Back from the WI WiLds (and Barely Upright)

This weekend, I traded routine for revelry at the Cheshire Federation WI camping weekend, it was nothing short of glorious.

With the sun blazing at a balmy 30 degrees, the uniform of the weekend for me was crocs and muumuus. Not exactly high fashion, but absolutely high function. Anything heavier would’ve melted on impact.

Workshops filled the day, I took part in poo bag painting, some I led, and every moment buzzed with creativity and connection. I danced, I dressed as Viper from Top Gun (yes, really), and I laughed harder than I’ve laughed in ages. Old friends warmed my heart, new friends brightened my soul, and gin proved itself once again to be natures approved analgesia.

Now home, the only journeys I’ve made are to the bathroom and to fetch a drink. My bed is my fortress, and I expect it’ll stay that way for a few days. But truthfully? It was so worth it. A glorious slice of normality, surrounded by some of the best people imaginable.

WI women know how to bring joy, no matter the temperature. I’m sun-sizzled, soul-full, and grateful beyond words 💚

••••photos to follow ••••

Friendship, Connection & The WI: Why Showing Up Looks Different Every Time

 

After my recent blog post, I realized something.  I talked a lot about the magic of a virtual WI, but I didn’t mention how incredible the 'in-person' WIs have been for me too. And they have been wonderful.  

Over the years, I’ve sat in bustling WI meetings, shared laughter over tea and biscuits, spent weekends at WI camps, and even served as a national trustee, connecting with brilliant, passionate women from all walks of life. I’ve made friendships that have carried me through life’s highs and lows, built skills I never imagined I’d master, and learned that WI isn’t just a group, it’s a force.  

But here’s the thing. As much as I love the face-to-face connections, there are days when my body decides that actually, today is not a leaving-the-house kind of day.  

Sometimes, the energy needed to get ready, travel, be social, and stay engaged feels like more than I can give. And on those days, the beauty of a virtual WI means I don’t have to miss out entirelyI , can still connect, still belong, still be part of something, even if I’m wrapped in a blanket and watching from a screen.  

This isn’t an either-or  situation, it’s a both-and. In-person WIs have given me deep, lasting friendships, moments I’ll cherish forever, and a connection to a wider network of inspiring women. Virtual WI has made sure that when life slows me down, I don’t lose those connections.  

Because that’s the real magic of WI, not just the meetings, not just the traditions, but the people. The friendships that grow whether we’re sitting side by side or waving through a webcam. The feeling that, no matter how we show up, we’re welcomed just the same.  

And if you’ve ever thought WI isn’t for you, whether because of mobility, time, distance, or simply feeling unsure, maybe it’s time to rethink that.  

Why not come and find out more at Virtual Vixens WI?

When a Hair Appointment Feels Like a Marathon

 

For most people, a hair appointment is a slice of self-care, a chance to relax, unwind, and maybe even leave with a fresh new style. But for those of us living with chronic illness and fatigue, it’s an entirely different experience. It’s not just a trip to the salon, it’s a battle against exhaustion, a mental calculation of how much energy we can afford to spend.

Before I even step foot in the salon, the ordeal begins. Just getting ready to go can feel like its own challenge. The thought of washing and finding something comfortable to wear, making sure I’m prepared to hold a conversation, it all takes effort. Some days, I sit on the edge of my bed, debating whether I can go through with it at all. The appointment is booked, my hairdresser is expecting me, but the fatigue is suffocating, and the idea of pushing myself through it feels impossible. More times than I’d like to admit, I’ve considered canceling at the last minute, simply because I don’t have the energy to get there.

This week, I made the trip. I know my hairdresser well; we’ve shared countless conversations and she understands that sometimes, I don’t have it in me to engage much. But no matter how familiar the space, how welcoming the people, the process itself remains draining.

I arrived already feeling worn out, getting myself there was enough of an effort. Sitting in the chair, I could feel the usual waves of exhaustion creeping in as she worked. The heat of the dryer, the weight of my own head as I struggled to keep it upright for the entire appointment, it all added up.

Normally, a full styling session would be part of the routine. But more often than not, I find myself saying, Just blow it dry, that’s enough for today. It’s a quiet surrender to fatigue, an acknowledgment that I simply don’t have the energy to sit there any longer. I long for the indulgence of sleek curls or a perfect finish, but in that moment, the idea of enduring even ten more minutes under bright lights, surrounded by chatter and activity, feels impossible.

The irony is that a hair appointment should be restorative. It should be about walking out feeling refreshed, polished, like I’ve taken time for myself. Instead, I leave feeling drained, my energy depleted, knowing the recovery time ahead will be longer than most would imagine.

Why This Matters

We talk about self-care as if it’s universally beneficial, but for those of us navigating chronic illness and fatigue, even acts meant to replenish us can come with hidden costs. It’s frustrating to want something simple, a fresh haircut, a new colour, a moment of normalcy, only to find that the process itself takes more than it gives.

So if you, too, find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, questioning whether you can even get there, know that you’re not alone. And if you’ve ever walked out of the salon not feeling revived, but simply relieved that it’s over, I see you.

 

Missing Pieces

 

I see the photos. The milestones. The laughter frozen in time. But the moments themselves? 

 

They slip through my fingers like water, leaving only the ache of absence behind.  

I am a mother. I know this in every bone of my being. I have nurtured, comforted, and loved with everything I have. And yet, when people ask, “Do you remember their first cuddle? Their first steps?” I can only smile,  because the truth is, I don’t.  

 

 

It’s not that I wasn’t there. I was. But ADHD has woven gaps into my memory, moments lost before I could collect them. The firsts, the milestones, the tiny hands in mine, all missing from the album in my mind.  

And it isn’t just my children’s moments. It’s my own. My childhood exists in stories told by others. “Remember when…?” they ask. And I don’t.  

 

 

 

 

ADHD is often misunderstood, reduced to stereotypes of hyperactivity and distraction. But it’s more than that. Research shows that ADHD affects brain networks responsible for memory and executive function, making it harder to retain and recall moments

In the UK, diagnoses have risen, particularly among adults, as awareness grows. Yet, societal perceptions still lag behind.  

Some see ADHD as an excuse, a lack of discipline, or even a cultural construct. Others dismiss the struggles, unaware of the grief that comes with forgetting pieces of your own life. The stigma can shape medical treatment, access to support, and even self-worth

I grieve for the memories I will never hold. For the snapshots I never took. For the details forever just out of reach.  

But here’s what I do have, love that exists beyond recollection. A lifetime of laughter, even if I don’t remember its first spark.  Bonds that were built through actions, through presence, through a love that does not need memory to be real.  

So maybe I don’t remember the first cuddles. The first steps. But I remember this

 

I was there. 

 

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough.