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From an early age I was obsessed with making people laugh. Inspired by Lucille Ball, I took every performance opportunity I could find. My elementary and middle school yearbooks are peppered with commentary by teachers and friends encouraging me to follow my dreams of acting and not to forget them when I am a famous comedian. Then, when I was in 10th grade, in the midst of rehearsals for our school musical Pippin , I was hit by a car crossing a street in Westport, Connecticut

I’m a 39-year-old neuroscience and psychology graduate, freshly finished with my MSc at King’s College London. My story begins in 2020,...

The wooden pier stretched ahead in the morning sunlight, its tip a distant dot poking out against the sea. We followed the stream of backpacks single-file like a line of ants, the wind lashing choppy indigo waves against the planks as we tried to keep our balance in its energetic embrace, the snail-like homes on our backs adding extra complexity to the matter.

Sexual violence invades countless lives each year, all around the world. For me, it crashed into my life numerous times in the form of childhood sexual abuse and repeated sexual assaults in my teen and adult years.

Imagine you have TikTok open on your phone, your index finger swiping up each video to get those short bursts of dopamine. You land on a...

My mind is calm; my breathing is slow and persistent; and my hands aren’t shaking. I couldn’t have said that years ago, and I most certainly would not have gotten where I am without him. My partner, Roger, was the saving grace I never saw coming, but when I needed it the most. Roger and I met by chance, through a Meetup group (a site that allows people to join groups based on personal interests and hobbies). We only spoke a few words, and it was months later before we began l

This piece is part of our series for Sexual Health Awareness Week. I’m sure nobody looks   forward to their gynecology appointment, but...

'To cringe' can be defined as ‘having an inward feeling of acute embarrassment or awkwardness.’ This is a perfectly natural human...

How breast cancer treatment changed my relationship with my body—and how I'm learning to reconnect with it. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my primary focus was survival. I braced myself for the physical battle—the biopsies, the blood draws, the scans, and the surgeries. In the aftermath, grappling with post-op, post-radiation, and settling into the rhythm of daily hormone blockers, I realise there was something that I wasn’t prepared for: what comes next.

At 21, I had a series of urinary tract infections that culminated in a bladder surgery. These infections affected me physically—the post-op pelvic floor physical therapy was brutal—but the greatest impact was on my mental health. I’m sharing my story for Sexual Health Week because most women will suffer at least one UTI in their lifetime. The first urinary tract infection I got after college never went away. Not really. The burning sensation hit on a Sunday morning. “Yep, t

Trigger Warning: This article briefly mentions suicide.   Every cat that I have helped has changed me in some way  On many occasions in...

Trying to conceive (TTC) after a loss is its own kind of heartbreak. Not just because of what you’ve been through, but because of what...

Disclaimer: All names used in this piece do not reflect the real names of the individuals involved.                                 The...

Recently, I have started a great job in communications, set up a decent writing business, and earned a journalism degree. I am also dating the most beautiful woman in the world, who has all three: the cheekiest smile, hair that smells like black castor oil, and my full commitment to becoming her husband. I'm absolutely terrified.

Trigger Warning: The following article contains references to suicide and grief, which some readers may find distressing The text came...

I’m on hold to the local police; I don’t know what I’m going to say this time. It’s the third time I’ve rung them this week, and I know that it’s not going to go well. But I also know that however painful and embarrassing this call is, it won’t be worse than living with the guilt of letting someone die.

This is the day I died.   Not literally, but it marked the end of life I knew it. My body was no longer mine. My sense of self was shattered. In its place came a new reality: epilepsy, PPTSD, and postnatal depression became my daily companions. To make it harder, my husband changed jobs during my pregnancy. His new role meant being away from home, making it even harder to navigate everything alone. Tauma alters how memory works. Studies show that when people experience

If you feel like dating is a Sisyphean task, you’re not alone. As a neurodivergent woman, I’m probably (definitely) considered an...

In the modern day, everyone has heard about the push to “destigmatise mental illness” – a perfectly noble goal. Nonetheless, I find that when many people are pressed to explain what this truly means, little explanation is offered beyond being understanding.

I’ve bid lovers tearful goodbyes. I’ve sobbed them to my mother as I lit her pyre. But having to say goodbye to a therapist was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Twice, that too.

I was watching Barbie in my room when I heard soft thuds. I waited, and after I heard it again, I rushed out to the parlour, my heart...

My name is Bryn, and this year I turn 36 years old. I have never told my story like this before, and never in this much detail. I’m hoping it gives others some comfort and strength to know that life can get better and is worth living. Keep in mind that despite how this all happened, I’m here to write this today. That being said…

The needle whirrs and purrs, and an image of a naked woman reading a book, her head exploding into fireworks slowly appears on my skin. The ceiling’s pattern looks beautiful from where I am, despite the intense brightness of the tattoo artist’s lights. This is my fourth tattoo—but unlike the first three, this one carries a deeper, sadder meaning.

There’s no easy way to say this: we lost our baby. At 12 weeks, after hearing the heartbeat and seeing that small, flickering light on the ultrasound, we felt like we were past the hardest part. But sadly, our first pregnancy ended in a missed miscarriage, and everything changed.