Join thousands of others in February and organise your own red themed event or join in on National Wear Red Day – February 24.
Our fundraising kit is full of ideas and information on how to be a part of Red for Heart.
More about National Wear Red Day
Source:
http://www.bhf.org.uk/get-involved/fundraising/red-for-heart.aspx
These Four Things Happen Right Before a Heart Attack
By Katrina Turner
Every year, approximately 785,000 Americans suffer a first heart attack. And 470,000 who’ve already had one or more heart attacks have another one. The scary thing is that 25 percent of ALL heart attacks happen “silently,†without clear or obvious symptoms.
Even when symptoms occur, they can be so mild or vague, most people don’t even realize it’s heart-related (unless they are made aware). Four things in particular are the most sinister signs of a silent heart attack.
These four things are the focus of a recent video presentation by renowned cardiovascular expert Dr. Chauncey
Crandall: Silent Heart Attacks: A Special Newsmax Heart Health Report. According to Dr. Crandall, the reason silent heart attacks go untreated is because people don’t even notice the symptoms, so he created a special video presentation to show the four things to look for that may be a silent warning — before it’s too late to intervene and survive the damage.
Timing is the most critical factor for survival. Statistics show a clear link between delay in treatment and disability or death — the amount of time that elapses between the first sign of symptoms and receiving care.
That’s why knowing what to look for in terms of symptoms is critical, especially when they’re the kind that most people don’t think to associate with a heart attack — like the four things in Dr. Crandall’s video,Silent Heart Attacks: A Special Newsmax Heart Health Report.
Read in Full:
http://www.newsmax.com/Newsfront/silent-heart-attack-symptoms/2011/09/23/id/412086
By Laurilee McMichael
6:00 AM Wednesday Feb 8, 2012
A tropical family holiday with an autistic child can be successful if you plan ahead, writes Laurilee McMichael.
The minute the cat went into the box, the cat was out of the bag.
“Why is Skittles in the box?” asked 9-year-old Hamish, eyeing the box suspiciously.
“She’s going to the cattery,” I answered, hastily stowing the box and its yowling contents in the car.
“Why’s she going to the cattery?” he asked, even more suspiciously.
“Because …” I answered, taking a deep breath and steeling myself.
“Because … tomorrow we’re going to Fiji.”
“Arrrrrgh! I don’t want to go to Fiji! Arrrrgh!”
And this, with variations, and even a few tears, was what I got for the rest of the day. Reasoning was futile.
“I hate Fiji. Fiji’s stupid. Arrrgh …” And so on, for hours on end.
Hamish, who has Asperger’s syndrome and severe ADHD, hates the idea of change and new things. Even thinking about going somewhere different makes him anxious. So much so that my husband Jarrod and I kept the Fiji trip quiet for two months to avoid him becoming stressed about it.
We also crossed our fingers and hoped that once there, he’d love it.
With Hamish in mind, we’d carefully planned ahead, because one of the really fun things about Asperger’s and autism is that anything unexpected or negative can trigger a screaming meltdown of mammoth proportions, usually guaranteed to attract a crowd of tut-tutting onlookers.
Read More …
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/travel/news/article.cfm?c_id=7&objectid=10783610&ref=rss
Edward Joseph Mercure is an amazing kid. Known to most by his nickname “EJ,†this Cranston student is far from ordinary. He is 13 years old, on the autistic spectrum, and is taking a college-level chemistry course.
Several years ago, EJ was diagnosed with ADHD and Asperger’s Syndrome, an autism spectrum disorder that is characterized by impaired social interactions and is commonly called high functioning autism. Since that diagnosis, EJ has had to overcome a lot of obstacles.
“As long as I can remember I have been known as the smart, quirky kid at school,†EJ explains, “and I got teased a lot.â€
The teasing was especially brutal once EJ entered middle school. By the spring of 7th grade at Western Hills, EJ began to melt down. Visits to his guidance counselor, Michael Watson, were a common occurrence. During one such visit, EJ mentioned that he wanted to take a chemistry class. When Watson offered to find some information on a summer science camp, EJ was insistent that it be a college-level course and asked for a letter of recommendation.
“He needed a confidence booster,†said Watson. Hoping for the best, Watson wrote the letter stating that EJ “possesses strong mathematical skills and has a passion for science.â€
In the meantime, EJ was looking into a basic chemistry class at Community College of Rhode Island (CCRI), and he was making strides toward that goal. Due to his young age and social deficits, EJ had to truly prove himself a worthy candidate for such an opportunity. Prior to enrollment, EJ met separately with the Acting Director of Enrollment Services, Terrie Kless, and an Admissions Officer John Araujo. Both explained to him that ultimately he needed the permission of the Chemistry Department Chair, Dr. Elizabeth A. Arendt. So, EJ wrote a heartfelt letter to Dr. Arendt requesting permission to take Basic Skills Chemistry.
Dr. Arendt informed him that his was “a unique request and one that will require a bit of thought.†After reading the supporting documents that EJ provided, Dr. Arendt also said that before any decision was made, EJ would have to take the Chemistry Placement Exam (CPE). This exam is designed to let CCRI know if a student is academically prepared to take classes and would be just one factor in determining his eligibility.
On Friday, June 24 (two days after completing 7th grade), EJ confidently went to the CCRI testing center and took the CPE. The following week, EJ learned that he had done exceptionally well. Dr. Arendt was impressed with EJ’s scores, and she wanted to set up an interview with him. She and EJ talked for over an hour discussing his potential, the possible (if not inevitable) challenges, and the expectations of college-level courses.
Surprisingly, EJ handled himself with great aplomb. When asked what the biggest challenge might be, EJ admitted to his disorganization. Disorganization in classes is an indicator that a student will not do well, especially college-level classes in which a student is expected to work with little prompting from the professor. Considering EJ’s other disabilities, he certainly had his work cut out for him. But he was tenacious, explaining to Dr. Arendt, “My future career goals are ambitious. I intend to go to Yale University and pursue a science degree—either chemistry or psychology. I’ll work my hardest, study and apply myself.â€
Read in Full:
http://www.warwickonline.com/stories/7th-grader-shows-he-has-mettle-for-college-chemistry,67519
February 8, 2012
Autism. In recent years, the word has attracted considerable attention, often relating to children with autism. What about adolescents and adults who have been diagnosed with a condition on the autism spectrum, which includes Autistic Disorder, Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified, and Asperger’s Disorder? Can they be productive, successful employees?
Yes, and in fact they are often valuable and loyal employees if their strengths are recognized and they are given the opportunity to demonstrate their skills. Very often, people with Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASDs) are honest, dedicated, and detail oriented. They may have a unique sense of humor, thrive on routine, are able to persevere on challenges, possess a creative perspective, and are often experts in their area of interest. On the right job, with the right support, people on the spectrum have the potential to be successful at work.
When they experience difficulty in the workplace, it is most often because a person on the autism spectrum is vulnerable to difficulties with social interactions, transitions, abstract thinking, planning, organization, time management, and working in teams. Some may struggle with being flexible, and have a need for structure, repetition, clear and concrete guidelines, and an understanding supervisor.
In some cases, these challenges can be addressed by workplace accommodations. In other cases, though, the person with ASD needs help to develop a set of skills that will facilitate a more successful venture into employment. Out of recognition of their needs, as well as an increase in the number of people diagnosed with autism over the past 10 years, programs and services specifically designed to meet the employment needs of people on the spectrum are beginning to emerge.
People with ASDs have a wide range of skills and deficits. Programs, therefore, tailor their services to the needs of the individuals whom they assist to target skill deficits and maximize their ability to obtain and retain gainful employment and do so with the greatest level of independence possible. These services often include skill instruction in social interactions, self-advocacy, job search, applications, and interviewing. They may also offer job observation and on-the-job trials.
Although no definitive scientific evidence has been established to guide the development of these programs, some promising practices have been identified. If done well, these programs should foster self-awareness and self-esteem, teach new skills while reinforcing those previously learned, make social rules clear and concrete, teach simple scripts for common social interactions, reinforce social response attempts, and model skills learned.
For some participants, a greater emphasis may be placed on a higher level of direct supports and deliberate advocacy with employers. These might include the use of supported employment, where the person with ASD receives one-to-one support, on-the-job training from a representative of the program to learn their responsibilities as well as work place rules and expectations. These job coaches, as they are known, may also orchestrate relationships with supervisors and fellow workers to ensure that support is maintained if and when job coaching supports can be gradually faded to the point where the employee with ASD is independent at work just like anyone else.
JVS of MetroWest’s Career Center for individuals diagnosed with ASD offers a broad range of services specifically designed to meet the unique needs of people with autism who want to enter the workforce. Since March 2011, the Center has been serving adults on the autism spectrum, individually and in small group settings. The Center offers multiple sessions of weekly social skills, work readiness, and job search groups. Participants, as appropriate, rotate through simulated work stations which include business office, retail store, document imaging station, medical office, shipping and receiving department, and working in the cafe. Participants also visit employment sites to learn about the types of work available as well as to try out some of the job tasks.
Employer outreach, education, and involvement are integral to the Center’s activities; human resources specialists from local employers volunteer to conduct practice interviews with participants. Despite the communication and social skills challenges faced by many participants, JVS’ Career Center is demonstrating that when provided with the appropriate services, many individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorders are able to perform work activities that lead to personal satisfaction, independence, and community integration.
For more information about JVS’ Career Center, contact Lauren A. Klein at 973-674-6330, ext 237, or Lklein@jvsnj.org.
Samantha J. Herrick, PhD, CRC, NCC, is assistant professor for the Department of Psychiatric Rehabilitation and Counseling Professions at the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey.
Source:
http://www.njjewishnews.com/article/8230/people-with-asd-have-much-to-offer-employers#.TzaGc8o0FJg
MetroWest ABLE
MetroWest ABLE (Access, Belonging, and Life Enrichment for People and Families with Special Needs) is the community’s network of agencies and community leaders that serve and advocate for individuals with special needs and their families. MetroWest ABLE makes connections within our Jewish community to raise awareness and support meaningful inclusion of people with special needs and their families in every aspect of Jewish life in MetroWest. MetroWest ABLE is funded by the UJA Campaign, the Linda Bunis Haller Foundation, and The Healthcare Foundation of New Jersey. For more information, contact Rebecca Wanatick, community coordinator at 973-929-3129 or rwanatick@ujcnj.org or visit www.metrowestABLE.org.
Seth Mnookin
Lecturer, The Graduate Program in Science Writing, M.I.T.; Author, ‘The Panic Virus’
Note: This is the second part of a feature that began two days ago on the Public Library of Science. The introduction to both parts is identical.
It’s been almost four years since I began work researching and reporting on autism. The bulk of that work was focused on my book The Panic Virus, which examines the spurious fears over a connection between vaccines and autism. (There’s more information about the book, including a summary and links to reviews, on my website.)Â The Panic Virus was released in hardcover last January, and over the past twelve months, I’ve learned enough — about human nature, about fears and prejudices, about rationality and superstition and medical ethics and public health — to write several more books. (I’ve also learned first-hand about the anxiety and uncertainty that comes with being a parent: In December, my wife gave birth to our second child.) I incorporated a very small amount of this new information into an afterword that is included in the paperback edition, which was released a few weeks ago.
One thing I did not get to address is how dramatically my own conception of autism has evolved. Human beings have a fundamental need to classify and label; it’s one of the most basic ways we make sense of the world around us. Because “autism” is a medical diagnosis, it might seem, at first blush, to be an immutable definition — but as anyone who has looked at the issue knows, this is most definitely not the case. Just last week, The New York Times made a huge splash with a front-page story detailing how changes in the “official” definition of autism in an upcoming edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) could dramatically reduce the number of people being diagnosed with autism or “autism spectrum disorders” like Aspergers syndrome.
I asked some of the people who’ve influenced my thinking about all of these issues to collaborate on a virtual roundtable. This conversation, which took place before the Times story on the DSM, is open-ended and free-ranging. The participants, in alphabetical order:
Shannon Des Roches Rosa — Shannon is one of the powerhouses behind the invaluable website The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism; last month, Shannon and her collaborators released an incredible book by the same name.
Todd Drezner — Todd is a New York filmmaker whose most recent work is Loving Lampposts, an incredible documentary about his son. You can see a trailer for the movie, read reviews, and learn more about the film on its website.
John Elder Robison — John is a bestselling author who has written two excellent memoirs about living with Aspergers: Look Me In the Eye and Be Different.
Ari Ne’eman — Ari is an autism rights advocate and the co-founder of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN). In 2009, President Obama appointed him to the National Council on Disability; he is the first person on the autism spectrum to serve on the Council. The ASAN is currently working on publishing it’s “first and foundational” anthology, which will be titled Loud Hands: Autistic People, Speaking.
Steve Silberman — In addition to being one of the country’s best science writers, Steve is one of my all-time favorite people. (He also shares my love of the Grateful Dead and has his own PLoS blog, NeuroTribes.) He’s currently working on a book about the history of the autism diagnosis and neurodiversity.
What follows below is the second half of a lightly edited transcript of our conversation; the first half can be found here, on my blog at the Public Library of Science.
Ari: Please do excuse my delay, Seth – I’ve just finished attending the National Disability Leadership Alliance‘s Annual Planning Retreat. NDLA is a very unique version of something that is very common in Washington, DC – it is an advocacy coalition of national organizations which lobby to influence public policy, with a twist: it is controlled by a Steering Committee limited to national groups run by and for people with disabilities. ASAN serves alongside groups like the National Federation of the Blind, Little People of America, the National Association of the Deaf, the American Association of People with Disabilities and many others. Participating in NDLA is frequently a great opportunity to learn something new from those with backgrounds different from oneself – but more often than not, it gives one a chance to learn about how similar the experiences of people with different disabilities are.
Looking around the table during our two day discussion, we heard people talking about a shared narrative of marginalization, segregation and exclusion from the mainstream of American life. Whether it was ADAPT’s work fighting against institutionalization, the National Federation of the Blind’s work to ensure accessibility in consumer devices such as the Kindle and iPhone, Little People of America’s effort to fight against the repeal of Florida’s ban on dwarf-tossing or our own activities on topics like community participation in research, we felt like there was a common thread going across all of our issues. On topics like closing sheltered workshops and enhancing employment opportunities, we could all mobilize confident that every organization had a stake in the outcome – but what is exciting to me is that we are seeing a growing consensus that we can mobilize even on topics that impact only one part of the community.
When ASAN was running our campaign against the NYU Child Study Center’s Ransom Notes ads, I’ll always remember calling up Bob Kafka, one of ADAPT’s lead organizers, to ask him for the organization’s support. I had never spoken to him before and wasn’t sure how likely it was we’d get support from a group with such a long and illustrious history, given that we were at the time largely unknown. I briefly explained what was happening – we were a small group of Autistic adults agitating against a public relations campaign by NYU, a major research university, that depicted autistic children and those with other disabilities as kidnap victims, objects of pity and disgust. Before I could launch into our pre-written script about why this was a problem, Bob cut me off – “We know all about that sort of thing. They do this to us all the time – you’re an organization run by people with disabilities, and you’re fighting for the same things we fight for. You’ll have our support.” And, we did – on that and any number of other controversial topics emerging from the autism world, ranging from our work against Autism Speaks to battling against CDC’s proposed wandering code, groups like NCIL, ADAPT, AAPD and many others stood beside us, even when others in the autism community wouldn’t.
I’m raising this not just because I’m a big believer in cross-disability solidarity – though I am. I bring it up because I think we have a tremendous amount to learn from the larger disability world, and I fear this is something that autism does not do a very good job of. No one who had absorbed the lessons of Willowbrook and Pennhurst would think it was a good idea to build special “Gated Communities” to house autistic adults and others with intellectual and developmental disabilities. No one who knows the history of the Jerry Lewis telethon and the objections made by people with muscular dystrophy to being portrayed as pitiful, “half-people” by its star would ever conceive of something like the “I Am Autism” video. No one who knew the names Ed Roberts, Judy Heumann or Justin Dart and the history of all they accomplished for people with disabilities would ever doubt the meaning and importance of self-advocacy by and for us, instead of on our behalf. Yet, these are not things we think about or have even heard of in the autism world.
Let me close by posing a question to the rest of you: What ambitious goal do you think we could set for the autism community for the next decade? In the next ten years, if we all get our acts together and decide to learn from the lesson of the larger disability rights community, what change could we make in the lives of Autistic people and our families? Let’s be ambitious – consider how extraordinary the progress of the previous decade has been. At the same time, we can and should be strategic in how we set out to achieve those goals. Change has never happened overnight and it will always face plentiful challenges and detractors. Yet, I believe that if we break free of the narrow context of the autism community’s own “way things are,” we are going to find that together we can achieve extraordinary things. Todd, John, Seth, Shannon, Steve, what do you think they might be?
Read in Full:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/seth-mnookin/autism-roundtable-crossdi_b_1232699.html
Feb
6
Sunday February 5, 2012
By Dr ALBERT LIM KOK HOOI
Diversity in the world encompasses all forms of life, and even includes the diverse ways our brains are ‘wired’.
THE sixth mass extinction is upon us. At least 30% of all extant plant and animal species will be lost by the next century.
And worse is expected after that. The five mass extinctions of the past were the result of giant asteroid impacts, super volcanoes, mega tsunamis, earthquakes and the recurring ice ages.
This current mass extinction is undoubtedly the result of man’s farming and industrial activities trying to keep pace with our greed and our unsustainable consumption of goods and services.
We mourn the living forms that have gone extinct and we fight hard to prevent the currently endangered species from suffering the same fate.
A biodiverse world is a treasure trove of raw materials for scientists to invent and innovate. Food crops, medicines and bioindustrial products and processes are some of the beneficiaries of biodiversity.
The Shangri-La Hotels and Resorts’ recent decision to stop serving sharksfin, bluefin tuna and Chilean sea bass because all three species are critically endangered is very welcome. Every bit helps. For many of us, there is little doubt where we will choose to stay or dine.
A biodiverse world is a thing of beauty. To see millions and millions of species of plants and animals in the wild is an incomparable experience and thrill. The greater the repository of diverse living things, the more raw material there is for natural selection to work on to produce more diverse forms.
It is a happy upward spiral.
Apart from biodiversity, most mindful people also celebrate racial and cultural diversity. The past 200,000 years of human biological and cultural evolution has produced different races and cultures, making our world diverse, interesting and rich.
We have diverse political opinions and we have different world views. An acceptance and appreciation of diversity, whether it is biodiversity, racial diversity, cultural diversity or political diversity, is a statement of tolerance and understanding.
It is an affirmation of civil, human and animal rights.
Genes, environment and stochastic events determine what and who we are. They give us slim or fat bodies, tall or short statures, blue eyes or brown, blond hair or black.
Even when genes and the environment are very similar, the random interactions of genes and environment, i.e. stochasticity, will produce very different biological outcomes.
We, barring some bigots, are usually accepting of diverse physical appearance in humans.
The brain is equally a result of genes, environment and stochastic events, and all behaviour, mood and personality stem from how our brain is configured. Yet we are quick to be dismissive of the socially inept, the autistic, the homosexual or the transgender.
Those who are at the margins are not there by choice, but because of biological and environmental factors, both of which are not under their control.
There is another diversity I wish to celebrate, and that is neurodiversity. We are neurodiverse in that our brains are wired differently.
It is not a matter of good or bad, right or wrong, but different. It is a new and vibrant concept started by members of the autistic rights movement to oppose those who seek to pathologise autism.
The earliest published use of the word neurodiversity appears in an article in New York Times by Harvey Blume on Sept 30, 1998. “Neurodiversity may be every bit as crucial as biodiversity is for life in general. Who can say what form of wiring will prove best at any given moment? Cybernetics and computer culture, for example, may favour a somewhat autistic state of mind.â€
The autism spectrum disorders includes autism, Asperger Syndrome and attention deficit hyperactive disorder (ADHD). Maybe these are not disorders at all. We are quick to use the word “disorder†when we see a behaviour different from ours.
A person with Asperger Syndrome may find the typical social environment of gossip, mindless chatter and one-up-manship frightening and disorientating. Is he “disordered†or are we?
Many individuals with the so-called autism spectrum disorders are not able or willing to give up their way of life.
Parents continually try to “fix†their autistic children and search for that pill to cure them, and that’s sad. It is more important that we help them grow and develop in the context of their mental make-up.
Let us hear the words of a wise autistic child. “My autism is not a problem. It creates problems, but it is not going to go away. I want help with my problem, not with who I am. I want you to offer support, but do not try to change me into someone else.â€
The concept of neurodiversity has been extended to conditions such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, dyslexia, dyspraxia, developmental speech disorder (think The King’s Speech) and Tourette’s syndrome.
I wish to extend the concept of neurodiversity to encompass as many psychological and mental configurations as possible. There is no need to be happy all the time, to be optimistic and positive, and to be sociable.
Read in Full:
http://thestar.com.my/health/story.asp?file=/2012/2/5/health/10665714&sec=health
Being in a close, loving relationship is many things. It’s comforting, satisfying, challenging, enlightening, and fun. The one thing that a close relationship is not, however, is simple.
In the beginning of a new relationship, the time I think of as the Golden Days, your partner can do no wrong. Snoring is cute. Picking up the socks that end up all over the house is an act of love. The thought of a serious fight seems impossible — until it happens.
The person you love the most, to whom you are closest, becomes irritating, stupid, or irrational. Suddenly the Golden Days are replaced with reality. You and your partner are shedding your pretenses. Neither you nor your loved one feels the need to impress the other. You are committed to each other. You’re comfortable together.
But the snoring starts to drive you crazy, and you resent the socks you have to pick up. Conflict arrives.
All couples experience conflict, but there are ways to minimize its pain and maximize its growth. Instead of drawing you and your partner apart, conflict can bring your relationship to a new level of intimacy. This happens not by chance, but through learning new ways of relating to your partner and new relationship skills.
1. Decide on a topic and a time.
If there is an issue you want to resolve with your partner, decide together on a time and day to discuss it. Don’t plan it for when you’re tired, or likely to be stressed. If you can, make it for when you’ll have the privacy and time you need. For some, this means talking after the kids are in bed, or when you can hire a babysitter. It may mean planning time on the weekend, when your stress level is lower. Make it an appointment that you have thought about and agreed upon with your partner, and stick to it.
2. Keep on topic.
I can’t stress this one enough. If you’ve set aside time to talk about needed home repairs, don’t start discussing how your partner didn’t take down the Christmas lights until August. It can be very easy to try to get all of your complaints in at once, but resist that temptation. This time is for the agreed-upon topic only. Otherwise you will both become overwhelmed, angry, and frustrated.
3. Learn how to actively listen.
Active listening is more than simply hearing. It is listening with all your attention on what your partner is saying. It means not thinking of what you want to say next, but focusing your entire self on your partner.
As you actively listen, you want to make sure what you’re hearing is what your partner is saying. Saying something like “so, it sounds like you’re really angry that I didn’t go with you to your work party†gives your partner space to clarify — “no, it wasn’t that. It was that you didn’t even ask me how it went when I came home.†Then you try again with a statement such as “you wanted me to show interest in it.â€
Ask and clarify until your partner feels like you get it. It might feel strange at first, but once you get a handle on active listening, you will find it is an incredible tool to have for all sorts of conflict in your life, not just in your relationship.
Read in Full:
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2012/01/29/5-relationship-skills-for-conflicts/
15 Celebrity Quotes For Love, Laughter, And Life
The late historian and journalist Hendrik Willem van Loon once said, “Somewhere in the world there is an epigram for every dilemma.â€
I think that’s why I love quotes so much. It might take a little digging, but you can almost always find a quote for every situation – the good, the bad, and the somewhere in between.
So, as we get closer and closer to 2011, I thought it might be fun to look at a few thought-provoking or inspirational quotes from some of our favorite celebrities.
After all, no matter what kind of year 2010 was, and no matter how we expect 2011 to go, each of us could use a line or two to make us pause, reflect, and plan – whether they’re quotes on love, quotes about friendship, funny quotes, or quotes about life in general.
After the jump, and in no particular order, check out 15 celebrity quotes that might inspire you for 2011.
Disclaimer: Each of these celebrity quotes was nipped from one of several garden variety quotation websites – www.thinkexist.com, www.brainyquote.com, www.goodquotes.com, and the sort. Any inaccuracies aren’t the responsibility of Celebrity Psychings, Psych Central, or anyone affiliated.
In other words, these are not exclusive and you can easily hunt your own celebrity quotes if you please. 
1. “The greater your capacity to love, the greater your capacity to feel the pain.†– Jennifer Aniston
2. “The only rule is don’t be boring and dress cute wherever you go. Life is too short to blend in.†– Paris Hilton
3. “I try to believe like I believed when I was five…when your heart tells you everything you need to know.†– Lucy Liu
4. “You make mistakes, but I don’t have any regrets. I’m the kind of person who takes responsibility for it and deals with it. I learn from everything I do.†– Kim Kardashian
5. “I’ve just got to maintain my passion for what I do.†– Leonardo DiCaprio
6. “The truth is you don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed.†– Eminem
7. “You’ve got enemies? Good, that means you stood up for something in your life.†– Eminem
8. “We’re all damaged in our own way. Nobody’s perfect. I think we are all somewhat screwy, every single one of us.†– Johnny Depp
9. “Once you hit 40, you start re-examining the math of it all. I’ll trade wisdom for youth any day.†– Brad Pitt
10. “I’m my own person, and people can say whatever they want. I’m still going to be the person that I am.†– Lindsay Lohan
11. “You know, what can I say. If a relationship can’t work out, make a record.†– Miley Cyrus
12. “Sometimes you just need your privacy.†– Rihanna
13. “Sexiness is a state of mind – a comfortable state of being. It’s about loving yourself in your most unlovable moments.†– Halle Berry
Read in Full:
http://blogs.psychcentral.com/celebrity/2010/12/15-celebrity-quotes-for-love-laughter-and-life/
Jan
30
I used to beat myself up for everything, even when I’d do a good job. Because, you know, I could always do better.
I also used to say “I’m sorry†when a) I wasn’t sorry and b) at the weirdest times, like when someone would bump into me or when I’d want to express a difference of opinion. (Blogger and author Therese Borchard can relate. She gave exposure therapy a try for eliminating her apologizing addiction.)
And any time I’d make a mistake, big or small, I’d feel like I just committed a mortal sin. All mistakes were magnified and the guilt and shame made me want to crawl under a rock. Making mistakes became a gnawing cycle that also chipped away at my already unstable self-esteem.
Saying no to someone was painful, and there were many times that I just wanted to be alone.
“Pioneering self-esteem researcher Morris Rosenberg asserted that nothing is more stressful than lacking the secure anchor of self-esteem,†according to Glenn R. Schiraldi, Ph.D., author of The Self-Esteem Workbook and a professor at the University of Maryland School of Public Health.
In my case, this was certainly true. My low self-esteem led to several toxic relationships, extra stress and a sinking mood. And along the way, I just didn’t enjoy myself as much as I could have.
Rosenberg’s research, Schiraldi said, revealed the following signs of low self-esteem:
- *Sensitivity to criticism
- *Social withdrawal
- *Hostility
- *Excessive preoccupation with personal problems
- *Physical symptoms such as fatigue, insomnia and headaches
“People even put on a false front to impress [others],†he said.
People with a shaky self-esteem also struggle with self-critical, negative thoughts, said Lisa Firestone, Ph.D, a clinical psychologist and co-author of Conquer Your Critical Inner Voice. “These thoughts often criticize and hold them back from going after what they want in life.â€
Read in Full:
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2012/01/30/signs-of-low-self-esteem/
By BELLA BATTLE
LITTLE Joshua Lindley has become a modelling sensation — despite a disability which means he can only speak through a COMPUTER.
School’s out: from her very first week, Jenn Ashworth knew she didn’t want to go back… ever. Photograph: Christopher Thomond for the Guardian
Jenn Ashworth
The Guardian, Fri 13 Jan 2012 23.00 GMT
‘Who wants to be locked into a room with 30 people dressed just like them, to be startled by a bell every 35 minutes, to queue for lunch for 40 minutes and be made to stand outside in the cold twice a day?’ Jenn Ashworth most definitely did not…
We were watching Family Fortunes. I was 11 – a late-blooming August baby who looked more like a nine-year-old. A Sunday evening: the end of my first week at high school. It was darkish: my dad liked to have the big lights off and only one of the fringed table lamps on at a time, either because the dimness made it easier to see the telly or because he wanted to save money on the electricity bill. I remember, certainly, lying on the sofa under a red tartan blanket that smelled like the car and the dog, and it being a few minutes before my mum noticed I was crying.
She asked what was wrong. I gave her the simplest answer I could think of: I didn’t want to go to school. What should I have said? That my rucksack wasn’t right? The other girls had different sorts of socks? My hair wouldn’t stay inside the clips? This sort of thing came up later as IÂ searched for a reason they could accept, but the truth is that it started with a feeling I still have difficulty putting into words. I hated it.
I couldn’t get used to the bell – the noise hurt my eyes and filled my mouth with the taste of metal. There were so many people swirling around in those corridors, all wearing the same clothes, that I couldn’t tell anyone apart and was convinced that among them I would get lost, disappear or die. Sunday night school blues are not unusual. What is strange was that I then refused to go. I stayed in bed and refused to get dressed. I ran out of the house in the morning and didn’t come back until the bus had gone. I faked migraines, stomach bugs, phantom aches and pains. I cried and threw epic tantrums that lasted for hours. I’d threaten to kill myself and refuse to eat for days.
This went on for years.
I’m not the first or the last to do this. There’s even a name for it: school refusal. They distinguish it from common-or-garden truancy because there’s no attempt to deceive – I never pretended to get the bus. Us school refusers are normally academically bright or, if not bright, at least willing. That was me. When school, convinced that I was ill in mind if not in body, sent work for me to do at home, I’d sit up in my bedroom and complete it, arranging my books inside a bag that never left the house. When I did go outside (which was rare), I’d haunt the library. School refusers are, apparently, depressed. They are anxious. It’s a phobia, of a sort.
If they wanted to write off my refusal as the product of an anxious personality, there was plenty of evidence for that. In the previous year, my last of primary school, I’d refused to join a gang formed in order to bully a girl who’d fallen off her bike and broken off the ends of her two front teeth. The praise I received for my stance was addictive, but when the whole thing didn’t blow over in a few weeks, it started to look more like what it was: stubbornness. I sat on my own for a year and my hair fell out in clumps. Even when the gang disbanded and I was invited back into normal social circulation, I refused.
My mum told the education welfare officers this story, and together they looked back at it and told me my hair fell out because I was worried about going to high school and it proved I was already anticipating the change with dread.
Or perhaps the cause was a postviral depression: as a 10-year-old, I’d had a severe case of chickenpox, so severe I’d been hospitalised for several days. Perhaps I’d never been right since? For the adults working with me, these felt like adequate explanations, so all the interventions and “treatments” over the next three and a half years were about dealing with an anxiety disorder or a phobia. They suggested I just go to school in the afternoons, and build up over a few months to a full week. They tried cognitive behavioural therapy aimed at correcting the faulty thoughts that triggered the anxiety they told me I was feeling. It made sense to them.
But that is not how I felt.
It is true, though, that at 12 I was prescribed an antidepressant and later had a series of sessions with a child psychologist. I remember almost nothing except that she wore a brown leather skirt and told me it was not her aim to make me go back to school. I’m not sure I believed her.
I told them I would not take the antidepressants, and then I did because they told me they would help me sleep better. I pretended to fall asleep on the couch and listened to my parents talking about me. I didn’t take any more tablets after that. I didn’t sleep, not because I was depressed, but because I didn’t do anything to tire me out. My mum was advised not to punish me for refusing school, but not to make days at home an attractive treat, either. So I stayed in and read.
So, not depressed then. But unhappy, certainly. Catastrophically so. I cried every day and counted the months until I would turn 16. IÂ thought, very often, about suicide as a preferable option to all that miserable waiting. My mum said the worst of the unhappiness came in the second and third years of my refusal, and that is how I remember it. It was all the education welfare officers, the endless meetings, the counsellors, the constant pressure to do something I’d already made up my mind not to do, the pressure to explain when my explanation was never, could never, be acceptable to them, that brought on this deep and immovable unhappiness. They kept asking why and the only thing I could tell them, like a stuck record, was that I didn’t want to. I knew without being able to say that that place was bad for me. I refused. But I prefer to think of it, all of it, as declining. IÂ declined what was offered. I realise I’m not painting an attractive picture of myself. I’m sure I was hard to like, hard to love, during those years, but it felt like life and death to me.
The local education authority wrung its hands and eventually I was sent to Larches House, a pupil referral unit that specialises in children with behavioural problems at risk of being excluded. I was 13. There was a boy whose epilepsy, or the medication he took for it, made him unpredictable and aggressive. A girl who cut off her hair with a pair of kitchen scissors because she thought her mother wouldn’t send her to school if she looked like she’d been scalped.
There were swings. They were kind. They asked me what I wanted to read. They let me write stories. I was happy there. I made a friend, April, who was like me – clever and quiet and no trouble at all, so long as she was getting her own way. We walked around the gardens and decided to invent a new language. I remember my mum commenting on how bright and happy I looked, how she hadn’t seen me smiling, with my hair up, for months and months. But my placement there ended because I refused to carry on going when it was made clear that I could attend for only one term and the aim was to ease pupils like me out of their phobias and back into mainstream schools. I declined.
At 14 there was another unit for kids with behavioural problems who had been excluded. I can see now that they didn’t have a clue what to do with me. The lacklustre lessons were held in a storeroom above the changing facilities attached to a council-run sports ground. There were rickety tables, gym mats and hockey nets stacked against the walls, and two tutors who’d take us through English and maths for three hours every morning. I remember Julie, who dressed like a boy, was pleased when she was mistaken for one and always wore a hat because she had severe alopecia. And Emma, who’d corner the rest of us at break-time, smoking furiously, to gleefully tell us about the sex she was having with her uncle. The tutors told us not to pay any attention – she’d got kicked out of school for telling tall stories.
I read Earthsea by Ursula K Le Guin, and because I told them I liked English and wanted to be a writer, they encouraged me to find the hidden metrical patterns in transcripts of Douglas Hurd’s speeches. Every now and again, the tutors would tell us what wastes of time we were.
This lasted for only a few weeks. I stopped going because I was bored and because a promise – if I kept up with the tutor, they’d let me stay out of school and take my GCSEs at a local college – was withdrawn. I was ferried to and from this place, and others, in black cabs. I must have cost the LEA thousands; much more expensive than a blind eye and a library ticket, which is what I wanted most.
A couple of months ago, I went back to Larches House and took a tour of rooms that were familiar, looked at the garden in the pouring rain. The head teacher spoke passionately about child-centred education, about literacy, about making a difference. Phobics and refusers aren’t lumped in with the naughty kids any more, she explained, which means that were I 11 again and starting my antics now, I wouldn’t get sent to Larches. The medical educational services would have taken me on. Perhaps being ill is better than being bad, but what if it’s neither? When I expressed this to the staff at Larches House, I could see I wasn’t making sense to them. “Children often refuse as a way of getting back at their parents,” one teacher said, “as a way of getting back at them for a divorce, or for putting too much academic pressure on them.” I am sure that is sometimes true.
But isn’t it also true that there are plenty of adults (most, perhaps) who would not choose to spend their days locked into a series of rooms with 30 people dressed just like them; to be startled by a bell every 35 minutes; to queue for 40 minutes of a 50-minute lunch break in order to eat; to stand outside in the cold for 15 minutes twice a day; to be told to “shoo” when standing in the wrong place; to be forced to sit on a sports hall floor in rows and be lectured at for 20 minutes twice a week; and, most of all, to be bored, bored, bored out of your mind – bored to the point of depression, to the point of rage.
I have worked in a prison. It is not that different. Most grown-ups would not volunteer to spend five years of their life like this. This is what I wanted to say then and what I still want to say now: disliking mainstream school and declining to take part in it is not an illness. It is not a mental health problem, or a behavioural problem.
But this is a story with a twist. Because, one day, I changed my mind.
“You just went,” my mum says, and she still sounds shocked. She tells me about the morning IÂ came down the stairs with my hair tied back, cheery and chipper, my school uniform on, asking for a quick breakfast before I missed the bus.
At this point they’d nearly given up. I’d certainly given up on myself. The education welfare officers told me I was wasting my life and I’d never amount to anything if I didn’t go to school. I’d started to think they were right. And then I decided to decline this version of events, too. It looked like an impulse decision to my mum, to everyone else, because the most important thing I had given up on was discussing what went on in my head. But I wrote about it in my diary. “I will go to their shitty fucking school,” I wrote, and the handwriting is recognisably mine, in 15-year-old ballpoint pen that is fading but scratched through two pages, “I will get these stupid exams and I will go away to university and NEVER COME BACK.”
My mum spent the next months on tenterhooks – getting up before me and crossing her fingers that, when I came down the stairs, I’d be in uniform. And I always was. I didn’t approach it gradually, as people with phobias are supposed to. (Clue: it wasn’t a phobia.) I changed my mind, and plunged into the cold and filthy water of my mainstream, one-size-fits-all comprehensive high school.
The boys were strange. Six inches bigger than when I’d seen them last, and with cracked, booming voices. Something had happened to everyone else that had not happened to me and IÂ didn’t know what it was. They smelled like sweat and fags, and they called me Mouse. I remember a sex-education lesson, and telling one of them off for talking about girls like they were “nothing but orifices”. What a way to make friends. What a prude I was. There was a silence. None of them knew what “orifice” meant. We were 15. I’d been the one at home wasting my life, neglecting my brain. What had they been doing? (Another clue: they went out at night and kissed each other. Some of them were “doing it”.)
It was not easy, but I never refused again. I was a terrified little stiff who could quote Shakespeare and The Book Of Mormon, who knew what “oestrogen” and “orifice” meant but not “blow job” and “getting off”. I’d never tasted Coke, never mind White Lightning. There are some things, I realised, IÂ could not learn from books, and though I was fearless and driven about those exams (on the morning of my French oral, my mum was shaking, not me), I blushed and trembled and looked around for the teacher when someone said “fuck”.
Never mind, I thought. I’ll just get these exams and then I’ll get out. I had a hope for university – the farthest away, if not the best – but I guessed that I’d missed too much and would fail these exams; guessed that no uni would want me, with my school file bulging with notes about sparse attendance, the minutes of mental health panels and the psychologist’s reports.
What they also did was send me on a Sutton Trust visit to Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, with a bunch of other no-hopers. They took us to the Fitzwilliam Museum, read us Blake, showed us what a lecture theatre looked like. I asked about Measure For Measure and was given a book with a list of 16th-century laws about marriage and left to figure it out on my own. IÂ went home, did those A-levels, and a year later I went back. Life began. It was brilliant.
In preparation for writing this, I had a long conversation with my mum. She told me it would be hard for anyone to trust an 11-year-old to know what was best for her, that the education welfare officers and other suits involved with the case threatened her – regularly – with prison if she didn’t get me to school, without giving her any useful information about how. She reminded me of our shared snigger when a stumped psychiatrist suggested I was depressed over the death of Kurt Cobain (except on the phone my mum said, “Curt Curtain”). She told me when I did decide to go and take the exams, the uniform she’d bought for me at 11 fitted me when I was 14 because I didn’t grow, because I wouldn’t eat.
She reminded me, without saying anything, that she knew me. That if she’d have found her confidence, she probably would have given me a library ticket and left me to it. I told her I wanted to set up a school that was more of a museum or a library where the children were set free, and she told me why not, why shouldn’t I, what was stopping me?
*Cold Light, by Jenn Ashworth, is published in paperback by Sceptre.