7 ways of helping someone with anxiety

On DinosaursAndDonkeys, simple tips on helping someone with anxiety that might seem obvious, but are often forgotten.

Dinosaurs, Donkeys and MS

Me and Dizzy seem to have ended up doing a little series of posts on anxiety. A few months ago we did a post on 10 things about living with anxiety and then last month 7 tips for coping with anxiety To finish off our mini series we have decided to do a little post on 7 ways in which you can help someone you may know who has anxiety. 🙂

  1. Let them know that they can talk to you.


2. Ask how you can help and be encouraging.


Dizzy says that the best way to help is to give someone ginger nut biscuits or make them brownies. She just needs to then remember not to eat them all herself! 🙂

3. Encourage them to seek help.

dizzythedonkey computer

Dizzy and her donkey friends have been doing their research on the different places where help is available. 🙂

4. Don’t get frustrated and don’t give…

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Writing on the Wall

Christine Ray – Artists, like others, tell different stories of the same events.

Brave and Reckless

Originally published on Sudden Denouement

I read the

Writing on the wall

Neon graffiti

Composed of

Cryptic symbols

Stunning words

Of power

Of rage

Of grief

That sting

Like sleet on my bare skin

Ice crystals that burn

And freeze on contact

I recognize your

Artist’s tag

I long to

Pull out

Cans of spray paint

From my battered


Connect the dots

With hunter green

Soften the edges

Silver and mauve

Rewrite the narrative

Midnight blue

But this is not

My territory

I am unsure of

My welcome

On your turf

These days

I reluctantly

Turn away

And walk

City streets

Concrete and steel

Broken glass

Strewn sidewalks

To my 3rd floor


Rows of deadlocks

And chains

On the door

Never sure if

Their purpose is to

Keep others out

Or keep my creative

Madness contained

In this room

Of my own

Blank canvases


I pause



What I want

What I

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A summation of a little life

TheFeatheredSleep – an ode to mysterious Solace


The soul of solace

Always surprised

As if some spectator diety laughed at the absurdity of prediction

For mortal souls

Never expected … solace often follows despair

Down a well beaten path

Where all colorful leaves have fallen and turned grey underfoot

She is the red cardinal, flickering like an lacquered fan opening, starkly bright against bleak winter sky

She is the tucked warmth of your bed, greeting weary limbs, needful of respite

A silver section of moonlight, glimpsing like thin nyaad at frosted window

She is the irregular beat of your memory, draining thoughts to drip wet til dry

A summation of a little life

Like a letter from an old friend, coming just when, you’d given up believing in serendipity

Yet she is there, watchful in the eves, of your blunders and taut anxiety

It is in the harmony of reconciliation, laying palm over palm, folding away pain…

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Sad Days Are Good Days Too

Nicole offers a reminder, beautifully.

The Lithium Chronicles

I know you’re having trouble
breathing right now,
with the weight of the world
and all the things
you think you need to be,
wrestling on top of your chest.
It can all feel so
unbelievably crushing sometimes,
but sad days are good days too.
Lovely girl, we all have sad days,
welcome yours as a chance to be still.
Live them without fear,
with an open heart,
and a sweet silence.
Lighter days are on the horizon.

© Nicole Lyons 2018

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Sometimes I Want to Be Held By A Man, Naked, Without Having Sex – IS THAT OKAY?

Samara – naked does not have to oblige one to sex, and in praise of cuddles.

A Buick in the Land of Lexus

Apparently not.

If you are a human, then you’ve heard about the Aziz Ansari debacle. You know, the incident in which “woke bae” Ansari pushed and pushed and pushed his date to have sex even though she was clearly not into it.

Many women are uniting in solidarity over their own similar experiences. However, just as many are condemning “Grace,” Ansari’s date. She went to his apartment, she got undressed, what did she expect? Why didn’t she just leave??

Even the New York Times published an opinion piece by Bari Weiss in which she says, “I am a proud feminist, and this is what I thought while reading the article: If you are hanging out naked with a man, it’s safe to assume he is going to try to have sex with you.”

For most of my life, I bought into that same line of reasoning. If I get…

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Instead of Looking For Ways to Excuse Aziz Ansari, Try Raising the Bar

Renee comments on the “Grace & Aziz” discussion, and yes, raising the bar is needed.

That Shameless Hussy

In 1998, I had an experience on a first date that was very similar to what “Grace” described in her interview with Babe magazine about her “date” with Aziz Ansari. There are differences, of course. My date wasn’t a celebrity, he was more aggressively persistent, and he actually injured me physically. I had never been afraid to stand up for myself before – a truth that made my story less believable to my friends, who had trouble reconciling the “me” they knew with someone who could be so easily subdued and become so compliant, under what they considered to be insufficient duress. I spoke to a detective, who told me that “the way I behaved during and after the encounter” was not likely to convince a jury to convict.

I decided he was right.

I was not devastated. I am sometimes alarmingly pragmatic, even when it is my integrity that…

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Christine Ray writes truths of suicide both for those who do and those left behind.

Brave and Reckless

Thinking today of Chester Bennington and Chris Cornell and Robin Williams and all of those whose lives have been lost to depression and suicide but did not make the headlines or the social media news feeds.   I have walked in your shoes.  I have put my leg over the bridge, stood at the open 13th  story window and considered walking out, have thought I was nothing, thought that others would be better off without me.  Those are the lies depression tells us.  You mattered.  You are missed.

Inspired by Phases  by Kevin Kantor & Sienna Burnett

the suicide note

she did not leave

left a faint  imprint

on the wooden table

where they would sit and talk

over cups…

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The worm

TheFeatheredSleep poems on worms and caterpillars.


Why have you never been happy? Asked the caterpillar

I do not know, said the worm

For I have tried, to find meaning in wriggling through mud

Surely I have put effort into higher purpose

Yet it eludes me for certain

And the caterpillar


For he would soon transfer his frustration

Into colored flight

Becoming even if for a short while

A thing of polination and cast of beauty

Surely people wept when his life, so short, would end

And still they taunt the worm though it cleanses the earth

For we are kinder to beauty than usefulness

And our lot is hard to fathom

From a ninety degree turn

Walking as we do, on top of the worm

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“What did you expect, going to his apartment?” is bad feminism

Beth Caplin comments sagely on a current controversy.

Sarahbeth Caplin

800px-Aziz_Ansari_2012_ShankboneWe live in a world where “gray rape” is a legitimate phenomenon; where consent is so often muddied that men walk away from sexual encounters feeling lucky, and the women they just slept with go home feeling violated. What is happening, and why?

In a recent article for the New York Times regarding the “gray rape” of a woman with the pseudonym Grace and comedian Aziz Ansari, writer Bari Weiss would have you believe that feminism is the root cause of all the confusion, by turning women into helpless damsels too afraid to use their words:

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The Forgotten American

On WineAndCheeseDoodles, Dina Honour says she is tired of something.

Wine and Cheese (Doodles)

If I read one more think piece about what constitutes a ‘real’ American, or what alphabetized or categorized or hypothesized list of attributes define a ‘real’ American, I’m going to scream.

If I read one more newspaper article, or book blurb, or journal piece by men and women with glasses and thoughtful looks in their bio pictures extolling the plight of the ‘forgotten’ American I am going to lose my shit.

If I have to listen to one more pundit, one more punter, one more pontificator blindly reaching into the ether to grasp the imaginary coattails or the slippery bootstraps of the “real” American I am going to go pull my hair out.

Look–I am not denying this truth: millions upon millions upon millions of Americans have been forgotten. By corporations and government, by their neighbors and communities, by Congress and politicians. What I am disputing is the mythical notion…

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