Reality TV and me

When it comes to owning my sh*t, TV taught me everything I know

It all started way back in the summer of 2000.

I was about to turn 21, all belly chains and low-rise jeans. Fresh out of university, the days were endless and the responsibilities light: it was the perfect time to start my love affair with reality TV.

Big Brother arrived on our screens in a storm of publicity and controversy. For the uninitiated, let me recap: ten housemate lived together for 6 weeks under the gaze of cameras and their every move was scrutinised. A weekly public vote-off culminated in the last man standing being awarded the not-to-be-sniffed-at sum of £70,000, and becoming a household name overnight.

I loved it. Pre-social media, indeed pre-internet (much to the abject horror and disbelief of my children) this was the first foray into living life through a lens. We were all obsessed by it. I watched it every evening, couldn’t wait to rush back from work to settle down for a good gawp. I mean, who on earth would want to do this? Everyone knowing everything about you and being able to comment on it? Looking back, it seems almost tame.

Since then, I’ve become very much the self-proclaimed doyenne of reality TV. There’s very few series I haven’t dipped into at some point, and I have a few front runners I’ll share as we go along. But it’s only recently I’ve felt able to openly share my love of the genre.

It’s something of an understatement to say the this type of show is often viewed with derision, scorn and snobbery. My own mother used to lament my televisual choices, telling me she simply couldn’t fathom why someone “as clever” as me (something only a mother would say) could stand to watch it. As if my brain cells got together, had a little chat with each other, and, disgusted that I’d lowered myself to such a level, they all naffed off.

Sorry, mum. I’m here to shatter that illusion. Whilst I have it on very good authority that, much like eating your 5 (or is it 10 now?) a day will keep you physically healthy, watching the odd documentary *might* teach me a thing or two, I have news for you: I have learned almost everything I know about being a mentally healthy and balanced adult from reality TV.

I’ll start with The Real Housewives franchise. My personal favourite is Beverly Hills, but I’ll happily dip into New York, Orange County, Miami, you name it. Whilst it’s undoubtedly not entirely like the real world, the issues these ladies face are pretty universal. Marriage troubles, friendship difficulties, parenting woes and more are covered in detail, and I have to say that whilst it’s not my personal style of conflict resolution, I’m not above taking great pleasure in watching a good cat fight on screen.

It can teach us a lot about communication styles: are you passive aggressive, or just aggressive? Do you get defensive, or shy away from confrontation? Would you ever throw a drink over someone?!

I’ve learned that you have to own your sh*t. Apparently, owning it is a good thing. If you’ve done something wrong, you own it, admit it, and apologise. You make amends, and then move on. If that’s not a mature approach to life, then I don’t know what is. I try to teach my children exactly this.

The ability of these ladies to move on from an issue is exemplary. I mean, some of the arguments are truly toxic. Perhaps in proper real life, it would mean the end of a friendship (and even on screen, sometimes it is the end - Lisa Vanderpump, I’m looking at you) but for the most part, they have to rub along together, at least until the season (and the reunion, with the gorgeous Andy Cohen) wraps.

There are moments of real, deep suffering and these are handled sensitively, not shied away from. In RHOBH Season 2, Taylor Armstrong’s husband, who was accused of domestic abuse, committed suicide. These are issues which should be talked about, and there’s few things more levelling than parenting a young child whose father has died.

Many of the ladies have experienced miscarriages, lost parents, or are dealing with infertility. All these things are shared and discussed, which in my view, is as it should be.

My current, and perhaps all time favourite has to be the Married At First Sight Australia juggernaut. It’s not for the faint-hearted: there are at present nine seasons, each with around 32 episodes. That’s A LOT of brain-sapping time.

This particular show has brought my own marriage into focus, and forced myself and my husband of 14 years to face some uncomfortable truths.

The premise is that a group of strangers take part in a “wedding” (which I think is a commitment ceremony), then spend the next couple of months living together and undertaking a series of tasks set by three experts: one clinical sexologist, and two psychologist and relationship experts. They then have to decide whether to stay together outside the experiment, or go their separate ways.

Throughout the show, I’ve come to realise what my “love language” is (being made a cup of tea) and I now think more carefully about how I communicate with my husband. The experts teach the couples that people are not mind readers: you have to be clear about your wants and needs, to give the other person the chance to step into their role and be what it is that you need.

I’m pretty bad at communicating my needs, and this can lead to resentment (on my part) and frustration (my husband). It’s something I’m now aware of, and have been given the tools to deal with - thanks John and Mel!

I’ve also learnt that whilst my husband loves a cuddle, I have a real problem with physical intimacy. It really was a bit of a lightbulb moment for me, as I watched one particular couple squirm after being told they had to have a ten minute “make out” session. I recoiled in horror, exclaiming that it was “such a LONG time!” at which point I actually paused the TV, turned to my husband and confessed that I struggle with intimacy. He chuckled and said he’d known that since he’d met me. Mind, blown.

It’s certainly prompted conversations outside of our comfort zone, and I think in a marriage, this is an excellent thing, to still be discovering things about each other and having these meaningful late night sofa chats after so many years together. We even looked at each other following a minor argument the other week, smiled and both said how proud the experts would be of the way we handled it. High five!

So people can scoff all they like, but tonight I’ll be cuddling up with my husband, basking in our mutually wonderful reality-fuelled self-awareness, and tuning in to see who is going home this week. With any luck, we might just learn something new.