I’ve been meaning to write a blog post about this for a while, because I have pretty strong views on social media as a whole. I’ve written a couple of features about the correlation between social media use and mental health struggles, and I’ve based lots of my essays at University on social media in journalism. It’s a tricky one, this, because I’m an active user of Facebook, Twitter and Instagram – the latter is primarily to promote my blog and actually get people to read it. But even so, I still feel like a hypocrite for saying how unhealthy I think social media use can be, when I’m an active participant in it.
So, it’s pretty fair to say that last week was a bloody good week. It all started when I woke up at 8am on Friday to watch Princess Eugenie’s wedding. Yes, I did do that – and no, I don’t care. She may be one of the lesser-known royals, but she is still royal, and that’s a good enough excuse for me to get my royalist hat on and cry without shame at how beautiful she looked.
She wore a classic, elegant backless number that showed her scar from a spinal operation she had aged 12, simply because she’s not ashamed of it – she’s empowered by it.
This struck a chord for me, because I have a 6-inch scar on my stomach from an emergency operation I had aged 18.
Being a Journalism Studies student at the University of Sheffield, I had the amazing opportunity of undertaking a work placement at the Press Association for a week towards the end of June. The experience itself was a whole host of things, positive and negative; liberating, scary, eye-opening, and stressful. All at the same time.
I’ve been to London countless times for sunny weekend breaks, but I’ve never had the chance to stay for longer than two or three days. So I got to see a whole different side of London during the week I stayed there – away from the bustling tourist hotspots to a vibrant, deadline-laden office next to Victoria Station. Long story short, it was pretty interesting.
Here’s a few things I learned.
It’s not surprising that January is considered to be the most depressing month of the year. One too many mince pies at Christmas caused us to gain a few pounds, and our New Year’s resolutions are already long forgotten. Christmas is such a happy, joyful time surrounded by the 3 vital f’s: family, friends and food. So when that’s all over, is it any wonder that we’re left feeling a bit lost, not really knowing what to do with ourselves?
For whatever reason, I’ve been feeling more nostalgic than usual lately. The ever-dreaded 23 is upon me, and I can’t really get my head around the fact that I’ll be 24 next year. God forbid, 25. I don’t even like thinking about that. Read More