Is it too late to say Happy New Year? Probably, but does anyone actually believe that social norms still exist in the world the way it is these days?

And so – happy New Year to you. I’ve been absent. Not that it’s important to acknowledge this. But I have been because headspace these days is non-existent because of (gesturing wildly) the world. 

But anyway, here’s an update no one asked for, (actually not true – thanks to all the people who have reached out and asked):

I made a resolution. Happy to hear that many of you have made a similar one. Smart, smart people! 

I also didn’t do things: I didn’t start some bullshit diet, because diet culture sucks and is harmful. I didn’t tell anyone what they should be eating, because no one needs that. I didn’t go away for the holidays, because I was so travel burned out that the last thing I wanted to do was jump on an aeroplane. 

Instead, I read some great books (Amor Towles, Jhumpa Lahiri, Paul Auster’s final words) and read some not-so-great books (Stanley Tucci – I adore you, but your latest book could have stayed as a personal diary and not been published, mate). Walked lots. Sat outside in cafes drinking barrel-loads of iced coffee. Saw some movies and binge-watched some TV shows (do we need to talk about Apple Cider Vinegar? Yes, yes we do.)

And I spent a lot of time complaining about my hands. My sore, achy, stiff, stupid hands. 

I now have arthritis. Is it because I am old? Or maybe just because I collect health conditions? Is it psoriatic arthritis or is it osteoarthritis? (Probably both.) Does it have anything to do with perimenopause? Is Mercury in retrograde? Did I walk under a ladder? Whatever the reason, it sucks. And it hurts. 

This diagnosis actually came last year, so I don’t really get to blame 2025 for it. It started in September. One day, I didn’t have pain in my fingers. And then I did. I spent the whole time I was in NY for the UNGA last year noticing that a lot of the time I moved my index fingers I felt a little twinge. Then the twinge moved to other fingers. By the time I was on the plane home there was pain any time I moved my hands. And even when I didn’t. So pretty much all the time.

These are the hands that type words, make divine cakes and pastries, roll out pasta dough, turn the pages of books, hold onto my loved ones, grasp microphones on conference stages and in media opportunities, press down on cutters as I shape biscuit dough, hold the cups containing the coffee that sees me through the day, doom-scroll through the latest update in the cesspit of the world, tickle the tummies of our dogs, pat the top of the head of our cat, point out the specific pasticcino at the pasticceria I want to eat, stir pots of delicious soups and sugo on the stovetop, tap out snappy responses to misogynists on the internet, are waved around as I talk… And all of these things cause pain. All of them.

Here’s something about me: I don’t deal well with pain. I had a little cry in my GP’s office at the end of last year. I cried because there isn’t something I can do to just fix this. Here’s the list of things I read that I should do to help improve arthritis pain: be a ‘healthy’ weight (because diet culture and we’re led to (falsely) believe that people who live in smaller bodies are always perfectly well. Bullshit), stop smoking, limit alcohol, eat healthily, walk and be active. I can’t start to do those things because I already tick each and every box. So what I am supposed to do? Sure, my activity involves little more than walking, but I do get in close to if not 10,000 steps a day, so I’m not completely sedentary.

I’m whingy about it all because the pain is always there, and I don’t get a break. And diabetes is always there, and I don’t get a break. And anxiety is always there, and I don’t get a break. Honestly, I’d take the pain not being there and keep the others any day. 

While I wait to see a rheumatologist, I am doing some things that may be easing the pain a little. I say ‘may’ because I don’t really know, and I don’t want to stop them in case it makes it worse. And I spend a lot of time annoying people by telling them my hands hurt. (Don’t believe me – see the 800 words in this blog post – thanks for reading!)

I know the world doesn’t work this way, but sometimes I think it would be nice if those of us already dealing with a shedload of health conditions could sit things out for a bit. By ‘things’ I mean new diagnoses. That would be fair, wouldn’t it? I don’t really want to add another health professional to my contacts list and dedicate more time in my calendar for regular check-ups. And I don’t want to have to learn the lingo of a new health condition, while training a new HCP to understand the way I like to be treated. I don’t really want to have to give more money to the pharmacist for more drugs. I don’t really want to use more emotional bandwidth worrying and thinking about what this means long term. I don’t want to think about being in pain all the time. I also don’t want to wind up not being able to wear the beautiful rings I own, and feel free to call me shallow while I completely ignore you. 

And so, that’s where I am right here and now. A mostly gentle start to the year. And sore hands. Very, very sore hands. 

Sore hands making gnocchi