For some people, the joy of a holiday is slightly dampened by the inevitable impacts holidaying can have on sleep. In fact, according to new research commissioned by sleep technology firm Simba has found that over three quarters of Brits 76% find that holiday travel affects their sleep, with over 2 in 5 UK adults finding that tiredness affects the first day of their holiday and more.

Very relatable. The first day of every holiday for me seems to be experienced in a tired and wired daze.

It doesn’t stop there, though. In fact, this tiredness can reoccur once you’re back home in what sleep experts have dubbed a “Holiday Sleep Hangover”.

According to Lisa Artis, Deputy CEO of Simba’s charity partner, The Sleep Charity, the “holiday sleep hangover” describes the lingering effects of travel-related sleep disruption caused by early airport starts and poor in-flight sleep to unfamiliar hotel rooms, changing time zones and disrupted routines

But unlike a traditional hangover, it can strike twice: “once when you arrive on holiday and again when you return home.”

“The holiday sleep hangover has become the hidden physical and mental cost of modern travel,” says Artis.

“Sleep disruption usually starts much earlier and can continue long after you’ve unpacked your suitcase. It’s the combination of lost sleep, changes to routine and, for some travellers, jet lag that can leave people feeling out of sync for days.”

Additionally, if you’re a sucker for an early flight so you can “make the most of the day” once you arrive at your destination, you may be doing yourself a disservice, Artis warns, saying: “If you’re up at 3am for an airport transfer after a restless night’s sleep, you’re already asking your body to function on less recovery than it normally would. That sleep debt can follow you into the first few days of your trip.”

“It can be tempting to over-optimise the night before you travel. But trying to force a really early night can make it harder to switch off,” she explains.

“You end up clock-watching and feeling more alert.”

Instead, she recommends keeping your usual evening routine calm and consistent.

According to Lisa, the most effective approach is getting back to a consistent routine as quickly as possible. That means returning to regular bedtimes, exposing yourself to daylight during the day and avoiding the temptation to stay up late to prolong the holiday feeling.

“Your sleep environment can help speed up recovery. When you’re trying to get your routine back on track, comfort and temperature become important,” adds Arts.

“If you’re waking because you’re too hot, too cold or uncomfortable, it can make recovery feel slower.”

I hadn’t seen my dad in five years when my sister texted me that he had fallen at home. After I had my first child, the childhood abuse I had previously overlooked to keep the peace suddenly became incomprehensible, and I chose to become estranged from him.

But when I found out he was dying, I knew time was running out to reconcile. I didn’t want to regret missing it.

On my first visit to see him, I brought flowers and kneeled by his bedside. He was thin, jaundiced and bedridden. His fine hair was snowy and delicate over his scalp, his movie star cheekbones more prominent than ever. His brown eyes still looked like mine.

But he didn’t recognise me. He stared at me and looked away repeatedly, his expression bewildered and hurt.

“Who are you?” he asked.

I was stunned and told him who I was.

“Is it OK that I’m here, or would you prefer I go?” I asked.

“You can stay. I’m just surprised. It’s been a long time.” There was grief and accusation in his voice.

I wouldn’t apologise for the estrangement. He wouldn’t apologise for the abuse. We wouldn’t talk about the past when death was so close.

When I left, I kissed his forehead and promised I’d be back.

A few weeks later, I signed up to be an early literacy volunteer, teaching young children to read. Once a week, I spent an hour with the students during their lunch break, reviewing the alphabet and helping them sound out words while they ate orange slices and whole wheat pizza.

Then I would spend an hour with my dad at the healthcare facility where he lived for his last five months. We would share a few minutes of small talk, I would feed him small bites of baked fish or tater tots, and we’d watch TV.

The two things were connected. My father’s side of the family is full of educators. My dad was a professor for more than 50 years. He’s the reason I have post-traumatic stress disorder, but he’s also the reason I love literature, travel, art, food and languages. His mother – my namesake – was once a missionary-teacher who rode on horseback four miles every day to reach her students.

“Teaching is a spiritual thing,” my dad said.

I thought volunteering to help children read would connect me to my dad and our family as he was dying. The kids were at the beginning of their lives and education, while my father, the professor, was coming to the end of his.

I volunteered on Mondays. Usually, I visited my father at the end of the week. My weeks were measured in the bookends of life.

There were six schools where I could volunteer – all underfunded and with low reading test scores. I chose the one closest to my childhood home, my dad’s house. I was a kindergartener in that neighbourhood the first time my dad squeezed my wrists so hard that bruises encircled them for weeks.

The school was a rectangular building made with dark bricks. I had passed by it countless times as a child. From the outside, it looked institutional in the late September sun. But inside, I was surprised by how light it was. The hallways were painted white and worn in places with scuffs and pencil squiggles – imprints from students growing up.

Three large trees grew in the foyer outside the library. Their shiny green leaves wove a canopy over the grey and blue tiles where kids walked from recess, lunch and library time. That’s where I met the kids with whom I’d be working, affectionately called Book Buddies.

The volunteer program coordinator handed me two folders, each bearing the name of a little boy. We had two assignments for the day. The first was to complete “getting to know me” sheets. The second was to assess how many letter names and sounds they knew.

I asked them their birthdays, their favorite colour and to draw their favourite food. My first buddy knew the letters in his name but no others. My second buddy surprised me by knowing all the letters and their sounds, but he said them quietly with his eyes downcast.

At the school, there was the squeak of sneakers as kids ran in the hall and the voices of teachers announcing it was time to line up. There were boxes of small books, word games with dice, pencils, plastic utensils and thin straws for chocolate milk cartons.

Over time, I learned my first buddy loved to take a big sip of chocolate milk and burp and then we’d laugh together. He introduced me to his kindergarten friends. In the winter, his boot shoelaces were always undone, so I tied them before he returned to class.

My second buddy rarely made eye contact but read everything I put in front of him perfectly. He was reserved, but told me he lived with his dad and loved reading books the program gave him.

I praised both kids for their reading, hard work and the progress they made.

Sometimes after volunteering, I’d drive by my childhood home. With my father gone, the house stood empty.

At the healthcare facility, there was a crane to lift my dad, who used to hike by the Sequoias near his own childhood home. There were nurses who joked as they spooned medication into his mouth and the blare of televisions playing at full volume. There were cartons of Ensure and automatic hand sanitiser dispensers.

Sometimes my dad seemed stronger. On a good day, we watched Star Trek, and he laughed out loud for the first time in a while. When I left, he called after me in a strong voice, “Love you, honey.”

But organ failure is a rollercoaster with many ups and downs, all heading toward the inescapable end. Mostly, I worried about the emergence of new symptoms like the jaundice and itchiness that came and went. The bones I hadn’t seen before, jutting clavicle and breastbone. Lost fat on his fingers, every knuckle visible beneath the thin skin.

On a cold January day, I was with my dad when he began seizing. The seizures were quick, full-body and terrifying. He didn’t remember them – he just thought he’d fallen asleep for a minute. The doctor said there was nothing else they could do.

Four days later, he was unconscious. His breaths were long, slow and gasping. His TV was off. He had stopped responding to us. I asked my sisters for a minute alone with him. Everything we had left was in that small room.

“I hope that in whatever comes next, you receive the love you didn’t get as a child and you’re able to give that love to yourself and others in return,” I told him. “If there’s regret or anything else you’re carrying, you can put it by the wayside. You don’t have to carry it for me.”

He died the next morning. After he took his last breath, I watched the pulse in his neck grow fainter until I couldn’t see it beating under his skin anymore.

“Dad, I’m just going to check your pulse, OK?” I said. I placed two fingers on his neck – a place I had never touched before – and felt no movement.

Before the funeral home director placed him on the gurney, I kissed his forehead one final time and then wept.

Depleted by grief and the paperwork that accompanies a parent’s death, I didn’t return to volunteering for a month. Sometimes I’d look at a photo of my dad from when he was 5 years old – the same age as my own son and my volunteering buddies.

In the picture, my dad wore a black cap over his dark hair, and his left hand was in the pocket of his checkered coat. Although I knew he had an unsafe, loveless childhood, he beamed a proud smile. I wished I could go back in time to protect that little boy.

When I went back to the school, my first buddy walked up to me with his lunch tray and a mildly scolding expression on his face.

“Where have you been?” he asked, as if I were a child who missed curfew.

“One of my family members was sick,” I said, smiling. “I’m back now.”

I was glad to be in the school, reading with the kids under the trees in the foyer. One day, as I arrived, my buddy was standing in the lunch line. He saw me, exclaimed to a friend, “That’s my Book Buddy!” and ran to hug me.

Later, when my second buddy caught a cold, I gave him tissues to take back to class because I knew he’d be too shy to ask the teacher. I helped another student carefully cut out a booklet for herself to take home to read. I made sure one of their classmates didn’t leave behind her lunchbox.

Little acts of care I wish had been given to the children that my father and I once were.

On the last day of volunteering, we held a party in the school library. I helped my buddies don plastic gold medals and paper graduation hats. We gave them backpacks with books, a toy keychain, bubbles and a red bracelet that said, “I love to read.”

“Do you love to read?” I asked my buddy, who was now reading several levels ahead of where he began.

He looked down bashfully and nodded with a smile, his two front teeth missing. We listened to a story about joyriding farm animals and played sight word bingo with candy. Then I tied his shoelace one last time, wished him a great summer, and watched him walk back to class.

I realised that while a child cannot heal their own parent, I could give that care to my kids and to other children who needed it. It was too late for my dad, but it might be right on time for them.

Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@huffpost.com.

If you, or someone you know, is in immediate danger, call 999 and ask for the police. If you are not in immediate danger, you can contact:

• The Freephone 24 hour National Domestic Abuse Helpline, run by Refuge: 0808 2000 247
• In Scotland, contact Scotland’s 24 hour Domestic Abuse and Forced Marriage Helpline: 0800 027 1234
• In Northern Ireland, contact the 24 hour Domestic & Sexual Violence Helpline: 0808 802 1414
• In Wales, contact the 24 hour Life Fear Free Helpline on 0808 80 10 800.
• National LGBT+ Domestic Abuse Helpline: 0800 999 5428
• Men’s Advice Line: 0808 801 0327
• Respect helpline (for anyone worried about their own behaviour): 0808 802 4040

Now that I’m heading into my late-30s, I have noticed that my personality has changed quite a bit over the past decade. Maybe even more than the decade preceding it. It’s strange to discover that I no longer care about the things I thought would be important to me forever and to find myself deeply entrenched in topics and hobbies that I was never drawn to before.

While I never thought this was unique to me, I did think that this seismic shift in my personality was perhaps the last significant one I’d experience in my life. I mean, how many times can a person change and still be themselves?

However, some psychologists believe that we have five personality factors, called the ‘Big Five’ that stay with us throughout our lives. These are:

• Extraversion
• Agreeableness
• Conscientiousness
• Neuroticism
• Openness

Psychology Today explains: “Individual personalities are thought to feature each of these five broad traits to some degree. When the traits are measured, some people rate higher, and others rate lower: Someone can be more conscientious and less agreeable than most people, for instance, while scoring about average on the other traits. These traits remain fairly stable during adulthood.

“People can also differ on the more specific facets that make up each of the Big Five traits. A relatively extroverted person might be highly sociable but not especially assertive.”

A study published in Communications Psychology has challenged the long-held belief that the Big Five stay relatively stable throughout our lives.

In the initial part of the study, researchers surveyed 887 people who rated the Big Five traits as some of the most stable

Then, in a follow-up analysis of data from eight large-scale longitudinal data sets involving 166,971 individuals across the United States, Germany, Australia and the Netherlands, researchers were presented with a very different story.

The study found that levels of neuroticism, openness and extraversion drop overall from age 15 to 90, with neuroticism showing the steepest decline. However, agreeableness and conscientiousness tended to increase as people age.

I can attest to this a little myself. I definitely feel calmer as I’ve aged but I am also very set in my routine and prefer my own company. I’ll work on it.

Pedro Pascal has soared to household name status in the 2020s thanks to his work in projects like The Mandalorian, The Fantastic Four and Gladiator II – but arguably, there’s one role in particular that put him on the map above all others.

In 2023, he received widespread praise for his performance as Joel in the dystopian video game adaptation The Last Of Us, earning him an Actor Award and nominations at the Golden Globes and Emmys.

What might surprise you, then, is the fact that Pedro wasn’t the first pick to play Joel.

During an appearance on the podcast Happy Sad Confused, Matthew McConaughey claimed he was approached about playing Joel in the hit series, but turned it down as it “wasn’t for me at the time”.

“I wasn’t really acting at that point,” the Oscar winner explained. “That was when I was doing more writing and looking at leadership roles in life.”

While he conceded that the script was “really good”, and he was “excited” to read it, he ultimately didn’t want to pursue the role any further.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not a huge TV watcher, [but] we pulled off a real coup with True Detective at a time when series were not something that actors like myself or Woody Harrelson would hop over and go do,” he said.

“That one succeeded in a real royal fashion. Last Of Us was really good but it wasn’t for me at the time.”

In 2023, The Last Of Us’ co-creator Craig Mazin confirmed that Matthew had been approached about a role in the show, but insisted it wasn’t necessarily a “serious” conversation.

Speaking on the same podcast, he claimed: “It was more of just like, ‘Hey, here’s something we can talk about’[-type situation].”

The Last Of Us is expected to return for its third season in 2027.

We have been romanticising summer flings for a long time. The glitz, glamour and yearning in The Great Gatsby, Summer Lovin’ in Grease and romance in Italy’s countryside in 2017’s Call Me By Your Name.

Sun, sand and sex. What a combo.

There’s some real magic to a summer fling. Long days ending in stunning sunsets, wandering around nature in bright summer sun and lazy picnic evenings can create quite the dreamy experience.

Now, one doctor has revealed that not only are these flings sexy and fun but they could be beneficial to our health and wellbeing. Lovely.

Dr Babak Ashrafi, from Superdrug Online Doctor, reveals the five surprising ways a summer fling is good for your health:

Dr Ashrafi says: “Holiday romances can be a really powerful tool for unwinding. Physical affection, from holding hands and hugging to kissing and sex, triggers the release of oxytocin, often called the ‘bonding hormone’.

“This helps lower cortisol, our primary stress hormone, leaving us feeling calmer and more relaxed.”

I’m getting warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.

Sleeping can be difficult during hot weather but according to Dr Ashrafi, your lover could be exactly what helps you to nod off.

He shares: “after intimacy, particularly when we’re feeling emotionally connected and relaxed, the body releases hormones, including oxytocin and prolactin, which help us wind down and prepare for sleep.

“Many people find they sleep more deeply after intimacy, making quality sleep one of the lesser-known physical benefits of a holiday romance.”

We all know the holiday glow. Some of us come back with glowing tans and the palest of us come home with slightly rosier cheeks. However, Dr Ashrafi says that it may not have anything to do with the sunshine.

“People often return from holiday with what we call a ‘holiday glow’, and it’s not always down to the sunshine. Better sleep, reduced stress and the feel-good hormones released during a positive romantic experience can all contribute to healthier-looking skin by reducing inflammation and supporting your skin’s natural repair processes.”

Nothing beats the thrill of a crush. Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, the excitement of somebody being on your mind is a real rush and Dr Ashrafi explains that the rush gives a genuine chemical boost to the body: “Meeting someone new is exciting, and that excitement also triggers a surge of chemicals, including dopamine, our happy hormone, creating feelings of pleasure, motivation and connection.

“This chemical release is why a summer fling can leave you feeling energised, uplifted and happier long after the holiday has ended.”

Dr Ashrafi shares that if your fling happens abroad, you are likely to reap more physical health benefits: “Unlike the romances we experience at home, the ones we have on holiday often revolve around experiences rather than our daily routines.

“Whether it’s exploring a new city together, swimming in the sea or dancing until late, a summer fling can naturally increase your daily movement without it feeling like exercise.”

We’ve written before at HuffPost UK about the best sex positions for menopausal women.

Speaking to HuffPost UK previously, Elisabeth Neumann, a sexologist at Lovehoney, said menopause can “make sex feel unfamiliar and frustrating, especially when things that once worked perfectly well no longer feel as comfortable”.

And that might affect the quantity and quality of your orgasms, too.

Pharmacist and author of Love Your Vulva: Celebrating Women’s Bodies, Laura Dowling, said: “As oestrogen falls, the vulva and vagina can become drier, more sensitive and less elastic, so sex may become uncomfortable or painful. And if sex hurts, you’re hardly going to be thinking, ‘Great, now let’s have an orgasm’.

“Then add poor sleep, hot flushes, stress, body-image changes, medications, relationship pressures and being absolutely exhausted.”

Here, she shared how to up your odds of the big O.

Neumann said some ways to increase your odds of orgasm during menopause include:

1. Taking the pressure off yourself,
2. Giving yourself more time,
3. Using plenty of lube,
4. Focusing on clitoral stimulation (“most women need direct clitoral stimulation to orgasm”),
5. Listening to your body – “If sex is dry or painful, don’t just push through it.”

“One of the reasons I wrote Love Your Vulva is because so many women were never properly taught about their own anatomy,” she added.

“Knowing what feels good and being able to say it out loud is a very good place to start.”

Yes – paradoxically, Neumann said, focusing less on the big finish could sometimes make sex and masturbation more enjoyable.

“Sex does not have to be a race towards an orgasm,” she told us. “It can be about touch, pleasure, intimacy, laughing, feeling close to somebody or simply enjoying what feels good.

“And what you enjoy may change as you get older. That doesn’t mean your sex life is finished. It just means the rulebook might need a rewrite.”

The author ended, “I’d much rather a woman have sex that feels pleasurable and connected than spend the whole time worrying about whether she is going to finish.

“There is no gold medal for having an orgasm. If it feels good and you enjoyed yourself, that counts.”

Just as we had gotten used to the idea of eating our five-a-day, new research has revealed that, actually, these five a day need to contain a specific micronutrient to be truly effective.

Now, of course, all fruit and vegetables are good for you and there is no reason to cut any out. However, according to the study, undertaken by scientists from Harvard University and the University of Reading, found that many of us aren’t getting the recommended amount of flavanols that we need every day.

Writing on the University of Reading website, Gunter Kuhnie, a Professor of Nutrition and Food Science says: “Flavanols are a group of compounds that are found in many plants – including apples, berries, plums and even beverages such as tea.”

He adds: “People who eat a diet high in flavanol-rich foods may have better memory compared to those who have a low intake. A study also found that people with a low intake of flavanols were at higher risk of heart disease. Overall, there’s convincing evidence that consuming enough flavanols has health benefits.”

Web MD explains: “Flavanols are also called flavan-3-ols or catechins. Black tea, oolong tea, and chocolate are rich in catechins. They’re also found in fruits, including:

• Bananas
• Blueberries
• Peaches
• Apples
• Pears

Speaking to the BBC, Dell Stanford, from the British Heart Foundation (BHF), says how much flavanol is contained in different products depends on where the food is grown, the climate, its ripeness, and how it is stored or processed – and also on who is eating it.

“Small amounts are absorbed directly. Our gut bacteria help break down flavanols into forms the body can use, but everyone’s gut bacteria are different, so the benefits people get from flavanols may vary too.”

The BHF and the British Nutrition Foundation say the best way to support your heart health is to follow established advice to eat a balanced diet containing a wide variety of fruit and vegetables.

The BHF also has a quiz for finding out if you have a healthy diet, and tips on improving your diet to improve heart health.

Brb, brewing some green tea.

I’m the type of woman who prefers to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, so when I enrolled in school to become a phone sex operator, I figured it was in my best interest not to mention it to my husband.

To be fair, it’s not something I intentionally set out to do. I was a happily married, middle-aged mom whose days were consumed with a calendar chock full of play dates and PTA obligations and whose nights were spent working as a freelance reporter.

When it came to talking dirty, I was pretty much batting zero. The last time I’d groaned was after stepping on a fidget spinner in the dark during a failed attempt to sneak out of our sleeping 9-year-old daughter’s room without waking her.

But late one night while my other half lay blissfully snoring in our marital bed, I was hunkered down in my home office, just a few feet away, furiously scouring the internet for some jaw-droppingly juicy content to inspire my next story.

I had once again fallen down the internet rabbit hole, and on this particular occasion, I landed smack-dab on the home page of an internet school, which, according to its enterprising young female founders, was the world’s first sex work academy specialising in training the next generation of phone sex operators.

Like most teenagers who grew up in New York City in the 1980s, I was well aware that one press of a switch on the ubiquitous Manhattan cable-TV box led to Channel J, a sexually themed late-night public access station filled with soft-core porn programming and commercials showcasing tanned, half-naked women sporting G-strings and urging viewers to call and engage in what promised to be mind-numbingly hot phone sex.

But that was the’80s, I told myself, a time when people still used phones that were connected to their walls.

How could something as antiquated as phone sex still exist today when free porn was only a search engine away, not to mention more high-tech options for getting off like webcamming were available?

I had so many questions, and although my initial thought was to contact the founders for an interview, my gut told me there was really only one way to get all the answers I was looking for. So, I coughed up $149.99 and registered for Phone Sex 101.

Within moments an email arrived in my inbox with a link to the course and a warning that students had 30 days to complete the six-hour video modules and score 100% on each test or risk losing access.

Graduates earned a certificate of completion suitable for framing, although I was certain when and if my time should come, mine would never see the light of day. We would also gain entry into a secret Facebook group exclusively for students.

The founders were so confident in their training that they offered a money-back guarantee to anyone who completed the course, implemented the lessons, and did not at least double what they paid for the lessons within six months.

I figured I had nothing to lose ― at least financially. On every other level, I wasn’t quite as certain, so I operated in stealth mode, keeping my tutelage under wraps from my family and friends. This is research! I told myself.

Call it a delayed reaction, but that first morning, as I pressed the play arrow on the video tutorial, it dawned on me that despite being nearly half a century old, I had never talked dirty to anyone in my entire life.

It was then that the instructor appeared on screen and said the words I needed to hear: “If you’ve ever told a lie, you can do this.”

We were off to the races.

Each morning after dropping my daughter off at school, I’d head home just in time to kiss my husband goodbye and send him off to work. Then I’d begin my lessons.

I became immersed in a completely foreign world, suddenly realizing the job was way more than simply moaning and groaning and tossing in some provocative language here and there.

I learned there are two ways to present yourself: create a character or portray yourself. Opting for the former literally meant I had to develop a persona from scratch.

For starters, I had to determine which category my character would fall into, ranging from identities like “barely legal” to “MILF” to “ethnic” to “submissive” to “financial dominatrix” ― which involved blackmail and all sorts of pay-to-play activities ― to “woman home alone.” Since I was essentially a woman home alone, I chose that one.

Next, I had to come up with fictionalised details about my character, including a first name that was easy to spell, pronounce and remember to increase my chances of getting repeat callers, as well as my marital status, the city I lived in (ensuring it was one I was familiar with), a high school and college alma mater if applicable, my birthday and corresponding zodiac sign, and most importantly, body measurements. In reality, I didn’t even know all of my own body measurements, but I soon learned it was the first thing many callers would ask.

When it came to character development, one of the most unexpected and time-consuming aspects I encountered was the process of securing legal model photos to use as part of my online profile, since I obviously wasn’t going to use my own.

Finding the images to buy was the easy part ― a quick Google search of “phone sex model images for sale” yielded hundreds of adult website listings where one could snap up image collections of 18-year-old-plus models explicitly for these purposes ― but deciding which model I was going to be turned out to be a challenge.

It took me three days to “shop” for a woman who looked nothing like me and yet I’d feel comfortable enough pretending to be.

In the end, for the bargain price of $11.95, I bought a photo package from a blonde bombshell named Lola containing 100 images in various poses ranging from casually lounging on a bed in lingerie to pretty much fisting herself.

With my character in place, we moved on to how to keep a caller on the phone as long as possible, which was the ultimate goal since you’re paid by the minute.

Much like what I’d learned in my journalism classes at NYU decades earlier, the importance of open-ended and follow-up questions was stressed. “Yes” or “no” questions were a dead end and certainly weren’t going to pay the bills.

We were instructed to ask “How was your day?” instead of “Did you have a good day?” And if someone asked what we were wearing, which inevitably most callers would, more clothing was always better because it ate up time. Building up the moment by dragging it out was the name of the game.

“Remember you are selling minutes ― not sex,” the founders drilled into us, which made me feel somewhat less guilty about how I was spending my days when the recyclables bin was overflowing and the dry cleaning needed to be picked up.

From there, the fetish module taught how to decipher clues as to what a caller might be into since it’s rare they just come right out and say it.

We were also instructed how to assemble a toolbox of props to be kept at arm’s length to help with special effects.

Is your caller begging for a golden shower? Pop open your toolbox, grab that reusable water bottle, and slowly pour its contents into the toilet in an effort to simulate a more genuine performance.

Does someone deserve a spanking? Put that hairbrush to good use by smacking it into your palm flat side down.

Did a caller interrupt your afternoon vibrator session? Reach into your bag of tricks and break out the loudest vibrator you can find (thank you, Amazon Prime).

After retaking a few tests because I didn’t score 100% (I mean, how was I supposed to know that water sports had everything to do with piss and nothing to do with actual water sports?), I received my certificate of completion along with access to the Facebook group where I was able to connect with other students, many of whom had already taken to the phone lines.

This is where I thought my journey would end, but as it turned out, a whole new crop of questions arose, starting with: Could this crash course really make you a pro when it came to phone sex?

There was only one way to find out.

I headed over to the largest online marketplace for phone sex and set up an operator account.

The first time I pressed the “Available for Calls” button, I thought I’d faint. It turned out there was plenty of time for the shock to wear off, as the calls didn’t exactly roll in.

After two days of radio silence, I sought advice from students in the Facebook group who explained the site’s algorithm worked much like other online marketplaces: You essentially had to put up some money to get your listing seen.

I followed their instructions, and on day three my phone rang.

I almost didn’t answer the call, but after reminding myself that, thanks to the online marketplace’s anonymous routing system, whoever was on the other end didn’t know who or where I was and that I could always hang up, I picked up.

The voice on the other end of the line belonged to a soft-spoken man who apologized in advance should he have to hang up unexpectedly, as he was his elderly father’s caregiver. I don’t know what I expected but this certainly wasn’t it.

We began innocently chatting about the news and the weather when he suddenly asked if I was ticklish. I mentally racked my brain to determine what type of fetish he had and in the meantime, found myself admitting I was indeed ticklish.

He asked if I’d mind if he tickled me. I wasn’t exactly sure how that was going to work but I said sure.

When he suddenly began saying “tickle, tickle, tickle” in a playful voice one might use on a child, I burst out laughing only to quickly cover my mouth with my hand so as to not offend him, but apparently my gut reaction was the one he was looking for.

“Louder, don’t be shy,” he whispered and so I got louder. “From your belly,” he said, directing me.

I continued laughing for my eager audience of one when suddenly I heard an elderly man’s voice in the background, calling out for something.

“Gotta go. Thank you. You were amazing,” the caller said and hung up.

A glance at my account revealed our call lasted 15 minutes. At my set rate of $1.69 per minute, after deducting the site’s connection fee and 30% cut, close to $18 would hit my direct deposit.

I had literally laughed my way to the bank.

That’s when my laughter turned to unexpected tears in what I can only imagine was a combination of relief, surprise and oddly a sense of pride. I’d actually done it and not been called out for being some two-bit imposter.

I continued taking calls ― testing out everything I’d learned ― in the mornings and afternoons when I was home alone. Over the course of close to a year, I spoke to more than 100 men and one woman, brought in a couple thousand dollars, and managed to earn a 5-star rating on the phone sex site I used to receive calls.

My customer reviews called me everything from “bright” to a “good conversationalist.” One caller said he “truly cherished his time with such an incredible human being.”

While I hid what I was up to from my husband, I did tell a few girlfriends. While fascinated by my confession, they were not as surprised by my actions as one might think, which should tell you a little something about my impulsiveness and how those closest to me view me.

Keeping such a big secret from my husband haunted me day in and day out, but there never seemed to be a good time to tell him. I mean, is there ever a good time to tell your husband that when he goes to work every day, you engage in phone sex with strangers for money?

Not only was I riddled with guilt, but I also feared he’d bust me before I had a chance to confess.

I knew I would have to come clean with him ― after all, as a reporter, I planned to one day share my experience ― but my biggest concern was he would consider it cheating.

When watching the news or reading the paper, my husband had been known to often proclaim, “The cover-up is worse than the crime,” so around nine months in, I came to the realisation there would never be an ideal time to tell him about what I had been doing. So, I sat him down and told him everything.

Initially, he was silent. Then he was disgusted. In the end, he was primarily concerned about how others would react if they found out. But he was never angry, which was a huge relief.

One day a few months later, I realized all my questions had been answered and so I gave it all up cold turkey.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined the level of dedication and commitment and various skill sets one must have in order to earn a living as a professional phone sex operator.

These women are not just one-trick ponies well versed in getting customers off.

They may refer to themselves as “hustlers” and “wallet snatchers,” but many are entrepreneurs in the truest sense of the word, and they have my utmost respect.

From developing a product in the form of their characters to marketing their business to creating additional offerings such as live calls and messaging, recorded MP3s, and virtual goodie bags filled with X-rated images, the most successful operators have to be proficient in social media and online sales promotions, database management and even coding to stand out among their competition, all while providing excellent customer service.

I also understand that not everyone has the privilege to do what I did. For many people, being a phone sex operator (or do any kind of sex work) is not an adventure they can call off any time they choose ― it’s a means of survival. What’s more, not everyone has the positive experiences that I did and, because they need the paycheck, they can’t simply quit.

As for the callers, I assumed they all had a one-track mind and were only in search of one thing: an orgasm. But I soon realized the majority were simply looking for human connection ― something that porn and most other options out there don’t offer.

I discovered people want to feel like they’re being heard, whether they’re sharing the mundane details of their day, mourning the loss of a loved one or waxing poetic about foot worship.

They also want their deepest, darkest desires and kinks to be accepted.

In the real world, society frowns upon and often penalizes those who don’t meet its norms. So at the end of the day, phone sex might truly be the last bastion of acceptance when it comes to living out your fantasies in a judgment-free zone, where there is no risk of rejection and your predilections and desires are entertained or at the very least tolerated.

As for me, the job taught me how to be a better listener, gauge people’s needs, think on my feet, and slow down when all I want to do is speed up. It also taught me to be less judgmental of people’s turn-ons, and that while all of our desires differ, our desire for human connection remains the same.

Every now and then my mind will wander to some of my regular callers, and I wonder whether I ever cross their minds or if they wonder why I vanished into thin air.

To this day, whenever my phone rings with an unknown caller, I pause for a moment, but then I remember I’m retired and send it straight to voicemail.

Jenny Powers is working on a memoir-in-progress, “Smooth Operator: Confessions of an Accidental Phone Sex Vixen.” You can see more of her work here.

This piece was previously published on HuffPost and is being shared again as part of HuffPost Personal’s “Best Of” series.

Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch.

Director Ally Pankiw has claimed she gave the new Harry Potter series the brush-off when the opportunity to direct an episode presented itself.

Ally has previously directed prolific TV shows like Feel Good and Black Mirror, and on Thursday, shared screenshots of what appeared to be a conversation between herself and a member of her team about US broadcaster HBO’s upcoming adaptation of JK Rowling’s children’s books.

“I have an instinct on the answer but I feel compelled to ask… Harry Potter? Hard no?” they ask, to which she apparently responded: “Absolutely fucking not! Lol (But thank you for asking).”

Fellow filmmaker Kate Herron – who directed the Disney+ series Loki, The Last Of Us for HBO and Netflix’s Sex Education – quickly popped up in the comments, agreeing: “Yeah thank you exactly! Respect and love to you Ally.

“They’ve asked me twice and I’ve had to explain my answer is never gonna change from a no.”

“It simply is this easy to say no to funding transphobia!” Ally also wrote in her post’s caption.

Since it was announced, the Harry Potter series has been met with scrutiny due to Rowling’s involvement in the project as an executive producer.

While Rowling has previously denied being transphobic, she has become a divisive figure in recent history thanks to her views and ongoing commentary on issues relating to transgender people.

This has included repeatedly and intentionally misgendering transgender public figures, as well as donating tens of thousands of pounds to the campaign group which raised the initial legal challenge that led to the UK Supreme Court’s ruling last year that the legal definition of a woman should include only those who were assigned female at birth.

After the ruling, she shared a celebratory post, depicting herself smoking a cigar on a yacht.

The new Harry Potter series will premiere later this year, with cast members including John Lithgow, Nick Frost and Bel Powley among those to already face questioning about Rowling.

Earlier this week, it was announced that Nicholas Hoult will be appearing in season two, prompting backlash from many of his fans.