Prioritising time for you…

“I absolutely love being there for other people, whether it be friends, family, neighbours, work colleagues but I sometimes feel like I give too much of myself and my time to other people. At what point do I stop?”

Firstly, I can tell that you have such a big heart and that is one of the best characteristics to own. I can also relate with you on giving too much of yourself to others.

One of the things that helped me, was to identify who I am giving myself too. How much time are you spending on other people, rather then yourself?

You’ll find that you may have things you want to do, hobbies, goals you may want to achieve and right now it may feel like you’re not moving anywhere. By investing in yourself and your life, you will start to notice the difference of how you are feeling.

Try and work out a balance of what works for you. For example, rather then meeting someone for a chat, talk over the phone. You may find cutting down on the amount of time you spend with someone will make you feel much better too. Prioritise time for you in your week and don’t feel guilty for doing so. 

Another point is to be mindful of who is there for you. You may be there for someone but it may not be reciprocated as you would like. This is not to say, you should stop being there for anyone, but look at how much you’re investing in others & most importantly how you feel about it. 

I hope this helps, feel free to let me know how you get on 🙂



Sylvia Stein

One of the biggest accomplishments in my life was becoming a mom and having three beautiful children beside being married to my wonderful husband Jeremy. However, something I had always wanted to do was pursue my love of writing being able to publish my own work. Therefore, in the fall of September 2012, I enrolled at Southern New Hampshire University online to purse a Master’s of English and Creative Writing. I was excited because after being an educator for about 7 years and going through a hiring freeze my husband encouraged me to go after my love of being a writer and pursue it full time.

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Cheryl Wills

Cheryl is a TV personality who recently found out her great-great-great grandfather was a slave who fought in the civil war. His story is incredible! All documents have been verified. She now uses the information to inspire children in impoverished neighborhoods. She also started a new stage production, which is headed for broadway!

Here is her story:

Cheryl Willis

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Come On In, The Water’s Fine And So Are You

Brits are no longer swimming because they have poor body images and don’t want to be seen in a bathing suit. What’s worse, is that they are spreading the negative feelings on to their children. Fusion and cancer survivor, Freya are now teaming up to inspire the next generation to get back into the water.

It wasn’t until fairly recently that the issue of body shaming was first introduced. However, the practice has been around for generations. Body shaming is now an epidemic, and it must be stopped. Lives are at stake.

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Cheryl Hemmings

This author is turning tragedy into triumphant, not just for herself but for all other creative people in her community.

Cheryl Hemmings story..

I suffered from a rare, debilitating illness called Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD) for most of my adult years. I was involved in a series of emotionally abusive relationships. Throughout these difficult circumstances, my singing, songwriting, and fiction writing have all provided a place of solace at various points in my life. The last year has been a case of rediscovering myself, after ending what I hope will be the last abusive relationship I will find myself in, and finally having surgery to end my PMDD. After surgery, therapy and making some changes, I finally had the courage to pursue my dreams.

Cheryl Hemmings

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Patricia McDonald

This is what I call a true to life imitating art example. The author of this article, an author of fiction, never imagined her life would take such a turn, like that of the characters she had created.

On the life of a writer

I have tried since I began writing fiction in 2011 to encourage all writers, would be writers and anyone who has the love of the written word. That’s not because I am so confident in my own writing. In fact, In the beginning, like everyone else, I couldn’t even admit to being a writer. I just got on with it and started with my crime trilogy (The Blue Woods Trilogy). I found it difficult to end my stories because the plots just came fast and despite only intending to write one book I had to write three!

Pat McDonald

It took me a while to grow into being an author, but I just loved the freedom of letting my imagination run riot. It helped as I began to suffer a few balance problems and became quite deaf in my right ear that I found myself becoming more of a recluse than anything else. In August 2014, with two of my trilogy published and my third at the editing stage, I ventured out to meet a friend and had a bad accident when I fell and smashed my face on the railway platform. Given I didn’t trip, it prompted me to find out why.

The resultant Health investigations and my Christmas MRI scan were to make me realise that life and writing meant a great deal to me. I felt an urgency about my books which spurred me on to publish my third in the trilogy Boxed Off before Christmas and carry on with my nearly finished book Breaking Free.

I travelled to Wales between Christmas and New Year, as I was writing my book Breaking Free and needed some inspiration. It was a book I began about a character that had dropped out of the plot of my first book and I wanted to know what happened to her. I am a ‘free flow’ writer and let my plots come naturally. It was a new venture for me, written as all my books are for me as pure enjoyment, and I wanted to try a new genre, crime yes, but with a twist of the paranormal, and a historical element (WW1 and specifically a Welsh Regiment), so I took myself off to Wales and Caernarfon Castle and found my ghostly ending at the Royal Welch Fusiliers Museum within the castle.

It turned out to be an apt title as on my birthday a month or so later in February 2015 I met a neurosurgeon and was introduced to Hamish (this is what I named my tumour) who apparently had been with me for a lot of years, but was now getting spatially greedy and would soon press on my brain stem. He and I were parted in April 2015, one year ago. It is only when someone tells you that there could be some dire consequences having such an operation, and they list them just in case you are unsure how serious it is, that you realise how precious life is. I thought about all the books in the world I may never be able to read, let alone write.

I decided that should it be a success and I came through I would use Breaking Free, now finished but in need of editing, to do this during my convalescence. It was a good idea as one of the things that came out of the operation was an inability to write or type and I used the editing and social media as the means to teach myself again. It was complicated by having double vision, so most of the editing and the beginnings of the book (I dedicated it to “Hamish, my tumour, without whom I would never have tried humour”) were done with only one eye. I am just publishing, A Penny for Them, which kept me amused during the early recovery days. Now one year on I am well, my hearing has returned, my eyesight is sharper than it was, and without sheer determination (and the brilliance of my neurosurgeon) I wouldn’t have published two books!

I am a great believer and have been all my life, in that if you really want to do something you will. From the age of 15 years, all I wanted to do was write fiction; I left it a little late to start but once begun, nothing was going to stop me. I tell ‘all writers, would be writers, and anyone who has the love of the written word’ or indeed something to say, just write, don’t worry about the rules people want to force on you, let it flow – after all you can tinker with it later at your leisure.

Getting Even Rogue Seed Boxed Off

Mishi Medford

This story is not for the faint of heart or faith. Although there is no doubt how great science is, this story is proof that not even science can answer everything.

Here is Mishi’s story…

All Medicine Doesn’t Come in a Bottle “This is just temporary!” These are the specific words that held me together and gave me the ability to believe in a creative miracle for my youngest son. He had been the victim of a gunshot wound to his head. He now lay in a coma, after a long and difficult six-hour operation on his brain. Half of his skull, the bullet, three large hematomas and skull fragments were all surgically removed. He was hanging in the balance between life and death. He was on life support, but diagnosed as clinically dead without life support and diagnosed brain dead as well. The neurosurgeon had not given us any hope. This was a most arduous thing to hear, much less to embrace as our reality.


I knew in my spirit that I must make a decision, not only to believe in a more earnest desired and expected outcome but to firmly hold to that expectation in my heart. As I walked into the cubicle in which my son was resting, I was shocked and taken aback at his condition. I was not prepared for what I was witnessing. Although half of his skull was missing, one could not tell for the immense swelling that had morphed his head to three times its normal size. Sixty-eight staples held his shattered skull together while tubes and shunts protruded from his broken cranium. There was dry blood in his ear, and his left eye was swollen the size of a golf ball. He appeared lifeless. I felt my emotions rise, my heart felt as though it were wrenched with horrific pain and I had to choose not to give in to my emotions and completely fall apart. In that moment, I asked for Divine Guidance and the words that I desperately needed to see beyond this tragedy. I asked for a token of hope to see an expected end of joy and miraculous recovery. “This is temporary!” Those were the words that arose from my inner most being and boldly flowed from my lips. To even speak them increased my faith and elevated my spirits.

In the six long agonizing days and nights that my son lay in a coma, his condition did not improve. In fact, there were a few times that his condition worsened and became potentially less hopeful as far as medical evidence provided. It is true that there were moments of anguish, tears, and utter desperation, but to hold on to hope, regardless of the physical evidence before us only moved my faith in a more accelerated rate. I refused to believe that my son would not live and recover to his fullest potential. Hope had become the hand of the friend that I held on to firmly and I refused to let go. Seven days from the day my son had received an extensive traumatic injury to his head, the miracle that my family and I had believed for came to pass. My son woke up from his coma and moved toward rehabilitation.

My son, who was given no hope of living a normal life upon survival and despite complete paralysis to the entire right side of his body is now enjoying a vibrant life as a husband and father to four beautiful sons. He does all the activities that the physician said that he would never be able to do. As a matter of fact, the parts of his brain that control specific abilities were destroyed or removed and in spite of that, still he is able to carry out these abilities. Reading, writing, verbal cognition and communication are among them. With determination and hard work, he has recovered his life and is a testimony of miracles coming to pass. He is proof of the resilience of the human spirit and Divine intervention. I am most grateful for the skill and wisdom of the medical staff, as well as the great leaps of applications in conventional medicine. They definitely made a magnanimous difference to my son’s quality of health. They were imperative to sustain him to the state of being in which he could recover.

I am also humbly and joyfully grateful for the empowerment of choosing to believe, hold on to hope and envision a thriving future for ourselves and the ones we love. It is true; most medicine does come in a bottle. There is, however, some medicine that can only come through love, faith, and hope. It comes from our Source, from our life force within. We can all benefit from this wonderful medicine daily and administer as often as needed. All medicine does not come in a bottle. My son is proof of the power of Love. *As a footnote, with brain injuries, the first five years of rehabilitation are crucial. Though his recovery was quicker than doctors ever expected, it was also one that took a lot of perseverance, tears, and sheer determination. It has been eight years and two brain operations later. He still endures pain and has some limitations, but he remains my hero and offers hope to anyone who knows his story. My hope is that his story will offer those who read this the same token of hope. I believe with God, with Love all things are possible.