Half written scabs… By @bbrice01

By Becky Brice


Half written scabs…

Sometimes I try and be super organised write scabs so when my turn comes around I can simply copy and paste. I very rarely finish these scabs so here are some of my half thought through thoughts.


Am I a bad feminist?

I’ve never felt like I’ve been treated differently because I’m a girl.
My parents didn’t change their ambitions for me when they found out I was a girl. I wasn’t treated or expected to act differently to my brother.

Yes, media representation of women is ridiculous and unrealistic, but I’m not sure it’s brilliant for men either. I’ve had male friends go through the same anxiety about weight and looks as me. I’ve seen them be left out of conversations because they didn’t know the latest football scores or refused to down a pint.

I’ve seen self proclaimed feminists take down women for how much make up they wear. For liking short skirts.

I’ve had more patronising experiences for being young and looking even younger than for being female.

It’s not that I don’t see there is a problem. I’m reminded every day of the disgusting treatment of girls and women around the world. But on international women’s day, I found myself feeling distant from the women everyone was revering. I felt like I was being congratulated for something that I didn’t really see as a big deal. I’ve never felt different so why on this one day should I be put up on a pedestal?

Things that have angered me this week:
Being told I can’t crave meat if I’m a vegetarian
Bad driving
Rude people on the train. To me and to other people.

Things that have made me sad this week:
A baby so sweet it made me want to cry. How middle aged woman is that. A video about dads coming home and surprising their kids.
My dog. His little eyes. Watching me leave.


Getting a job is expensive

To get a placement you have to network in this business. Go out and meet people. Get your name and face known by the people with the power. As a fairly shy person I already find the process fairly nerve wracking. Will they be nice? Will they laugh us out the door? Will they say something that makes my stomach drop in embarrassment? Almost everyone we’ve gone to see have been so kind both with their time and their words. The generosity of the industry is amazing with top ECDs taking the time to speak to a couple of students who have no idea what they’re doing day on day. So my fear before every crit is ridiculous. Going off previous experiences I should walk into them with confidence that I won’t die and the person on the other side of the desk just wants to help us get better. And yet the heart still races, the hands still shake, and the mind still goes blank.

Alongside all this is the sheer expense. Travel (because agencies aren’t hardly ever a walk away), lunch (because Pret frowns on taking your own food in), coffee (again, Pret doesn’t like flasks), thank you cards and so on. Travel is by far the most expensive, reaching £12 on bad days.



As it’s Father’s Day on Sunday I thought I’d dedicate a scab to my wonderful dad. Actually, seeing as I missed the opportunity on Mother’s Day I’ll do a sort of ode to my parents as a whole.

They are ridiculously supportive. Neither have ever worked within a creative industry but that’s never stopped them taking an interest in my interests. They dive head first into ever new hobby, interest, possible career that I come up with and its so great to have them come along with me on this ride.

When I started to show an interest in art they took me to exhibitions. They bought me endless supplies. I never thought I couldn’t do it, which is a thought that occasionally pops into my mind now. They pumped me with confidence that I could go and achieve anything I wanted to. Dad would call on me when something practical needed doing. My brother was fairly useless in that department. Amazing at talking to people, but not so good with a screwdriver.

I 100% wouldn’t be where I am without them. I’m not always the best at expressing how much I appreciate their support, and a SCAB dedication is no where near enough, but it’s a start.

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