pen and paper wherever possible.

And now, Khale’s post …

Recovery Through Storytelling

I never set out to write comics about mental illness. I’d read comics as a child – bite-sized adventures peppered with gags, neatly arranged so as to fit into a standard issue. I was not familiar with comic storytelling that addressed Serious Issues. That changed in my mid-twenties, when a doctor diagnosed me with anorexia nervosa (after my then-partner had broken down and begged me to go see one, terrified by my disappearing body).

After the initial flood of information about my failing organs and the importance of weight restoration came other diagnoses. Depression. Anxiety. OCD. My malnourished brain struggled to make sense of it all, and even more so to communicate these struggles to my partner.

I was an illustrator, but once the words ‘mental illness’ became a part of my medical record, the medications started – experimenting with different classes, different brands, different doses. ‘The right fit is out there, we just have to keep trying’. ‘Are you sure you can’t tolerate these side effects?’ ‘Yes, it’s supposed to make you that drowsy’. But worst of all: I couldn’t draw. My artistic passion completely dissipated overnight, and as someone who had always expressed themselves on the page, it felt like having my hands cut off.

This went on for months, thoughts and feelings raging inside me but with no creative outlet. My frustration escaped as crying fits dispersed throughout the work day and desperate bouts of self-harm in the evenings. I needed this out of me. I had to find a way to release the valve.

Comics are deceptively simple. Each panel is just one small drawing. Surely I could manage one small drawing. Once I had drawn one, I drew another, then another in sequence until I had made a page of tiny drawings arranged into some sort of narrative. I showed my partner. ‘This makes much more sense than how you’ve been explaining it to me’, was her response. I made more pages, and each time I showed them to her she understood me better.

What was far more miraculous though, was that I began to understand myself better. I kept drawing, one tiny picture at a time (for the thought of anything grander left me utterly stupefied), writing the story of my diagnosis, and using these pages as a kind of self-directed art therapy.

That was over a decade ago, and the comic born out of those art therapy sessions became a 300-page graphic novel, chronicling my journey with an eating disorder from initial diagnosis to eventual recovery.

I’ve never managed to return to those enormous watercolour paintings I used to create, but with graphic storytelling as my tool, I have been able to win back my sense of artistic self. Better yet, I now have a skill that helps me to make sense of the mess in my brain, which has become increasingly important as I’ve aged. Since my late twenties, I’ve been able to add to my list of diagnoses: bipolar disorder, panic disorder and PTSD. The latter is the subject of my current comic project ‘TRIGGERED: a story of PTSD, a plebiscite and the patriarchy’. The story speaks to a lifelong experience of misogyny and sexual violence, and the work I am doing in trying to find a way to live with my history and the ongoing effects of trauma.

Writing about my trauma has been the most emotionally demanding job I have ever undertaken. It was only in recent years that I even dared to speak to a therapist about my history of sexual abuse, so the process of spelling it out graphically still knocks the wind out of me some days.

I am trying to be considerate in what I portray in my comics. As a survivor, I know the dangers of navigating the world and its triggers. I know naturally that fellow survivors will be drawn to this work – so how do I illustrate traumatic events without triggering those who themselves carry similar trauma?

I made a plan before I began – narrative tools that I could use in order to communicate events without ever directly showing them. Surely that would make my work safe for others. What I spent less time considering was how to make the work safe for myself. I assumed that if I avoided drawing any physical acts taking place, I wouldn’t trigger myself. How wrong I was.

I found that even the simplest drawings – a drawing of the corner of the bed, of the walls, the pattern of the sheets – could dig a hole through my guts and leave me struggling for weeks to get through the day without a full-body flashback.

In writing about my history of abuse, I am forcing myself to keep my trauma ever at the surface – easy to access, my memories as clear as they’ve ever been – but in doing so, making myself vulnerable to the smallest triggers.

I am learning through this process that I need to take things slowly. When I write about trauma, I write at half my usual pace, because so much time is spent in self-care mode, trying to soothe myself against the wave of memories I have unearthed. It is not easy to engage with this story, but I know that it is important to keep sharing it. Shame hates the light, and it is time to take the power out of these secrets I have held for so long.

Image by: Khale McHurst. Image description: Illustration of foxes, running together, with swirls of colour.

Guest Blogger: Kate Foster – Authors for Mental Health

Guest Blogger: Kate Foster – Authors for Mental Health

sandybarker

Today, I welcome guest blogger, Kate Foster, to Off the Beaten Track. Along with Kate Gordon, Kate is one of the founders behind an exciting and important initiative, Authors for Mental Health. This initiative has two aims: increase awareness into the importance of good mental health and raise funds for Beyond Blue, an integral Australian organisation, particularly in today’s social, emotional and political landscape. Authors for Mental Health runs through to the first week of April, culminating in an auction (April 1-6) in which generous authors and publishing professionals have donated everything from books to their time and expertise. This post is part of the blog series running through the month of March.

Now over to Kate …

The Truth About Being Strong

I’ve always been considered and referred to as strong. I come from a family of strong people. I come from a world that required strength and patience and compassion. I am proud of being the strong person people can rely on.

We keep going, no matter what. We rise above the petty and trivial. We must be the bigger person and make ourselves available in all situations.

Why? Because there are always people worse off than you. Because tomorrow could bring something worse. Because you are privileged and lucky.

And where all of this is true and I firmly believe in being strong and appreciating how lucky I was and am, my experiences over the past few years (and really my whole life now that I can look back with a better understanding of who I am), my opinion on what strong means is slightly different.

I don’t ever put blame on anyone or anything, because I grew up in the 80s and 90s and times were different, people were different. And understandably so. Families who lived around me had, first and foremost, survival in mind. So, things like awareness and acceptance of autism and mental illness weren’t anyone’s priority ― they were in the background ― and we were only just at the beginning of wider study and understanding. People, certainly where I grew up in the UK, struggled financially, and the generations before me had grown up with even less, so I was taught to be grateful. And I was, always. As I will always be.

However, I knew back then that I wasn’t quite like the other kids around me in school and those who lived on my council estate. But I didn’t complain or ask many questions. I muscled through and processed it all quietly. Honestly, at the time, I assumed everyone thought and felt like I did!

Through school and in social settings, I put myself through the group activities I despised and was afraid of, because it was what everyone else was doing. Through my teens, I mucked about and got drunk despite knowing none of it ever felt right, because it’s what everyone else was doing. Through my years of being a young mother, I didn’t ask for assistance or talk about how lonely or down I felt, because all the other mothers were coping just fine, as had all the millions of mothers before me. Spending many days and weeks in hospitals with all of my children, I saw exactly how sad and much tougher things could be.

And when my kids starting getting older, freeing up more of my alone time, I didn’t understand why I hated myself so much, why I felt so useless and pointless, because people assured me this was when I would start loving life and enjoying my freedom. They said I should get out there and embrace the world and find opportunities. No one liked a misery guts.

And yes, I thought that was the one and only way it had to be done. It was what everyone else was doing, carving out careers and socialising, and the fact I was so unhappy meant I was broken. And god forbid I tell anyone how miserable I was, about the intrusive, evil thoughts I had about myself, because it would expose how selfish and shallow and pathetic I was. Look what I had – I was incredibly lucky, after all.

If I opened up about it, I would no longer be strong. The exact thing I was always told to be.

Inevitably, all the years of forcing myself to fit in led to complete and utter burnout, with diagnoses of severe depression, OCD, and acute anxiety. Wow. And I was autistic. I actually wasn’t like everyone else, and the enormous toll that had taken on my reserves, to keep being strong and not admit I was struggling to keep up, had destroyed me. It took a series of reckless and dark thoughts that eventually led me to seek the help I needed.

And that’s when I truly believe I became my strongest.

Regardless of the fact that I am autistic, which makes all the simple life stuff a tad more stressful than for most people, the moment I asked for help and shared my most vulnerable thoughts with people who I knew would listen, who I could trust, a light turned on inside me.

Being strong wasn’t always about putting my head down and getting on with it. Being strong wasn’t about ignoring my pain and confusion, thinking I was broken because no one else was complaining. Being strong wasn’t one pathway. It was several.

I found a balance.

Strong is still about being resilient. But strong is also admitting to myself when I can’t bounce back straight away and need time to recover and reflect. Resilience isn’t always immediate.

Strong is still about putting others first. But strong is also asking for help sometimes, so I can continue to help those more vulnerable. Being strong isn’t an individual effort.

Strong is still fighting off the dark thoughts. But strong is not burying them. It’s facing them and talking about them. Being strong isn’t about hiding the things we think make us look weak.

So, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the years and through my mistakes, it’s to ask for help when I need it. That’s still not always easy to do, because I sometimes recognise a little too late when I’m sinking, but the simple act of asking for help shows I’m stronger than I ever have been.

xx

Kate

Image by: faungg’s photos (FLICKR) Description: Deliberately stacked and balanced piles of multi-coloured rocks on a rocky patch of ground.

Authors for Mental Health Blog Series

Authors for Mental Health Blog Series

sandybarker

This month, I will be hosting some guest bloggers on Off the Beaten Track as part of the initiative Authors for Mental Health.

This initiative has two aims: increase awareness into the importance of good mental health and raise funds for Beyond Blue, an integral Australian organisation, particularly in today’s social, emotional and political landscape. Authors for Mental Health runs through to the first week of April, culminating in an auction (April 1-6) in which generous authors and publishing professionals have donated everything from books to their time and expertise.

So why have I raised my hand to be part of Authors for Mental Health?

That question is both simple to answer – I have suffered from anxiety since childhood and bouts of depression since early adulthood – and complex.

Mental illness affects me, and many of my loved ones – friends as well as family members – and colleagues. And good mental health is just as important as good physical health. Yet, we – as a society – still attach a stigma to mental illness. We make it difficult for people to put their hand up and say, ‘I suffer from mental illness’ or, ‘I need help.’ We don’t have enough support measure in place. For many of us, we don’t have the vocabulary to explain mental illness, even to ourselves, so how can we begin to understand it?

So, when Kate Foster reached out to ask if I’d donate an item for the auction, I said, ‘All the yeses.’ And then I offered to help with the blog series and other aspects that I could contribute to.

Because good mental health DOES matter. It is critical and should be a priority for all of us, looking after our own mental health. And for those who don’t yet have the vocabulary to understand it, or the courage to ask for help, maybe, just maybe, this initiative will make their path a little easier.

Depression has hit me hard at various times in my adult life. For me, it usually manifests as despondency, a feeling that creeps up on me until I am in the thick of it and see no way out of it – a feeling that it isn’t worth doing anything, going anywhere, seeing anyone. A feeling that it’s not worth participating in life at all, and yes, at times I have had thoughts of suicide.

With ‘lower-grade’ depression (as I think of it), something that has raised its head several times in the past two years, sometimes for weeks on end, I get frustrated and angry – from zero to fury in a matter of seconds – about things that really don’t matter. Or I’ll sob uncontrollably, my body wracked with pain and fear that it will never end – though, in the moment, not truly knowing what ‘it’ is.

And I still have the occasional panic attack, though usually in situations where I feel claustrophobic, as though I need to escape but can’t. For me, naming it is the most powerful tool for overcoming it. ‘I am having a panic attack,’ I’ll tell the person I’m with. In one instance, I had to ring the call button on a flight, so I could say, ‘I am having a panic attack.’ The man next to me quickly stood and let me out and the flight attendant ushered me to the galley where I was given water and space to breathe. My partner, Ben, has been with me for several attacks. At first, he’d ask, ‘What do you want me to do?’ He now knows to give me space, to speak to me in soothing tones, and to coach me to slow my breathing – his empathy helps.

With depression, I had a break-through when we were living in Seattle, a city I loved but one in which you live under grey skies for 10 months a year. I wrote about that in this post, The Gray, and it was only in retrospect that I realised I was smack dab in the middle of depression when I wrote it. Here’s an excerpt:

‘Your mood is gray. You crave nothing, hate nothing. Everything is neutral. Extremes have no place in your existence. Your soul has been doused in peroxide. Sometimes, just there in the periphery, you see glimpses of passion, of disagreement and debate. Yet you have succumbed to the numbing, and do not participate.’

When I showed up at the GP and she asked what she could help with, I burst into tears and sobbed through an explanation of what was going on. As a New Mexican (one of the hottest, sunniest states in the US), she had first-hand knowledge of the additional stress that grey weather puts on mental health. After listening to me blubber for a good five minutes, she said, ‘Honey, you’re depressed.’ More specifically, I had Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

The relief at having a diagnosis was overshadowed by self-flagellation. How had I not realised? I’d suffered from depression before – how had I not recognised that it had taken hold again?

The doctor prescribed Vitamin D supplements and medication. The medication, however, made me nauseous and woozy 24/7 and after several weeks, I decided, ‘No, not for me.’ What else could I try? Well, if I was missing the sun, I could replicate it, right? I bought myself a blue light and I started going to hot yoga three times a week. I also talked openly about my depression. I asked for help and understanding from my partner and friends – and (I am so grateful for this), I got it. Though, I never raised it at work. I didn’t feel safe enough in that environment to tell my colleagues, my boss. That stigma! In the throws of depression, I was simply ‘difficult to work with’ and ‘surly’ ‘always unhappy’.

Now, 13 years after the SAD diagnosis, I am better at recognising the signs that depression may be taking hold. But only better, not perfect. It still catches me unawares at times, particularly during the ‘Groundhog Day’ existence of Melbourne lockdowns.

So, that’s why I have raised my hand to help bring awareness to the importance of treating our mental health the same way we do our physical health – by prioritising it, by be empathetic to ourselves and others, by building the vocabulary we need to talk about it openly and effectively – and without judgement.

Please, please, please – take care of yourself, make your mental health a priority, if you haven’t already, and if you need it, ask for help. It’s out there.

New Year’s Absolutions 2022

New Year’s Absolutions 2022

sandybarker

Those of you who have been following my blog for a while will know that each year I write not ‘resolutions’, but ‘absolutions’.

These are the things I absolve myself from doing the following year―GUILT FREE!

Either I will remove them from my mental ‘to do’ list or I will stop doing them because they do not ‘spark joy’. These are the things I have been told―by myself, by loved ones, by society―that I should do but really, really don’t want to.

So, on the list they go!

1. Reading the entire contents of my Kindle

As an avid reader, I have a problem―I cannot say no to books. I buy a lot of books, I get given a lot of books … but I have too many books. TOO MANY BOOKS! Every time I finish a book, I am paralysed by choice as to what to read next. I flick through the (literally) dozens of pages of unread books on my Kindle and often end up tossing it on the bed in frustration and turning on Netflix.

I like choice. Choice is good―there is a book for every mood on my Kindle: spy thriller, (gruesome) crime thriller, LA detective thriller, romcom, contemporary romance, contemporary women’s fiction, literary fiction, historical fiction, historical romance, outback romance, even some fantasy, SciFi and horror …

The thing is, I have at least a dozen unread books in each genre (and sub-genre) taunting me.

In the past few days, I have taken steps to mitigate this paralysing guilt of owning so many unread books. Collections! I have decided my next 3 reads and everything else has gone into a TBR Collection―a neat little folder that I can swipe past all at once on my Kindle’s ‘home’ screen. Now I just need to stop acquiring more books. Hmm.

2. Meditating

In mid-2022, I signed up for a weekly meditation session at work (facilitated by a colleague) to help us cope with the pandemic. Half-way through the first session, conducted via TEAMS, I received a Teams message―apparently ‘urgent’―and I spent the rest of the meditation session putting out a (small) professional fire―essentially, the opposite of meditating.

The thing is, I not only suck at meditating, I (really) dislike it. I spend the whole time chastising myself for sucking at it and not being better at ‘adulting’.

Well, I absolve myself from meditating in 2022 because there are other ways to ‘be mindful’. Any time you are completely immersed in something―reading, dancing, cooking, revelling in natural beauty, combing the beach for the prettiest shell, sipping great wine and really tasting it, playing with a child and making them laugh, in the midst of an in-depth conversation, smashing out a new chapter or editing one―you are being mindful.

So, I aim to be mindful in the way that works for me without beating myself up about how I get to that immersive, blissful state.

3. Watching ‘Squid Game‘

I tried (2 full episodes) and I hated it (not just the premise but the lead actor’s―in my opinion, terrible―acting). I know it’s considered ‘good TV’ by millions of people but no piece of fiction is for everyone―just ask my readers―so it’s okay that I didn’t like it and that I won’t finish the season.

4. Getting a TikTok account

It’s not that there aren’t many, many entertaining people on TikTok, nor that I haven’t enjoyed the occasional TikTok (I don’t even know if that’s the correct term―are the clips on TikTok called TikToks?) that people have sent to me (case in point, this is hilarious).

It’s that I already spend 5-12 hours a week on social media for author biz. That’s not just posting, but creating assets, and commenting and sharing―and thanking others for commenting and sharing.

I just don’t have room in my life for another social media account. I felt the same way about Snapchat (and I was right about that BTW―remember Snapchat, anyone?)

5. Not making travel plans because ‘what if I have to cancel them?’

This is a double negative, I know.

To be clear, I absolve myself from not making travel plans, which means that 2022 is FILLED with travel plans. Sure, we’re buying the best insurance we can get and we’re mindful (that word again) that any or all of these trips may be cancelled, but for me and Ben, travel IS life.

So, trips on the cards:

  • Southern coast of New South Wales to see friends (who live there)
  • Inland in Victoria to see my cousins (who live there)
  • Up to southern Queensland/norther NSW to see family and friends (who live there)
  • Western Australia to see family (who live there). They have been behind the COVID Curtain implemented by Premier Mark McGowan for so long, I can’t even fly there to be with my mom who is recovering from a serious injury and is bed bound. (Grrrr, Mark!)
  • The UK (!) to: see my family (sis, bro-in-law, nephew) in Rugby and Great-Aunt in Oxfordshire; meet my agent, Lina, and dear friend, Nina, face to face in Edinburgh; attend the Romance Novelists Association 2022 Conference; attend the HarperCollins author party; meet Pearson colleagues in London; meet my editor and other members of the One More Chapter publishing team, also in London; and catch up with other friends across the UK. (It’ll be a long trip.)
  • Sailing the Cyclades Islands in Greece! I am SO excited about this. Ben and I will be sailing with our skipper friend, Patrick―our 3rd time sailing with him. Athens to Syros―8 days, 7 nights―and we’re taking my nephew, who will be 11 by then. (Aside: for those who have read the Holiday Romance series, Patrick is the real-life Duncan, only he’s a Kiwi).

So LOTS to look forward to in 2022, especially as I am absolving myself of so many things that will save me not just time, but angst, guilt, and regret.

And what could be a better way to start the New Year?

Happy 2022, everyone, and may it be filled with reunions, grand adventures, and many moments that will make you smile, fill your heart, and bring you peace and joy.

Recap of The Bachelorette with Guest Blogger Anastasia Blabbergasted

Recap of The Bachelorette with Guest Blogger Anastasia Blabbergasted

sandybarker

What an absolute delight it is to welcome Anastasia Blabbergasted to Off the Beaten Track today. Those of you who have read The Dating Game will be familiar with Anastasia and for everyone else, Anastasia is well-known across the UK for writing witty recaps of reality TV shows for the online magazine, Feed Your Mind.

Welcome, Anastasia, and over to you!

Cast of The Bachelorette - 8 women and 8 men vying for Brooke, who is a 26-year old Indigenous woman centre of group, wearing a black gown.
Image from 10Play

Well, thank you, Sandy, and what an absolute treat to be invited back Down Under for another season of ‘love amongst the film crew’ – only instead of The Stag, this time I’ll be recapping The Bachelorette! Now for those who aren’t familiar, The Bachelorette riffs on the tried and tested format of The Stag, swapping out Pin Rituals for Rose Ceremonies, the Manor for a Mansion and Soirées for Cocktail Parties, but you get the gist. It’s a ‘reality’ show where one unlucky person seeks love amongst desperate, hopeless, attention-seeking hopeful contestants.

And this season’s Bachelorette (Bachina?) is attracted to both men and women, so we have eight of each – how fabulous!

Aside: With eight women in the Mansion who are attracted to women, will we see love amongst the contestants? I’m no mathematician but one Bachelorette divided by 16 contestants equals 15 disappointments (or a lot of blood and gore but this is a TV show, not a slasher movie). Or does it? Perhaps we will see some pairings amongst the cast offs. Isn’t that how Jamie-Lee ended up on this season – but let’s come back to that later.

We commence the season with our host, Osher (rhymes with Posher – and really, what is posher than an enormous velvet bowtie? No really … did he borrow it from his grandfather? I mean, I’m into retro fashion too, but I draw the line at wearing my nana’s bloomers), speaking ominously to camera as though he’s delivering a report on climate change. Oh dear. Perhaps he left all his enthusiasm in the Masked Singer studio. Come on Osher, buck up, it can’t be that bad. Surely, they are paying you a mint to wander about the Mansion casting forlorn looks and speaking in hushed tones.

We are so relieved when bubbly Bachina Brooke shows up that we immediately forgive that horrendous ‘Alexis Carrington called – she wants her gown back’ dress. No seriously, she’s 26 for crying out loud. Iris Apfel’s outfits are more youthful than this debacle. And please don’t get me started on the gloves! Does Halloween come early in Australia?

(Aside for Gen Y and Z readers: Alexis Carrington is a character from Dynasty, a night-time soap from the 80s, and she is an icon of 80s fashion for middle aged women of means. Go ahead and Google her. I’ll wait.)

Moving on!

The set is rather lovely with all those trellises covered in faux blooms – someone on the crew must be handy with a glue gun – and outdoor illumination that would make West End lighting designer proud. And aren’t the producers getting their money’s worth out of that drone! There are so many fly-over shots, I’m getting vertigo. Must be a b-i-t-c-h for the sound editors though.

A serious moment to acknowledge the beautiful Welcome to Country, with this recapper reaching for the tissues faster than you can say, ‘This show is sponsored by Kleenex.’ Truly extraordinary.

And now it’s time for our contestants to walk the red carpet. Aside: those ‘insider’ shots from the limousines are hysterical. Did they script those or are our contestants just well versed in awkward patter while holding aloft a bizarre prop and trying not to come across as desperate, bitchy or a bit of a muppet? I wonder.

A few standouts on the red carpet:

Bombshell Holly – honestly, I adore anyone who can slow dance like that and it looks like I’m not the only one. Brooke nearly called a halt to the whole proceedings. ‘Stop the show, I wanna get off … with Holly!’ Well done to the producers for trotting her out first!

Speaking of trotting … Emily shows up with a horse! Albeit a teeny one, but oh how I wish we’d seen the inside of her limo ride. How do you get a (teeny) horse into a limousine? More to the point, how do you get it out!

Carissa brings another tear to my eye – though I’m not sure if it’s her earnestness or concerns about how close we are to shifting from a PG to an R rating. Just one itty bitty sneeze and (literally) all will be revealed. Thank god those aren’t real flowers! Let’s just hope she’s not allergic to horses!

Darvid rolls up on a mower. I’m fairly certain the grass is as faux as the flowers, lovey, but you do you. And then they have tea! Zzzzzz. Oh, sorry – dozed off for a moment there. I’d love to know why the producers have turned the meet and greet into a parade of mini dates. Just imagine how many times those limousines are having to lap that circular driveway. No wonder Jess is tetchy. One bump in the road driveway and she’ll sprinkle that black velvet with icing sugar.

Aside: I wondered why anyone would bring a plate of brownies to the red carpet, but with Brooke sitting down to tea and building furniture while the others drive round in circles waiting for their turn, it was actually a spark of genius for Jess to bring a snack.

I’ve lost count by the time we get to the last man, but I think 7 out of 8 are carpenters. Very handy for when those trellises start to buckle under the weight of dried glue and silk flowers.

And I don’t often choose favourites – all right, I do – but I absolutely adore Konrad and here are the reasons why:

  • He’s ridiculously handsome in that boy-band-of-the-90s meets male model way
  • His million-watt smile could light up the Mansion should there be a power outage
  • No other man in the history of the world has ever made high visibility wear look so good (honestly, you could pop a fluorescent orange vest on Chris Hemsworth and even he wouldn’t be as gorgeous as Konrad)
  • He’s a perfect gentleman when Jess (in a totally cowish move) usurps his plan for the inaugural sitting on the love seat
  • He ridiculously handsome (have I already mentioned that?)

Beau – This poor chap is hilarious but, unfortunately, not on purpose. The only way he could be more narcissistic is if he showed up with a cardboard cut-out of himself as a gift to Brooke. It’s too bad he didn’t, as it would have had far more depth than he has. Fairly certain he won’t be around for long, which is a shame. Every season needs a buffoon – so entertaining.

The final standout on the red carpet would have to be Jamie-Lee – former contestant on The Bachelor, former Brooke bestie (though only distanced, not estranged) and former (potential) crush. No guessing who the plant is this season – plant as in ‘deliberately cast to ruffle feathers’ rather than foliage, though there is an awful lot of that, as I’ve mentioned.

And I’m (not) sorry, but her note to Brooke sounded like she was reading out bumper stickers while driving along the motor way. But you just be true to yourself and have faith in the universe, Jamie-Lee. You deserve every happiness – natch.

And then onto the Cocktail Party, which reminds me of Christmas lunch with the family – the menfolk huddled around the fire while the woman do all the work. There’s so much collective terror in their eyes, they look like fourteen-year-olds at a school dance. Meanwhile, the women are as bolshie as and line up to sweep Brooke off her feet faster than any of the men think to say, ‘Sorry to interrupt, but …’

The tete-a-tetes unfold in a series of handholding and relocating, each new pairing off to explore a different part of the garden as though we’re having a guided tour of the Chelsea Flower Show. The men eventually grow some … er … courage and some time around 3:00am (my best guestimate), the assembled hopefuls set down their (hideous) red and green champagne flutes (seriously, where did the producers get those? The £2 Shop’s post-Christmas sale?), and head to the Rose Ceremony.

Ah, yes, the Rose Ceremony – just when you thought there couldn’t possibly be a faux flower left in all of Australia, this set will set you straight. It looks like a showroom at a funeral home.

Our contestants assemble in rows, as though readying for their class photograph, while Darvid of the ride-on mower holds aloft the ‘First Impression’ rose and tries to not to look smug. One by one, the producers whisper names in Brooke’s earpiece and with only a few hours to get to know the rest of the cast, she does a stellar job of remembering which one goes with which person. Finally, there is one man standing and we say goodbye to Johann – though, not a total loss as we still have six carpenters left.

So! At this early stage, who are the frontrunners for ‘Bride’ or ‘Groom’? I do think Jamie-Lee is one to watch, though she may have peaked too early by snatching that kiss at the Cocktail Party and she’s already showing signs of ‘jealous girlfriend’ with all those side-eyes at the others. Darvid is also an early front runner, but a sneak-peak at Episode 2 reveals an almost unforgiveable wardrobe choice – a 70s style turtleneck – ghastly.

So, I’d have to say Holly. She seems as smitten as Brooke and no doubt, she’s already choregraphing the bridal waltz when the cameras aren’t rolling.