This Time Next Year

If someone had asked me to predict where I’d be today this time last year I wouldn’t have said living my best life. I wouldn’t have said happy being single, confident and working toward new goals.

This time last year, I was a mess. A steaming heap of tangled, electrified, angry mess. My husband had abandoned me, my family torn apart and I was betrayed people I thought I could trust. I had to leave my home, move towns, start a whole new life again. With nothing. I literally had a bed and a fridge. I was emotionally distraught at leaving behind my teenage son because I’d been brainwashed into believing I wasn’t capable of looking after him.

On top of all of that I’d been diagnosed with another neurological condition and while it wasn’t degenerative or terminal there was yet again still no cure and I had to learn how to manage and treat it all over again.

There were moments of suicidal ideation even though I had no plan or intention to attempt suicide, all I could think at the time was that I was better off dead.

But I’m just too stubborn to die.

I look back now and laugh at the things he said to me. The whole thing is a farce. I’ve learned so much about the reasons I was the way I was. The manipulation, the narcissistic behaviour. “You’ll never survive on your own. You can’t live without me. How will you look after your son? You can’t even look after yourself.”

A year ago today, I moved into my new apartment with my eldest son not knowing what was going to happen with my life. My life completely changed. Beginning with my lifestyle. It’s been a rollercoaster of a year but I finally found myself again. I’ve been looking after myself just fine and all the while laughing at the irony that he still needs me.

I was lucky to have the support of my adult son to help financially and my amazing sister who supports me, so that I could basically take a year off life. Minimal parenting, no working, no obligations (other than medical appointments). I spent the past year doing my whole “Eat, Pray, Love” thing and I didn’t have to travel to another country to do it.

I found myself a routine. I began finding my people. A whole new tribe. I started doing things I enjoy and things I always wanted to do or try. I focused on me. There were (and still are) times he tries to needle his way into my life. There were times I’d open the door a little. I’d soon realise it wasn’t good for me and slam the door shut. Shut it stays. I can now recognise the ever so subtle ways.

Something I also recognise now are red flags. In all kinds of relationships. Now I make better choices about the people in my life. My circle is still very small but it’s strong. I’ve just recently started back on my activism involvement and getting out attending more events. I feel confident doing it and look forward to it growing. This time last year I couldn’t have even considered a speaking event or even a media interview. I was far too fragile and unhinged. Now, I feel like I flourish with each new opportunity.

Most importantly, my health has improved. Especially my mental health. I no longer want to die. I want to live. Live my best life. It may not be an extravagant life but it’s my best life. I am happy.

Where will I be this time next year? Who knows? My goals are still small but they’re still focused on me. All I know is that it has and will continue to keep getting better.

So when he says “You can’t live without me” I’m living proof that you’ll show him you can!

 

Happy Freedom Anniversary to me!

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The people who left me were right to do so

Once upon a time my mental health was so bad I found myself trapped in a hospital facility. I say trapped because I was not allowed to leave when I wanted to despite being completely aware and in control of my emotional state.

Life was not good for me. I’d been diagnosed with a degenerative neurological disease (which would later turn out to be incorrect). My marriage was in a bad way, worse than usual, but not the worst it would get. Financially I had been put in a position where I had to become dependent on my husband (who later left me for a younger more naive woman and divorced me). I felt as though I no longer had control of my life. As many of us may feel from time to time.

It was distressing to say the least, but there I was still putting on a brave face for the sake of everyone else in my life. I already felt a burden to my family, my husband, two young sons,  and to my sister in law and niece living with us. I didn’t want to place further burden on them by sharing the dark thoughts in my mind with them. So instead I turned to people I believed were friends.

For the most they probably wanted to be my friend. They just weren’t expecting the fall out of my well hidden mental health issues, and they weren’t equipped to deal with it.

I’m not going to deny I was a problem. My behaviour was problematic. I was unaware at the time of much of what I was doing.

Some of it was due to the cognitive dissonance formed from the traumas of my past, some of it due to a neurological dysfunction. Mostly though it was caused by medication used to treat a condition I did not have, that I should never have been on. I still don’t blame the doctors. They did what they thought was best and in all fairness, seeking desperately to keep the uncontrollable symptoms under control.

The medication I was using was causing serious side effects of risk taking and reckless behaviour, compulsion disorder and even hypersexuality. I was secretly taking part in behaviour that could not only destroy my reputation, it was also incredibly dangerous.

I didn’t know how to stop it. It was as previously described, a compulsion. I wasn’t aware at the time, until I was much later educated, that it was feeding the dopamine response in my brain like alcohol or drugs do to addicts. It wasn’t until I was found out that I began down the path of getting it back under control.

By the time I was mentally well enough to function again, probably better than I ever had been, the damage was done. Relationships were destroyed. My friends were long gone.

For many years I would find myself dwelling on the fact that they left me. I blamed them for not listening. I was angry they didn’t understand me. I blocked them from every aspect of my life both online and off. I never wanted to hear their names again. It’s not easy in smaller online circles when you’re connected by people who weren’t involved as deeply as they were in my life.

Now that I look back so many years ago at those dreadful events, while I can still feel the emotions, the wretched helplessness, the sorrow, the desperation, I look back I know they were right to leave me. They had to for their own sakes as well as mine.

I’d have never understood how destructive my behaviour was to others as well as to myself if they’d have stuck by me and just made excuses for it. I probably wouldn’t have stopped it. It would have snowballed. It was already a big enough monster out of control. Feeding my need for attention that fed that dopamine response would have been like giving a junky a hit and saying they couldn’t help it. At the time without the understanding of my condition that I have now, I couldn’t help it. Others could though and that’s a protective factor.

It wasn’t my time in the mental health unit at the hospital that lead me to recovery. It was the therapy and self searching throughout my divorce that made me understand what I had done. The mental health facility were part of the problem. They treated me badly. I was abused, threatened, misdiagnosed and at no point was I given any actual treatment to help me get better. I was so traumatised by the way staff treated me I would never seek help there again. I have even made a submission to the Disability Royal Commission about the abuse. Not because I expect any type of compensation, I don’t even expect an apology. I told my story because the way I was treated in there has not stopped. I’ve assisted others who I’ve first hand observed being treated in the same way. Some worse. People need to know what is going on when mentally unwell people seek help to understand why the system is not working. Without knowing the problem, how can anyone ever seek to fix it?

It’s taken many years to accept that walking out of my life was the right thing for those people to do. I’m happy for it to stay that way. I’m not looking to make amends either. I understand the stress that supporting someone who was as mentally unwell as I was puts on a person because I’ve been the support person as well as the unwell person.

I’ve just accepted that it was something I had to discover myself and nothing they said or did at the time was helping me. It was better for them to leave rather than continue exacerbating the situation. I didn’t have the capacity to listen, they didn’t have the capacity to help.

I restarted a new life this year. I’ve felt almost revolutionary doing it. I have brought very little of my past life with me. My kids of course. They’re part of me and I’m ever grateful for their enduring understanding and tolerance of my incapability to parent at times. My cat, who will probably outlast my marriage. She’s not that far off. A box of old photos and documents that after 44 years I have culled and know I can still do more to reduce. Of material possessions from my old life, I could fit them in a shoebox. There is very little I’ve brought with me.

Of people, there are few who were around 5 years ago who are still around today. I’m fine with that. I’ve made new connections, new friends. They know who I am now, not who I was when I, well, wasn’t the real me. I don’t keep it a secret. Discussions of mental health have come up countless times and I freely admit my past behaviours and how I came to be who I am now. They admire me for my honesty. The ones who stayed, they understand. I wasn’t crazy. I was just a little unwell.

Those who walked away, they were right to do so. It was never going to end well if they persevered with trying to save me. I didn’t need to be saved. I needed to be loved. By myself.

Who Owns Indue – Repost

This is a repost of a previously deleted blog. I’ve decided to share it again as the issue has gained further momentum and there is still a great deal of misinformation circulating. I have been following this issue since  early 2016.

Originally Published via fridayology.net October 2017

Who Owns Indue?
There is some misinformation floating around that only muddies the real issues surrounding the Department of Human Services polices on Income Management of people who receive Income Support Payments (Centrelink) under the Social Securities Act (notice I did not use the word “welfare” to describe it. Cos there is a difference).

One of the things I wanted to clarify so that people don’t misdirect their energy fighting myths and urban legends. You need to focus your energy on fighting the facts and the facts are that for over ten years Income Management has not proven to “work”. By work I mean achieve anything that has a positive outcome for the nation and the communities and people within it who are experiencing serious socio-economic issues.

If you haven’t already read my other previous articles about Income Management and Indue I recommend you do. Whether you get a payment – any kind of payment, even if you work and get Family Tax Benefit) – or not, you need to know what is going on with this issue. It doesn’t just affect people getting payments. It affects people paying taxes and revenue and people who vote for the members of our Parliament. You would want to know if your government wasted over $1.5 billion dollars with the intent to invest more into it, for a project that has failed over and over wouldn’t you?

The biggest myth floating around about Indue’s involvement in Income Management and the Cashless Debit Card is that members of the LNP own Indue or in any way directly benefit financially from it. They don’t. In fact no one person or group of persons own Indue.

Indue is owned by shareholders. The shareholders are financial institutions whom are of heritage banking origin ie members of COBA (previously known as Abacus Mutuals Association).
The Customer Owned Banking Association is the industry advocate for Australia’s customer owned banking sector. It is owned by its 72 member institutions: 51 credit unions, 3 building societies, 16 mutual banks and 2 others; and a number of affiliate members. – From the COBA Website

Now these credit unions, building societies, mutual banks ect are owned by the members or customers. Each customer/member has one share. This share entitles you to having a say in how that bank operates, spends any profits etc and is usually voted on at the financial institution’s AGM.

What this means is, if you currently bank with Bank Victoria, or Police Credit Union/QUDOS Bank for example, you are a shareholding member. If your institution is a member (like the two examples provided are) of COBA then they are the shareholding owners of Indue. You get to have a say in the operations of your bank/FI at the AGM as a shareholder. Your bank/FI gets to have a say in the operations of Indue as shareholders. No institution can hold more than 15% of Indue’s Class A (voting) shares. Excess of Class A shares are converted to Class B (non voting rights) shares.

Shocked? Yeah I bet you are. If you’re anything like me all you want to see in your bank account is interest accruing, no fees and great deals on lending. You really don’t pay that much attention to how it all happens. Maybe we should be paying more attention. (EDIT: Not all COBA members have shares in Indue Ltd. Shareholders are those institutions who use Indue’s ADI services. Some institutions may use other the other ADI’s such as Cuscal, Australian Settlements Ltd or banks authorised by APRA as ADI (Australian Deposit taking Institutions)

So, as you can see from this information “the LNP” aren’t directly profiting from Indue nor income management. Neither is Andrew Forrest. So why is everyone paranoid about the two and their involvement? You will learn more about it in my previous articles but here is a bit of a summary:-

Income Management was first introduced by the Liberal Government under John Howard. This development started way back to a little earlier than 2007. It was around this time that Alan Tudge was a policy adviser to several members of the Howard Government. He had a particular interest in controlling how people spent their Income Support payments after working in the Cape York region.
Indue became involved in the government’s plan for Income Management when the BasicsCard system was an epic fail on so many levels. Larry Anthony was the CEO of Indue at the time.
There was an election. LNP lost. Labor had the task of making the whole mess better. It was under Labor that Indue were granted the first contract under the Income Management development scheme. There was influence from others on this decision and at the time Ministers moved through the Department of Human Services like a revolving door.
Billions of dollars, a few Prime Ministers and some years later Alan Tudge just happens to get the Human Services portfolio for his very first time ever as a Minister. Big job. Of course he was the right man for it after all, he was in this from the beginning.

There is still SO much more I have come across and am doing research on as far as this Income Management scheme goes and in particular the privatisation of social security payments but it’s moving faster than I can put it all together and explain in terms the average Australian like me can understand – bear in mind living with Parkinson’s I experience an increasing level of cognitive impairment making it hard at times to take it all in a break it all down but I’m doing the best I can. I’m doing it, because I don’t believe that the system this current government wants to implement is a justified cost effective way of improving the lives of people who get trapped in the cycle of welfare dependence. I don’t believe that a private entity should be able to profit from the social security system that contributes to making Australia a first world country.

Most of all I don’t believe that we have been told the truth over the past ten years. It’s been sheltered behind the meeting doors of policy advisers and businessmen seeking to access the multi billion dollar industry that is welfare and now it’s costing ALL the taxpayers of Australia. Past, present and future.

Episodes on Dating – Why suggesting I be your friend with benefits is an insult

Throughout my dating journey I’ve continuously been propositioned by men for sex. Usually the offers aren’t presented with any benefit to me. They know what they want and aren’t afraid to demand it. Like I’m some kind of servant of their needs. Others try to sell it better. They offer to take me out first. Setting up the insinuation that I will owe them something and they’re not interested in the fact that I don’t actually need to trade sex for food, I’m quite capable of paying my own way.

They’re strangers with no fear of consequence or ever having to come face to face with me. They have no shame because shame will never look them in the eye, as far as they know.

Then there are the men who know me through some aspect of my life. They offer sex but try to make it sound like a mutually beneficial relationship. Despite the fact that I’ve been quite vocally clear that I am not interested in seeking any kind of relationship based on sex. Still the conversation of friends with benefits continues to come up.

I began to wonder what I was doing wrong to be giving men any kind of signal that it was even on my agenda. Was I sending some kind of subliminal message? I considered the wording of my dating profiles very carefully. I was specific about what my intentions were. Still it didn’t stop the offers. So finally I added the words “Celibate Demisexual” and it seemed to deter about 75% of the creeps just sleazing up to me for sex. Yet I still couldn’t identify what I was doing in the rest of my life to make men approach me in this manner.

It started shortly after I came out publicly about my impending divorce. My separation (as those following along at home will know) was messy and very emotional. I am known for wearing my heart on my sleeve at times. I talked about it a lot. Someone I’d known for some years contacted me privately, quite nonchalant at first. Then telling me he thought I was cute. I’ve never liked being told I was cute. Cute was for puppies and babies. Not a grown woman. Still I was polite, not initially realising where this flattery was going. He’d always thought I was cute apparently, but I was off limits. I wasn’t expecting that. I was still emotionally wrung out and wasn’t sure how to respond, but worse still, as far as I knew he was in a relationship. He told me he was separated.

Now it was awkward. I offered my condolences and the response wasn’t any kind of kindred empathy of going through a separation.  His separation status was why he was interested in me.  I’d barely been single a few weeks and he’s pursuing some kind of romantic interest in me. I made it clear I wasn’t ready. He assumed I would be and when I was I’d be interested in him. Not likely. He’d already crossed a boundary.

This happened again and again. Men I’d known for some time telling me how they felt about me and that now I was single apparently they could do something about it. No regard at all for whether I wanted to do something about it. I hadn’t previously had any indication that there was any interest. Either that or there was and I was oblivious to it.

Men suggesting there was an attraction there. Could I have been that naive I misled them? No, I rarely initiate physical contact at the best of times. I might hug a friend when we depart ways. What was I doing that made them think it was okay to suggest a mutual arrangement for sex? What was I doing to make them think I was even interested in sex? Is it just expected? Single women must be lacking in the capability of having an orgasm so men have to offer to provide it like a service? If that were the case sex toy sales wouldn’t be as good as they are, sorry guys.

Friends with benefits. That’s why they tell me they’re offering. Not a relationship. Just mutually consensual sex. Suggesting they can pleasure me. Take away my loneliness. Help me out. Make me feel good. All assumptions that I need or am lacking in any of these things. Mistakenly believing sex is the driving force behind my desire to date again. That sex and companionship mean the same things.

Then I had a revelation. After news from friends that my ex husband was soliciting them for sex in the same way these men were, I realised it had nothing to do with me or anything I was doing. It was their own egotistical selfishness.

Now I’m just angry and fucking insulted. Insulted that their opinion of me is so low that they think I’d be satisfied with a smile and a greeting and something I can get from a dildo. That they think that’s all the value I have to offer. That my self esteem is so low I’d need to have sex with these second rate men to make me feel better about myself.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

 

Bullied Advocates

If you had told me 10 years ago the disability community was rife with bullying I’d have laughed at you. That is because my own experience with people with disabilities in the context of group environments was at school when I’d be placed with the kids in the special education unit as an assistant. They were always friendly and seemed to stick together. I found them mostly eager to participate and wanting to belong, pretty much like me, but I still didn’t relate to them.

Years later when I found myself finally identifying with a disability and looking to belong somewhere in the world again I joined groups specifically for people with disabilities. It was an opportunity to not only share my experience, but to also learn from theirs. We shared excitement and humour. We shared frustration and humiliation. Being the outspoken person I am I refused to put up with the negatives we were forced to endure by things that could be changed, whether it be physical environment or human behaviour. I wanted to change it. Not just for myself but for the friends I was making along the way.

I still call myself the accidental advocate. I hadn’t expected to be in that position of being identified by my community as a leader. I was good at being part of a team. I didn’t think I was good at being a leader. I didn’t know how to be. Since it was happening whether I liked it or not, I looked to the disability community for examples and advice. I was grateful to meet so many people making their way as leaders with disabilities. They humbled me several times over and quite often put me in their place. One thing I learned very fast was that when it came to advocating, speaking from my own experience was not enough. I knew what it was like to live with a physical disability, a cognitive disability, to be occasionally non verbal, and to have an invisible disability. I could not speak for being vision impaired (although that would come later), hearing impaired (again, it’s happening), intellectually disabled or so many other areas of disability I had not experienced. Disability is diverse and spectrum. No one person will ever experience every aspect of disability.

So how do we be good leaders for an entire community that is so diverse?

We listen.

I think I can credit majority of my successes to the insights others have shared with me. Not just the events they’ve experienced but also, their life techniques, how they manage their lives, and most of all, why they need to be included. Inclusion in the community, but also inclusion in the discussion about disability. Inclusion in my advocacy. It was all good an well for me to jump up and down and demand better enforcement of disability parking laws but the issues ran deeper when I discovered there were sectors of the disability community who were excluded from eligibility of a disability parking permit who, for all their well presented explanations, had valid reasons for needing one. It wasn’t enough just to be a voice for my needs. To be a good leader I had to be a voice for their needs too. I am very grateful to those who sat me down and put me back in my place time and time again to help me learn this.

To be good leaders, and supporters, and for disability advocacy to be successful, it requires people of diverse needs to work together. To share, to enlighten, to educate and to empathise. I’m still learning how to be a good leader.

Often the efforts of a leader who appears to be progressing successfully, are hampered by negative attitudes from the very community they’re trying to help. Rather than educate some seek to denigrate and worse, demoralise the efforts of others, simply because they disagree.

We’re constantly fed the rhetoric about having to help those most vulnerable and it’s people with disabilities who are bullied by the non disabled community. What we don’t talk about often is the bullying WITHIN the disability community.

A prominent voice in the community, Carly Findlay, has written in her book Say Hello, about her experience of bullying in the community and the very real existence of tall poppy syndrome. While she has worked hard for decades to achieve what she has and she admits she is always learning an not without fault, she’s been victim of group attacks and sabotaging her efforts numerous times.

I’ve seen it first hand happen to other advocates such as Dylan Alcott when he established a live music event, AbilityFest, that specifically addressed access needs for people with disabilities, and it continued when he joined forces with music promoters to begin discussions about improving disability access at music venues.

When I am asked to speak or write on a topic, or to take part in something as a representative of the disability community, I will always seek input from more people in the disability community. I can explain to transport managers about my need for access using a wheelchair but I couldn’t tell them what would be needed as a blind commuter. For that I had to speak to my friends who are blind who could tell me what they need and then I could pass that on. I could explain to cinemas about seating arrangements and access requirements for me as a wheelchair user but that wasn’t enough to make a movie accessible to everyone. My hearing impaired friends outlined the need for captioning (and one day we will get it to work effectively folks I swear!).

Not everyone can be an outspoken voice. Not everyone wants to. That’s why I think it’s important to do what I do on behalf of others but that can’t happen without their support.

I’m proud of what I’ve achieved and how far we’ve come but putting myself out there as a leader has come at a cost. Some days I’m so worn down I am afraid to speak up. Some days I am mentioned in social media and I’m afraid to look for fear of the fall out from those who have decided they just don’t like me so they have to publicly disagree with everything I do or say. I am not alone in this. It seems the experience of bullying in the disability community has affected many and they’re grateful to know they’re not alone when someone finally does speak up about it.

I’ve had other advocates accuse me of “stealing their ideas” (newsflash, the desire for inclusion is not new), and I’ve been ostracised from certain circles because I have spoken out in support of other people I see doing good work that certain groups may not agree with. I’ve had my receipt of awards criticised both for being nominated and for accepting them. I’ve had people contacting the circles I’ve worked in to discredit my character, and some to even try to steal my “job” (which I found most amusing since I wasn’t being paid) just because in their mind they thought they could do it better and wanted recognition. I’ve had hate mail because I don’t look disabled. I’ve been uninvited to things because someone in the circle has influenced others about me.

The hardest part is that the attacks have rarely been obvious. I’ve been told about them by third parties. I’ve had screenshots sent to me of conversations in private groups. The vaguebooking and undefined tweeting that doesn’t name me but people in certain circles know what it’s about and the poster often likes to make it look like they’re a victim of whatever I’ve done or said so people instantly flock to them with sympathy.

It is rife with narcissism and envy and it wears you down. At times you feel like throwing in the towel and not being a part of that community any more. Until you realise nothing is going to change your identity. You are disabled and you will always be a part of the disability community.

I sometimes look at the behaviour and liken it to politics. Will we ever be able to achieve what we need to do unless we can work together as a group?

It’s okay to disagree. It’s not okay to crucify people for the work they do just because you’d do it different.

Leadership is not a position or a title, it is action and example

Episodes on dating – He’s just not that into you

Almost a year of delving into the world of internet dating I’m still yet to make it work for me. No matter how many times I change my profile I still don’t seem to get it right. In a quest to learn more about what makes people tick I began reading forums about dating and online dating and the themes generally seem to be the same. The whole concept is fake. It’s superficial but we’re addicted to it.

Internet dating is nothing new. It’s been around since the tones of a dial up modem was music to our ears. The internet was the new postal service. Pen pals became online friends. The long distance romance became possible without ever meeting. Still there is a stigma around meeting strangers from the internet and when things go badly under these circumstances society is often quick to jump to victim blaming. Just read the comments on any news article about an internet dating experience ending in assault or murder, often, but not always, the woman is the victim, and people condemn her for her risky and reckless behaviour. All strangers are serial killers! the people will shout, despite knowing what we know about sociopathic behaviour. Charles Manson was quite the charming friend of many before he killed them.

We meet strangers all the time in our daily lives. Walking in our neighbourhood, on the bus, in cafes, the doctor’s waiting room. If I were to be murdered by a man who struck up a conversation with me in the waiting room of my GP society would be far more sympathetic than if I had met up with a man from an online dating service, but there is very little difference. Dating unfortunately, is a risk we take to meet someone we may want to share a life with, but there are things we can do to improve our safety. Never meet someone in a private or secluded place, always public. Never go without someone knowing where you are. Have a safety contact plan. I call it a safe call buddy. Someone who knows where you’re going to be and makes that timely call, usually half an hour in just to check that you’re okay and don’t need an escape plan. Followed up by another call or even just a text another half hour later. Mine is a code. Someone, usually my son, calls me to ask if I can get milk on my way home. A yes that’s fine I can do that response means everything is okay. No sorry I don’t think I can means come and get me. And we have used the No response more than once. He turns up with a family emergency if I haven’t found a way to get away from the date.

There are so many things we do daily that are fraught with danger. It’s all about risk management. It would help to hold violent and predatory people accountable for their behaviour too rather than expecting victims to change theirs.

I had recently finished reading Fake by Stephanie Wood (amazing read by the way) and I wondered after having shared online dating experiences with so many women who had been through similar and sharing my own experience in my short story on Patreon, Red Flags, I was curious about what men experienced in online dating. Surely women were not always the prey that became the victims.

Of course men fall prey to predatory behaviour online. Not always to women. Fake accounts running love scams fleecing lonely unsuspecting men out of their life savings. However after some conversations I’ve found men and women seem to have the similar issues in working out how to connect online.

Deep in the Reddit rabbit hole reading threads of the Ask Men section (yeah there’s an ask men section and it’s both hilarious and stomach churning) I found men complaining of the same things I complain of. Initiating contact with a Hi message, using snapchat filters on their photos (guys it’s even weirder when you do it), one word replies, having to steer the entire conversation. And that’s all before the first date!

First date stories are just as bad if not worse. I’ve asked guys for their worst first date stories and while not surprised by the predatory and poor behaviour of some women, I was bewildered at the experiences. Andy is in his forties and recently went on a date with a women where they met in a shopping centre for the intention of coffee but she took him to a pet store. While there she asked him if she purchased an electric anti barking collar would he wear it while they had sex. “I’m not against trying new things but there’s a difference between kinky and get me the fuck out of here!” he told me.

Jason is 47 and thought he’d given online dating a second chance a year after his disastrous first date where he invited a woman to his home to cook for her and after a bottle of wine she “tried to rape” him.  “I thought I was just being polite but she assumed the invitation was for sex and wasn’t friendly about being rejected.” he said. The night ended in his neighbours calling police when she started throwing things around his house.

So it’s out there, women can behave just as badly as men. Statistically though women fear meeting men the first time than men fear meeting women.

Bad behaviour isn’t restricted to heterosexuals either. Liam is gay and trying to meet the right one after his partner of 8 years left him for a younger man. He accepted an invitation to meet up with a man for dinner at a nice restaurant in the city. It all seemed to be going well when they split the bill and his date said he’d meet him in the toilets. Once it dawned on Liam that sex was the intention, in the toilets of all places he tried to make a beeline for the door and his date became aggressive trying to grab him to persuade him to go into the toilets with him. If it weren’t for the intervention of a very astute waiter Liam was worried about how it was going to end.

Janey, an optimistic 24 year old was trying to be open minded when she met an older woman at a cafe. Until the older woman’s husband turned up and they propositioned her for a threesome. “It felt so cheap but it was the assumption that because I’m a lesbian that I would be happy to be the entertainment that made me angry.”

One of the most common themes I found amongst the complaints from men is not knowing if she’s interested. I have felt this experience also and many women complain of the same thing. “You can be chatting for days and have no idea if she’s keen or not when it becomes one word answers” one poster complained. I mean I’m hearing you. In my quest to expand my options I thought I’d try a few different apps only to discover mostly, it’s the same men on all the different platforms, have the same men match with me on the various platforms and yet still no real connection.

My first experience was Rob who lived not far from me and talked to me for three days when I finally suggested maybe we could grab dinner or something some time and meet in person to which he indicated he’d be interested. The next day he asked what I was doing, and I said I was relaxing in the pool. He suggested I should come over to his pool with a bottle of wine. I told him I don’t drive. It wasn’t as easy as jumping in my car like he could. He told me to get an Uber. I said I’d prefer to meet in a public space first. I was oblivious to the intent of the bottle of wine. Eventually frustrated by the fact I wasn’t getting the hints he said “Look I’ll be honest here, I’m just looking for no strings attached sex. Maybe a friend with benefits. So if you’re keen to come over have a few drinks, relax and have a good time then I’m here.” I told him thanks for wasting my time. Three days! Talking to me like he was interested in me as a person and all it turned out was that I’m a vagina with a pretty face. He said sorry. I told him don’t be sorry, be better. He’s still on there lurking around looking for his no committed relationship.

There was Dave the bus driver who I’d matched with every time I decided to try again after deleting my account in disgust. We finally arranged to meet after months of chatting to the point where I would ask how are the kids and he cancelled on me last minute. We had even exchanged phone numbers which isn’t something I do easily. He cancelled by text saying “Sorry I can’t make it I hope you understand.” I didn’t really because there was no explanation offered before or after I replied that I hoped everything was okay. I see him there now still, updated profile and new photos, and I refuse to swipe right on him anymore.

Andrew who had arranged a coffee date with me but had to postpone because he caught a cold (which I really appreciated that he didn’t just turn up sick cos that has happened too) but never accepted the offer to reschedule, then when matching on a different platform accused me of stalking him.

So many times conversations go remarkably well which is so relieving when you’re dealing with being propositioned for a cheap and nasty sexual encounter on a daily basis, and you think there could be something in it when suddenly it just dies. You’re trying to revive the contact and it’s just one word answers or no response at all. I’ve labelled it being friend zoned.

But there are so many conversations that I just don’t go there with and I’m wondering if the Ask Men of Reddit realise why women aren’t so responsive. The Hey Gorgeous/Beautiful/Sexy contact. If they could see how hard my eyes roll when I read this they’d step away thinking I was possessed. Flattery greetings are so cliche. So often they end up being the guys who just proposition me for sex anyway. The ones who assume that being a single woman in her 40s must be lonely and desperate so it will be easy to get them into bed with them. They get a rude shock when they discover just how badass I really am.

I find it difficult to show interest because the predatory behaviour has put me on guard all the time. If I show interest is he going to assume it means we’re having sex? That disappointing bomb drop when they finally get the courage to ask you to satisfy their desires and you start thinking you must be really uninteresting if all you’re good for is meaningless sex.

So guys, I know so many of you are out there genuinely trying but if we’re not showing interest it could be that we’re just not that into you, or it could be that we’re terrified your interest in us is more sinister than meeting for coffee. It’s not you it’s me.

Shallow – First contacts on Internet Dating

Online dating has been an interesting world for me to delve into. Between men’s grossly inappropriate behaviour and awkwardly inept social skills, I struggle to have a half decent conversation. Besides the “What are you doing right now” messages without even so much as asking how I am because their intention is to see if I’m available for sex, (they don’t really care how I am unless I start talking about chlamydia symptoms – great deterrent by the way), I find myself continuously fielding awkward conversations that begin with making reference to my appearance.

“Hello beautiful”
“Hey sexy”
“You’re hot”

That’s it. That’s how it begins. It feels like I’m at some teenage party with awkward pimply faced kids trying to hit on me. So inept at socialising they haven’t mastered the art of conversation yet and think the way to woo a woman is to tell her she’s pretty.

For the record, I binge watched Prison Break. Twice (hello, Dominic Purcell and Wentworth Miller) so if you start a conversation with “Hello Pretty” I am shuddering at the thought of T-Bag licking his lips. Don’t do that.

I’m not a vain person. Well not more than average I guess. I recognised I have aesthetic appeal however I don’t think I’m so outlandishly stunning that it warrants people stopping me in the street to tell me so. To me internet contact is something I relate to as people on the street. Why do men think it’s okay to say things online they wouldn’t come up and say to me in the street?

I pondered on why this kind of contact irks me as much as it does. Then I was on the ferry with my granddaughter. She’s four and adorable with attitude. The customer service operator on the ferry told her she was beautiful. Usually she shies around strangers but this particular day she was full of sass and she simply said “Yeah I know” as she flicked her hair. It got some laughs and her sass was mentioned but it made me stop to think. We tell her all the time she’s beautiful, pretty, gorgeous. She’s come to expect to be told that. She’s also become use to the fact that strangers can comment on her appearance and she’s expected to be grateful for it.

She is beautiful. She is also smart, funny and kind. These are part of her beauty. She is beautiful. I want to her to know that because I wasn’t told that when I was a child. I was told the opposite. Often. My mother could be vindictively nasty and I was often a target. When my first boyfriend broke up with my I was devastated. An absolute mess. She told me if I wore some make up and styled my hair occasionally maybe he wouldn’t have left me. When I was 24 I had finally had enough of looking like I was still 12 years old so I got a pixie cut. I was so proud of how bold I was to try something so chic. My mother said to me “What the fuck did you do to your head? You look like a dyke”. When I was pregnant with my first child, it was summer and over 40 degrees when I was just about due. I barely had anything that fit but I had to go out. I found a yellow sundress that didn’t quite fit like it use to but at least did the job. When I walked through the door at my mother’s house she burst out laughing hysterically to the point where she was rolling around on the floor. She told me I looked like an oversized canary.

There were often comparisons made between my sisters and myself. We were like The 7 Dwarfs, or The Smurfs. Everyone’s individuality was their identity. My sister was the pretty one. I was the smart one. I didn’t get told I was pretty. To be fair I didn’t get told I was smart either. My parents told OTHER people I was smart. They took credit for it where credit was due too. They never told me.

My identity crisis evolved through my adult years and it wasn’t until I was much older that I learned I didn’t need to be told I was beautiful. I just needed to know it. That it wasn’t just about being beautiful physically, but having a beautiful heart meant more about who I am.

The older I get though the more I realise there’s truth in the statement that beauty fades. So the other attributes of my identity are more important. But I’ve also come to recognise my “beauty privilege”. This is something I learned from my friend Carly Findlay who writes extensively about appearance diversity.

I realised my problem is that I no longer need to be told superficially that I’m attractive in any way. I want to know that I have more going for me than just beauty.

Flattery is shallow. I’m not a shallow person. This is why it irks me the way it does when a man thinks the way to get my attention is to flatter me about my appearance. It’s assuming I’m shallow. If they’re so quick to make these assumptions then they don’t deserve my time. Or me.