After my husband and I married each other in our late twenties, my husband was diagnosed as being severely sight impaired and therefore disabled. We’ve since started ski racing together (me as his ski guide), and together we have ski raced for Great Britain. You can read more about our ski racing here.
When James and I started ski racing together, our lives transformed. Instead of going to the pub on a Friday night, we tried to ease off the alcohol and go to the gym Saturday morning instead. We’ve tried to eat as an athlete ‘should’; we’ve changed our gym programme; we’ve used specific equipment and tried different approaches to training. We are very aware that we are older than many other athletes on the para alpine ski racing circuit, but also know that age doesn’t define us as much as it could in the able bodied ski racing circuit. …
I wish I didn’t know about this. I truly don’t. But unfortunately, last November, the seemingly impossible happened. The International Paralympic Committee stripped my severely sight impaired husband (the new term for technically ‘blind’ in the UK) of his para alpine ski racing licence, stating that he could suddenly ‘see’ too well.
I’m not going to go into the reasons here as to why this is wrong; why the test was not indicative of his sight; why this is outrageously incorrect. That’s for another time. What I will do here is explain what happens next.
James (my husband) has been in the room with the two international classifiers, the GB SnowSport representative, and an IPC representative for what seems like hours. I’ve tried standing outside to try and hear the conversation but no luck. Suddenly, the door opens and James storms out, desperate to get away from the situation; the people in it; the building, as soon as possible. …
A step by step guide for succeeding at work — by doing less.
It was 2015. I was working a stimulating (read exhausting) job in the charity sector. I was where I hoped I’d get to. I was married to a lovely man and had bought a two bedroom flat in London.
And I’d just been signed off work sick for 6 weeks with depression and anxiety.
My battle with depression had begun a decade ago and I’d been trying to – fairly successfully – manage it without drawing too much attention to it at work.
The office was designed for extroverts which exhausted my introverted self. I worked long hours which gave me no time for self care. When trying to talk to my line manager about my workload, I felt a failure for not keeping up. So I worked longer and harder, desperate to work myself out of the hole I was falling into. …