• ‘Taking a leaf out of Trumpism’: Yumi Stynes on the ‘misguided’ backlash to sex book

The book has been criticised by campaigners including Rachael Wong, the chief executive of Women’s Forum Australia, an organisation critical of pro-trans activism. Speaking to 2GB’s Ben Fordham on Tuesday, Wong called it a “graphic sex guide for children”, adding that she felt “physically ill at the thought of children reading it”. Other conservative media figures have amplified the criticism.

“This book was a response to genuine questions asked by adolescents to [magazine column] ‘Dolly Doctor’ for more than 20 years. [Dr Melissa Kang, one of the co-writers], was exposed to what kids were too ashamed to ask anyone else.”

• Big W has withdrawn Welcome to Sex from its stores to protect staff – but teen sex education can keep young people safe

Critics have taken particular issue with small sections of the book that address inclusive sexual practices beyond penetrative sex, including “fingering”, “oral sex”, “scissoring”, and “anal sex”.

They are also critical of the inclusion of what they term “gender ideology”. Others are accusing the authors of “grooming” children – a term that is increasingly misused.

• 'I make no apologies': Yumi Stynes responds to Welcome to Sex critics

The backlash has been so intense Big W stopped selling the book in-store after staff members were abused, although the retailer has defended it and it remains available online.

"I've seen people saying to me 'I want to kill you' or 'You should die'," Stynes told SBS News.

This weekend, my spouse and I were hit by a car that missed a stop sign and crashed into our car head-on. It was the most terrifying moment of my life, and both of us thought it'd be our last. We ended up ok, but it definitely shook us. I feel immense gratitude to be alive and breathing right now.

What near death experience have you had, and how has it impacted your life afterwards, if at all?

2020. That's when I met her.

To some of my close friends it sounds silly to them when I tell them we loved each other. It's hard for some people to grasp the intensity that a long distance relationship can have. But I don't have anything to prove to anyone - I truly did love her.

Being with an ace, I thought, would make things more complicated as I am not asexual myself. But if anything it made things simpler. It made the long distance easier to deal with. It made it easier to be patient. Easier to deal with her not being in my life all the time, because when push came to shove, she was in my life when I needed her to be. In fact, she was the main reason I labeled myself as polyamorous this year. I realised that I didn't want to pretend we were just friends anymore. I cared for her too much for that.

In so little time, she changed me into a better person. She taught me subtleties about love, sex, relationships but also about life in general. She helped me through mental struggles. She was my first call when we got my SO’s sister out of Kyiv this year. In fact, the day of the war, we talked for over six hours in a row.

She was always, always positive no matter the challenge. A true constant. Saw the flip side nobody else could see. No matter how ill she would get, she'd always brush it off and get back on her feet. In the two years I knew her, she had never made me cry, and her messages would always put a smile on my face.
Difficulty tends to make people stronger. She's had an incredibly difficult life, and was the toughest person I knew.

None of those challenges defined her. She was not defined by her gender, illness, sexuality. She was defined by her constant, absolute positivity. And her unending love for Korea.

She believed, as I do, that we're all one entity - the universe experiencing itself. That her role here had been to spread love and positivity. I hope everyone here will be lucky enough to meet someone like her, at some point in their life.

She was 30. The world is worse without her in it.

Today I went with my dog, Ketchup, to the cemetery nearby. I'm not a gothic or anything like that, but in my neighborhood, there is not much nature or open spaces. The cemetery is the one exception -- a vast and peaceful green land, perfect for long walks, scattered thoughts, and occasional meditative states. Something essential for my mental health.

I turned off the podcasts and made an effort to pacify my mind. Show some respect for the place. Listened to the birds, saught refuge when it started to rain. Ketchup is anxious, always pulling the leash, but walking among the graves seems to make him quieter. Eventually, I started to meditate on the grounds I was walking on. Walking over people. This is not a fancy cemetery with large cement tombs. In other places I visited, ostentatious displays of after-death economic status are common (and undoubtedly very interesting).

Here, everyone shares the same, simple headstone layout. A small piece of black marble with limited space for a description, almost always containing just name, date of birth, and death.

A few headstones contain photos in tiles, with custom phrases and affirmations ("Tragedy and comedy are one -- the face of life!", it says). An attempt, maybe, to negate the end, defy the inevitable decay. There's a certain life-affirming beauty in that stubbornness. Eventually, of course, decay always wins, and those that are forever gone (in their current bodily representation, at least...) must cede space for what relentlessly remains to be.

One day, I will also become food for the plants, and someone will walk over me as well. That thought brings me peace.

I need to read some fiction children books about death (for research) -- any age group preferably for young children.

Stories both realistic and fantasy/fantastical that doesn't gloss over the suffering and pain children can experience, possibly with dark overtones.

Stories featuring Death as a character would be great too.

Thanks!

Up until recently my girlfriend’s grandmother had a relatively good life. She’s taken care of, had some interesting allucinations, slept most of the day and had funny interactions with her grandaughter, some of which ended up on Instagram.

In recent weeks, she started refusing food and spent days at the hospital. The sudden lost in autonomy made her hostile. It’s a struggle to change her diapers. The situation was made worse by the feeding tube up her nose, which she attempts to remove non-stop, and can only be replaced at the hospital. We had to restrain her arm. That is no way to live.

She's made it very clear she does not want to be in this world any longer. Today I heard a hundred year old lady scream, multiple times: "just let me die!".

I don't know what to make of it.

Edit: I'd like to thank everyone's answers. I wasn't really looking for a solution since the legal situation in my country does not allow for any wiggle room. But it is always nice to read the smart people of Tildes passionately explore their ideas, sharing knowledge with compassion. Sometimes it is enough to feel less alone. Thank you and good night.

For the past 20 years, I thought about my own demise about once a day. Bipolar depression can do that to you. I was always prone to bouts of melancholia. Someone once wrote that the problem with melancholia is that it kinda feels good. It's addictive. Abandoning all hope is equivalent to abandoning all failure. You're suddenly in power. Eventually came the desire to die. My girlfriend lived in a high apartment and the thought of jumping from the window became a secret obsession. Every time I felt any kind of insecurity, during fights big and small, the window was always there, a reminder of a perfect solution. That's how some call suicide: a perfect solution. Something that cannot be rectified. The ultimate fantasy.

This girlfriend eventually dumped me, and then came another. She was going to another state and I had difficulties relocating. She was a doctor, I was a freelance professional. Two very distinct economic situations. When the move proved impossible, I took a box of pills and threw myself in the pool. Happily, I soon realized that breathing was grossly underestimated, and quickly swam to the surface. That day I decided to live.

This doesn't mean death is not a part of every single one of my days. It's like an addiction for the brain, an automatic response of the unpleasant kind. Lost a job or a relationship? Your brain suggests suicide. Is your Playstation 4 no working? Maybe you should not be living at all. Unemployed? Don't waste time and resources on a futile pursuit! For every single minor frustration that might ruin your day, I may be fighting with the thought of throwing myself in front of a train.

I could, of course, talk to people, but how many people do you know that are able to deal with the fact that their friend/relative/partner/coworker can envision their own death multiple times a day, and for the most mundane reasons?

No, I am not gonna kill myself, this is not a suicide watch. Living is awesome. I like eating, fucking and watching TV shows. I also think a lot about suicide. And it sucks.

Olly never liked people very much. He was rescued at ~9 months old wandering around the streets in my hometown. Because of this, and perhaps his past, he had an aversion to lots of commotion, people he didn't know, or unexpected noise. But between all of that, he came to trust me, and placed his faith in me—his twelve year old owner. He grew up with me, as I went through high school, then university, a few jobs, and more.

My furry companion, who at night would sleep on my bed, curled up, paws covering his eyes (but only after licking my hand with his raspy tongue for minutes on end) and during the day would wander outside—safety assured, away from any main roads, with lots of high grass to wander through—or lounge under the sun in the front yard.

He always had to be the boss—have things his way. A large, well-built 6.5kg ginger-tabby who was neutered much later than you'd normally neuter a kitten. This bossiness extended to the neighbourhood competition. He didn't like other cats much, either. This would lead to an occasional, emotionally painful (for both of us) trip to the vets to treat a scratch, or bite. A 20 minute drive in a cat box, as he meowed and sobbed his head off—telling us in no uncertain terms, "let me out!".

And do you think he'd ever let you pick him up? Not a chance. Everything has to be on his terms! But in between his assertiveness, he shared his love for me, bumping his head into mine, gently touching my face with his paw on occasion, being a part of my life as I was a part of his.

Unfortunately, none of us can escape the forever ticking of time. 13 good years pass. For the past week though, he started becoming more introverted, would sleep more—and eat less. Taking this kind of cat to the vet is a judgement call that you don't make lightly. Do you cause stress and anxiety, making him trust you less for weeks on end, make him spend more time outside, away from your watchful eye? Or do you visit the vet less frequently, but still proactively, if you know something is definitely wrong?

I made the latter decision last night, taking him to afterhours. The triage indicated a heart murmur, and a blood panel indicated parameters that might be indicative of mild renal dysfunction—to be followed up at the proper vet tomorrow. So he was sent home, with some precautionary injections, and an appetite and hydration boost.

Sadly, I never got that opportunity to take him for a follow up. He slept with me that night, but his condition deteriorated rapidly this morning. I rushed him to the proper vet, watching him helplessly tremble and vocalise his scaredness. I can't help but cry as I type this. The staff told me it was time. I knew it, and in some ways, I think he did too. I'm glad I got to give him the opportunity to fade away peacefully.

I don't have many frames of reference to compare this part of my life to, but it seems to me this is the most pain I've ever felt over a single event. You might be able to get another cat, but you definitely can't get another Olly. A part of my heart is forever gone. I'm a believer that the pain doesn't really go away, you probably just learn to cope with it more, to focus on the years of good, and not the hours of bad. I really hope I can do that, because he was my best friend.

I love you, buddy. I hope you're at rest now, and I'll miss you always. 🧡

I've been playing a Tomb of Annihilation campaign with some friends the past few months, and we are all relatively new players (each of us having played about one campaign before). As far as I know this is the first time any of us have been in a campaign where a PC dies. My level 4 wizard was suddenly and violently killed by a flesh golem.

None of us are exactly sure how to proceed, and there's some disagreement. A few of the people in my party think that any new character should be a level or two behind the party in order to further dis-incentivize dying. I personally think that is too harsh, and luckily it seems like we are reaching a consensus that my new character should be the same level, but I shouldn't be able to play as the same race and class.

This seems more or less reasonable to me, although to be honest I really enjoyed playing as a wizard so I wouldn't have minded doing so again. I'm mainly curious to hear how you all handle character deaths, and any tips you might have for making a new character mid-campaign.