Little Thumper Lou's Littlespace

  Once upon a time there was a little girl who loved to explore the woods near her house.  She was an inquisitive and curious little one (too much for her own good and curiosity killed the little one, Daddy always told her) and there was just so much to discover...plants and ladybirds and little streams with tiny stone bridges and lots and lots of pretty flowers.  But there was something even more enticing. Raspberries. The sweetest berries that burst in your mouth and stained your tongue with their lush juices. Oh, how she longed for just one taste... But the woods had another side, one not so sweet.  And the little girl had heard the stories about the darkness that lurked there...a darkness that only unmasked its true face when the sun disappeared and the shadows came out to play.  So for the little girl, the woods were forbidden to her, unless her Daddy was with her. She loved her Daddy, she really did, and always tried to be his good girl; but the little girl was also stubborn and

  "If we winter this out, we can summer anywhere" Seamus Heaney. Bear with me, this ISN'T about politics or religion! Seamus Heaney's poetry collection "Wintering Out" is concerned with his struggles around how the politics of 1960s and 70s Northern Ireland influenced and played a part in his writing.  He felt pressure to be a spokesperson for the Catholic minority present and whilst he received much praise for finally addressing more political themes, there were many who felt he could and should have been more overt in tackling the violence and turmoil felt by the people.  And in his next collection "North", he did. "Wintering Out" for Heaney was a necessary transition period: a period where he finally became more comfortable in expressing his views and showing the world what and who he truly was. Now, you may be asking..."What the hell is she prattling on about Seamus Heaney and winter and poetry and what the hell has that got to d

  Strong arms engulf me from behind.  I shriek and drop my toothbrush in fright, but am instantly soothed by the familiar scent and gravelly voice: "Shh, little one.  Daddy's here." He turns me around and I am gently pressed up against him; my ear against his chest, hearing the rhythmic thump thump thump of his heart.  "You're home early, Sir.  I thought I'd be sleeping..." Firm fingers grasp my chin, forcing me to gaze up into his narrowing eyes.  "That's Daddy to you, little girl," he growls. My eyes widen, my lips part and my breath catches. "But..." "No." He tenderly smooths the curls from my face.  "Little one, you've been a big girl for long enough these past few days.  You need this.  Daddy needs this." I can never refuse him.  I sigh and snuggle deeper into his chest.  "Yes, Daddy." His arms tighten around me and I know he is smiling.  "There's my little one."  Daddy wipes th

  Daddies struggle too. Much as we like to build them up on a pedestal and see them as almost godly, they get tired and grumpy and sick. Just like their little ones. So what happens when Daddies don't feel 100%?  What happens when they need looked after but are, often, too stubborn to accept such care from their little ones? And what happens when their little ones feel they can't help the one person who matters most to them? I can only speak from MY experience, but my Daddy is a stubborn arse who is in constant Daddy Bear mode and hates to be taken care of.  He will say that nothing is bothering him.  He will say everything is OK.  He will tell his little one not to worry. Here's a secret, especially to all you Daddies out there who say the same things when they are struggling: We're not daft!  We have eyes and we can see when something isn't OK with you. Hell, I can sense when there's the slightest shift in Daddy's body, or if he sits differently.  So telli

Acceptance. Care. Esteem. Love. I am not ashamed to admit that I have these in abundance.  I try to live a life where I encourage, support and love others whenever I can. And I do this pretty well. I like to think that I am a very considerate friend and partner: it is genuinely NOT a chore for me to actively listen and encourage my cherished connections.  It is NOT a chore for me to think about ways to show my appreciation and care for them in any way I can.  It is NOT a chore for me to love them. So why is it such a chore when I apply this to myself? Self-acceptance. Self-care. Self-esteem. Self-love. Funny how one simple word can change everything. Self. Why is this such a disgusting and dirty word for me? Why can't I accept and love myself like I do others? Because in my childhood, any sort of self-care was selfish. Because in my childhood, self-love was arrogance and you needed taken down a peg or two. Because in my childhood, self-esteem and self-acceptance simply didn't e

I was commenting recently on a Tweet about the allure of being called a a good girl and in homage to "Sex and the City", I couldn't help but wonder ... What IS it about being called a good girl that is so instantly bone-meltingly appealing for some... And why do I find it so loathsome when I encounter it in a comment left on my content? Firstly, let's unpick the word "Good" because, let's face it: it's a boring fucking word. On its own it is a word that usually fills me with feelings of "meh". So why is it so appealing when it's attached to girl/boy? Why does such a bland and boring word hold such immense power? The Cambridge Dictionary defines the word GOOD as: • Very satisfactory, pleasant or interesting, • Healthy or well, • Of a high quality or level, • Used to express praise, • Successful, able to do something well, • Kind or helpful, • Morally right, • Well behaved, • To show satisfaction or pleasure at something. If

  There are a lot of littles out there who experience really bad anxiety. As I have written before, I am one of these littles. And I struggle to manage it. But this isn't about me. This writing is about highlighting ways to manage anxiety when you are little/advice for Caregivers and is by no means a definitive list ... I hope that if anyone comments below on strategies that help them/their little that I can then add them here. Communication For many littles who have a Caregiver, hearing their voice is one of the biggest ways to ease anxiety. Being able to call, or listen to a recording of their Caregiver's voice is soothing and relaxing and a way to feel connected and safe. So many littles who experience anxiety also mentioned that the way their partner/Caregiver communicates is really important in easing/increasing their anxiety. Communication is important in EVERY DYNAMIC, hell EVERY RELATIONSHIP, but when you are dealing with anxiety combined with a little, then your

  I am chronically ill. I have a cluster-fuck of conditions that mean I am in constant pain. Every. Fucking. Day. There are days when my Endometriosis and it's accompanying womb gremlims decide to make my abdomen so tight that I feel 9 months pregnant. There are days when my Fibromyalgia causes my hands to drop everything and makes me walk like a 90 year old whose tummy has been slashed to the spine. There are days when my Rheumatoid Arthritis makes my fingers nip and burn and I could cry with the pain. There are days when I can't even pull my own panties up, never mind leave the house. There are days when my anxiety stops me from answering the phone and I feel like there's a monster inside me, clawing to be released. There are days when my little craves to be touched but my skin is too painful. But none of this shows on the outside. And I've become very fucking good at hiding my pain and suffering because for so long, no one really seemed to give a shit or t

I honestly can't recall a time when I wasn't almost crippled with anxiety. I've experienced it all my life: it's a "pain that I'm used to" as Depeche Mode sings. I'm used to the constant feeling of unease and fear but not knowing what is causing it. I'm used to my stomach somersaulting at 100mph. I'm used to checking something a gazillion times, only to check it once more - just in case. I'm used to having 40 different strategies to manage my anxiety so I can make it to the end of each day. As far as anxiety goes, I can confidently say that I'm a pro. But do you know who isn't? My little. For anyone who doesn't know me, my little only fully came out of hiding in March 2022 (see, she's proper new and shiny!!) and oh my, was I unprepared for just how anxious she was ... and still is! My little is hyper-observant and vigilant and an empath, so she notices and feels EVERYTHING: the good, bad and the downright fucking ugly.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who desperately wanted to be out in the world. She desperately wanted to laugh and dance and twirl and feel the sun on her face. But she was a terrified little one because she was born in darkness and locked up in a tower of pain and suffering... Oh how she longed to be rescued from her invisible prison. One day there was a rumble from outside and the little girl ran to her only safe place...inside her mind...and holed up in the dark twisty vines intertwined with longing and fear. She froze and closed her eyes as the barriers burst and the walls came crashing down around her. The little girl waited for the pain...the devastation...the destruction... the gentlest of caresses and the most intoxicating of voices? "I've found you, little one..." he rasped as he gently cupped her trembling face and forced her to meet his gaze. "B...B...b...but...I don't understand..." she began and stopped, mesmerised by the most inte