My mental health has always been variable, but at the moment it feels particularly erratic. In some ways this is a positive sign: during my worst and most prolonged episodes of depression and anxiety, there was no variation because I felt terrible all the time. However, coping with dramatic changes of mood is difficult and exhausting. It’s also difficult to explain to others – I don’t know why I can feel reasonably positive in the morning and then wallow in the depths of despair that same afternoon. Neither do I know why I feel more anxious about specific issues some days more than others. Sometimes there are triggers I can identify, but often it’s as much a mystery to me as anyone else.
Unfortunately, living in lockdown means I can’t do anything about some of the triggers I’m able to identify. Losing the structure of my regular gym classes is a particular challenge, because I struggle to create routines on my own; going to classes works well for me precisely because I know it’s happening with or without me and I will regret not attending (unless I have good reasons). Determining my own schedule means it’s easy to make excuses and put off exercise sessions. Thank goodness I have a dog who needs to be walked every day – otherwise I’m not sure how well I would maintain even a minimal level of exercise.
It’s common for people who have borderline personality disorder to have strong emotional and cognitive reactions to events. External validation boosts my mood and reinforces my confidence. This can be problematic, especially since nobody can rely on receiving external validation on a frequent basis, but despite working to bolster my intrinsic motivation and internal validation, external encouragement or approval still has a strong hold over me.
I have received a considerable amount of external validation over recent weeks. I got my results for the 30 credit sport and exercise psychology module I completed in early March: I was awarded a Distinction. While getting high marks is always encouraging, I was glad to do well in this particular module because studying expanded and developed my interest in exercise psychology. Many of the students were “sporty” types who casually mentioned backgrounds as professional or semi-professional athletes; the module is studied by a lot of people pursuing degrees in sports science, so I felt out of place. I think there were two other women who, like me, turned to exercise to help manage their mental health.
I gather I’m in the minority, as someone who is primarily interested in exercise psychology and working with people who aren’t elite athletes, so I was apprehensive about enrolling on a 60 credit level 3 module on the psychological aspects of athletic development for October this year. However, I was more interested in that module than the other options available and the description reassured me that despite the focus on sport psychology, a significant proportion of the content also applies to exercise psychology. Telling myself I didn’t fit in because I’m not sporty was a cop-out and a flimsy excuse, so I made the decision shortly after submitting my end of module assessment. I was scared, but the good kind of scared which means I’m pursuing a goal which is important to me. Getting a good result feels like a sign I’m on the right track.
I also did well on my final two assignments for my core psychology module, which means I should get a good module result – there was supposed to be an exam in June, but it was cancelled because of the pandemic. When I decided to study for a Psychology BSc, I felt stretched between my desire to pursue the subject and nagging self-doubt which told me I was crazy, stupid and incapable. I have now completed three of the five years I anticipate taking to finish the degree and… I feel exactly the same. Except for those moments when I get good feedback or feel so incredibly inspired by a topic that I would love to spend the rest of my life learning more. Such moments give me the confidence to challenge self-doubt and dare to dream of future possibilities.
The nature of blogging about my mental health means that if I’m able to write a post, I’m doing reasonably well. The past couple of months have been very dark at times, but when I rise out of the gloom I’m grateful for the good things in my life. One of the advantages of lockdown is how it highlights the people and activities which contribute most to my wellbeing. I’m starting to reconnect with important goals which have fallen by the wayside during the stress and turmoil of the past two years and have a list of things I would like to do more when lockdown/social distancing allows.
The pandemic has also highlighted something which I already knew, but tend to forget in practice: act on your goals as soon as you can, even if it seems foolish, inconvenient or pointless. When something is important to you, prioritise it. Now.
To echo pretty much everyone, these are strange times. On the one hand, social distancing measures necessitated by the COVID-19 pandemic make relatively little difference to my lifestyle, because having chronic mental health problems means I work from home most of the time and avoid socialising because my anxiety (and finances) make it difficult. On the other hand, I’m not used to everyone else being anxious and one of the symptoms of borderline personality disorder is a tendency to absorb other people’s moods, especially negative moods. I’m veering between feeling ‘normal’ because my mental health problems have become more normalised and sinking into pits of depression/anxiety/stress. Part of me wants to wail ‘I had so little in my life and now it’s been taken away’ but I read something on social media which resonated with me: now most people are experiencing a lot of anxiety, it’s time for those of us who have anxiety disorders to teach them how to manage it.
A mini disclaimer here: these are things which help me and may be inappropriate and/or inaccessible for some people. I’m not a mental health professional and this blog is based on my personal experiences, combined with things I have read or heard about helping others. It’s also worth bearing in mind that because there has never been a situation like this in living memory, there is a lot of uncertainty about what might help individuals manage their mental health and wellbeing. As this blog testifies, mental health management involves a lot of trial and error to discover what works for you. If you are in crisis and need help, please contact Samaritans or another appropriate source of help.
Here are some ways to try and find some perspective when you are anxious during a pandemic…
I have a theory that difficult circumstances amplify people’s true natures. It’s not very scientific, but I keep seeing evidence of kind and generous people making efforts to be more kind and generous, whilst selfish bastards behave in increasingly selfish ways. Perhaps the people who display selfish behaviour have their reasons and I know I should try not to judge, but as someone who has spent time in hospital as a day patient and a visitor to an inpatient over the past 18 months, I have seen how under-resourced and pressured the NHS is at the best of times and I don’t understand why anyone would refuse to follow guidelines designed to minimise the COVID-19 pandemic’s impact on the NHS. (Side note: If this is you, please change your behaviour and follow the guidelines because you are harming other people). However, I have also been heartened by people offering to help and support others. NHS and retail staff risking their health to do their jobs, often facing abuse from the people they are helping. People stepping up to help their communities, forming emergency groups to help those in need. Friends reassuring each other through social media. Professionals providing online resources and live-streaming everything from exercise sessions to church services.
Finding positives is hard enough in itself, so I won’t tell you to focus on the positives (although, obviously, do focus on them if you can!), but please look for some positive things in each day. I’m making an effort to practice gratitude, because I’m lucky to have a home to self-isolate in and to have the NHS. Practicing gratitude in hard times can be difficult, especially when it’s difficult to accept our current circumstances, but it can help. My personal positives include: having a sunny bedroom (thanks to my brother moving out last year!), my dog (and my mum’s dog and cat), the masses of books I have available to read, my treadmill (which I bought 9 years ago because I was incredibly unfit and too scared to leave the house alone), chatting to friends via social media, gorgeous scented candles given to me by good friends, studying Psychology with the Open University and having my brother and his girlfriend drop off a few groceries yesterday, since my parents and I are self-isolating after getting coughs last Tuesday (we’re all fine and recovering).
I attended a workshop a few weeks ago which highlighted movement as an antidote to anxiety and depression. As someone who manages my mental health through exercise, among other strategies, this is a familiar concept but something clicked when the workshop leader talked about figurative forms of movement alongside physical activities. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that many of the most effective ways of managing my mental health involve movement. Since exercise is an obvious option, I will focus on the more metaphorical types of movement.
Goal-setting is the most obvious example –– I tend to cope better when I am working towards a goal and making tangible progress. It helps me feel as though I’m moving in the right direction, even if I get frustrated about how slow my progress seems. Having goals is also important to me because during my worst episodes of depression, I don’t have any goals. I lose all desire and motivation. Compared to those times, it’s better to have some goals; often they are goals which seem ridiculously small and/or impossible, but they are goals. If self-isolation and/or social distancing is causing you to feel stuck, think about goals you could put in place and work towards right now, in your own home. These might be ambitious, but smaller goals are often most effective at navigating your way through a tough time. I have used such goals many times: cooking an actual meal instead of grabbing crisps, taking a shower, simply listening to music for 10 minutes, texting a friend, etc. Your goals need to fit your current situation to be helpful.
Connected to goal-setting is planning for the future. When you are able to plan, even if these plans are nebulous and unspecific, you create the sense of a future –– and there will be a future, no matter how improbable that feels, because that’s the nature of time. This too shall pass. Everything will pass. My plans range from huge, scary, life-changing possibilities to tiny, mundane ideas about what I would like to do. For example, I may plan to read a particular book when I finish my current reading material. Life feels extremely chaotic at present, so planning things to do in the immediate future can help create some structure. For instance, I plan to replace my gym classes with strength workouts at home. Planning events and activities for after the pandemic is over can give you a sense of perspective by acknowledging that this too will pass and when it does, perhaps you would like to live your life differently or achieve goals which you have put off.
Decluttering is something I have mentioned a lot in blog posts and for good reason: it creates a sense of movement by transforming your space and can sometimes change the way you live. I started making a conscious effort to declutter several years ago. Until that point, I had been a ‘more is more’ kind of person and since compulsive overspending was a massive issue at that point in my life, my home was crammed with lots of stuff. Eventually, I reached the point where I felt trapped by my stuff –– I could hardly move around my bedroom and I felt sick when I thought about how much it had cost. I started by getting rid of things I no longer used, including the desk at which I had studied throughout my Film Studies degree but never used for writing and box files of old magazines I rarely unboxed. Decluttering can be confronting, especially after several cycles, but it has left me with more physical space and headspace. I’m probably never going to be a minimalist, but most of my possessions are now things I use and/or like and I’m more mindful in my spending. It’s hard to describe, but decluttering helps me feel more free.
Reassess your priorities
Extreme situations tend to make us reevaluate our lives, whether it’s a personal crisis, bereavement or a pandemic. A lesson I have learnt over and over again, especially in the past few years, is that health must be my top priority. Our health (physical and mental, which are inextricably combined anyway) affects everything else in our lives. After spending a week feeling crap because of pandemic anxieties and having a virus myself (no idea if it is COVID-19, but I had a new cough so I’m following the NHS/government guidelines), I’m trying to establish/reestablish some healthy habits –– especially eating more healthily and getting back into an exercise routine. I have also been trying to get into the habit of meditating for 12 minutes a day –– I started a few weeks ago and it seemed to help, but last week’s practice was sporadic –– and I’m aiming to do more journalling, to help my mental health. If this pandemic teaches us anything as a society, please let it be to take more responsibility for our health, individually and collectively, and support each other.
Being worried about family and friends has demonstrated that I’m not an antisocial misanthrope, despite sometimes feeling like one. I care about people. I suppose this is something I already knew, but it reaffirms the priority and when this is over, I would like to do more with my friends. I have often shied away from socialising because my only dependable income is £95 a week in benefits, thanks to my ability to work being impaired by mental illness, and I owe my parents a lot of money. However, now I’m thinking I should have taken more of those opportunities to go out and socialise.
I have also been reminded of how important my Psychology degree is to me, because learning that my exam has been cancelled and not having been informed (yet) about the alternative assessment being put in place has caused a lot of stress. The exam is one of the requirements for the degree being BPS (British Psychological Society) accredited and while it has been pointed out that all universities are in the same position, nobody has actually stated that the BPS accreditation will not be affected. I don’t want to say too much, but I’m considering a career path which involves needing a BPS accredited degree to move on to the next step, so it’s hard not to catastrophise and imagine all my plans going down the drain. I know that’s unlikely to happen and there will be a way to figure out a solution, but anxiety isn’t logical.
Similarly, despite having issues with my writing mojo over the past year, writing (particularly fiction) is still one of my priorities. Interwoven with this is my love of reading, which is providing some distraction and a little inspiration. If I were to die soon, I would regret not having completed a novel I’m truly proud of, regardless of whether it’s published. Other regrets which I hope to guide me in future include wasting too much time on people who take far more than they give back, not standing up for myself more, spending money on things which gave me relatively little pleasure and not travelling more. Think about what you are missing right now and what you are most worried about –– are these concerns reflected in the way you usually live your life?
Kindness is vital during difficult times and we need to prioritise being kind to both ourselves and others. Do what you can –– don’t beat yourself up because so-and-so on social media is coping so well and you’re a hot mess. We all have different experiences and resources, so we cope in different ways. Anxiety tends to fluctuate, so most of us have both wobbly moments and moments when we excel at coping and can support and empower others. Try not to compare yourself to others (I’m a massive hypocrite on this point!), because it’s not a competition.
Help others if you can, but don’t feel bad if you are struggling to keep it together and it takes all your effort to keep going through the day. As wonderful as it is to see people doing grand things to support others, sometimes a small gesture can make a big difference. Text a friend to remind them they are awesome. Spend a few minutes dancing to your favourite happy song. Share a helpful website link on social media. Try to be a positive force in the world, but remember that when you are struggling there’s no shame in giving yourself a break.
The bottom line: if you can do nothing else, the essential thing you need to do to be kind to everyone, including yourself and your family, is to adhere to the current government guidelines on self-isolation and social distancing. Even if you do nothing more, that’s enough.
I had a strange experience a few weeks ago: I was thinking about potential career plans and found myself dismissing many possibilities because “I’m not that type” or “I’m not a people person.” Then something clicked inside my head and I realised that I would have said the same about numerous aspects of my current life. If you had told me 10 or 15 years ago that I would be a vegan who enjoys running, I would have laughed. If you had told me the same thing 8 years ago, when walking for longer than a few minutes was a struggle, I would have thought you were making a cruel joke. Yet there I was, willing to limit my future based on assumptions I make about my current abilities.
The more I contemplated this, the more I realised how often I had made similar statements about:
Things I do now, on a regular basis
Things I have done in the past
Things I consider an integral part of my lifestyle
Things I consider an integral part of my identity
When I started to examine my bald claims about not being a certain type of person, I realised a lot of my assumptions are simply untrue. For example, when I say “I’m not a people person” I’m thinking about the label “people person” in a stereotyped way. To be specific, it conjured images of people who are super-confident in social situations, who are outspoken extroverts who never get intimidated by other people. I was chatting about this with my friend Kat and she said 10 words which made me pause:
“Perhaps your idea of a ‘people person’ needs to change.”
I’m not a complete misanthrope, so I realised I’m probably more of a “people person” than I believe. I started to think about what the term could mean for me, as an individual, in relation to my skills and qualities.
This is the result:
Caring about people’s mental health and helping them to improve it
Listening to people’s experiences and concerns, trying to understand their perspective
Empathising with people in a variety of situations
Communicating with people through writing and blogging
Sharing my own experiences with the hope of inspiring or reassuring people
Learning about other people, cultures, interests and experiences
Spending time with people in small groups or on a one-to-one basis
Expanding my definition is helping me to think about my options in a more complex (and helpful) way, instead of dismissing entire career sectors. I will probably have to work on reducing my social anxiety and learning better verbal communication skills if I choose a career which involves working closely with people, but considering the specific changes I might need to make is more productive than refusing to explore my options because I don’t like parties or crowds.
Looking beyond stereotypes and changing or adapting definitions to suit my own situation is something I have already done, to an extent: I’m a runner, because I run, but I certainly don’t fit the competitive stereotype who enters marathons all the time and sneers at people who don’t run. Entering races on a regular basis isn’t something which interests me at this point in my life (although I keep an open mind to the possibility of that changing) and the only person I compete with is myself. Similarly, people who write should call themselves writers –– regardless of whether they have been published or paid for writing –– because that’s what they do. What we do.
However, just as I find myself saying “I want to be a writer” from time to time, especially when my confidence is low, I suspect I will forget to check my new definitions. It’s difficult to start consciously thinking of myself in different ways, especially when challenging assumptions and labels which have shaped my identity for many years. I think the key is to stop myself when I notice I’m using phrases such as “I’m not the type to do X” or “I’m not an X person” as an excuse not to explore something which piques my interest. Even if I decide the option isn’t for me, I will have made that decision based on solid research, not false assumptions.
In future, I’m going to try not to limit myself –– just as there’s more than one way to be a runner or a writer, there are many ways to be a “people person.” Or anything else I might want to be.
When I created this blog and called it Resurfacing and Rewriting, I thought the name would represent a clear journey: my mental health was improving and I was learning to cope with being well enough to work towards some of my goals, but not well enough to function ‘normally’. I never expected this journey to be linear and was certainly prepared for setbacks, but I didn’t realise that managing my mental health and attempting to chase my dreams would take the form of numerous cycles. These cycles have varied in duration, how difficult they are to endure and their impact on my life.
I’m currently resurfacing after a particularly difficult cycle, which was caused by having very painful gallstones for 15 months. Living in pain takes its toll on your mental health, regardless of whether you have a pre-existing mental health condition. I’m lucky that my pain was temporary, since I had my gallbladder removed just over a month ago, but I struggled to explain the pervasive and unrelenting nature of my pain to other people. I would say ‘I’m in constant pain’ and some people would interpret this as meaning I had frequent episodes of pain, whereas my reality was significant baseline pain 24/7 and frequent episodes of worse pain. I could sometimes distract myself from the pain, but it was always present.
Living with pain is depressing in its truest sense: I lost hope that my situation would improve and lost motivation to try. My feelings of helplessness and suicidal thoughts increased. I socialised less than usual (which is very little), because I found it difficult to focus on other people or having fun when I had my arms clamped around my stomach, trying to ease the pain a little. The only things which seemed to ease my pain were heat pads and lavender oil, which are difficult to use when outside your own home. My anxiety increased, because I had constant nausea and during my worst episodes I would collapse with pain and/or vomit so I was terrified of this happening when I was in public, especially if my mum wasn’t around to help and explain what was happening. I pushed on with my basic exercise routine and Open University studies simply because I knew failure to do so would make my mental health significantly worse.
After my surgery, the nausea disappeared straightaway and within a few weeks, my pain levels were lower than the baseline pain I had experienced with gallstones. I haven’t experienced any post-op pain which was equivalent to my worst episodes. The general anaesthetic didn’t affect me as badly as it did when I had eye surgery––rather than feeling as if I had the flu, this time I just felt tired and found it difficult to concentrate on anything for very long. These problems have eased over the past two weeks, so I feel alert and focused enough to get back to studying and writing. In fact, I feel pretty good and sometimes forget my core muscles are still a little sore… until I try to lift something too heavy or twist/reach in a strange way!
In many ways, 2019 feels like a write-off year. I failed to make progress in many of my goals and when I did achieve something, such as passing my Psychology modules, I felt I wasn’t making the most of the opportunity. My mental health declined after two years of improvement (on balance). Each step forward I took seemed to come at a great cost and was quickly reversed. I ended the year feeling battered and beaten, although knowing I would be starting 2020 without a gallbladder was a great source of hope.
So 2020 is about resurfacing and getting back to my priorities.
My goals for this year are mostly the same as last year, since I didn’t achieve them: increase my fitness and strength, reach my goal weight (made more challenging by gaining 25lbs from my lowest recent weight), save more money and complete a novel draft I actually like. These goals are specific and measurable, but I won’t bore you with the details! However, I also have two more nebulous goals… Firstly, I want to enjoy writing again and be guided by what I love to read and write, rather than what I think I should write or what seems more marketable. I have lost my writing mojo and although I completed some short stories last year, writing often felt like a chore and I lost confidence in most before submitting them anywhere. Secondly, I want to have more fun and surprise myself. I have no idea what form this will take, so I’m trying to keep an open mind and find out.
Since I’m recovering from surgery and still struggling with my mental health, I have decided to follow a few strategies when working towards my goals.
1. Reminding myself of my whys.
My core values are creativity, curiosity and compassion, so I try to use them as a compass. I want to write in order to connect with other people and promote empathy towards other people, especially those who experience mental health problems. I want my writing to be entertaining, informative and thought-provoking. I also hope it inspires other people to chase their dreams, especially if they feel held back by mental illness. My Psychology degree feeds my curiosity, but I would also like to use it to help other people––although I’m not yet sure how I will do this––and I hope it informs my blogging.
2. Easing in.
My instinct whenever I feel well enough to work towards my goals is to jump in and try to make up for lost time. This doesn’t work. Partly because it takes its toll on my energy and mental health, so I get ill and have to stop. I’m trying to get better at pacing myself this year, so I’m trying to ease back into working towards my goals where possible (university deadlines aren’t very flexible!) and build up momentum as I get stronger.
3. Seeking joy and inspiration.
This means appreciating the ‘small things’ in my everyday life and reading about people who inspire or motivate me to keep going. I’m trying to focus on the process of working towards my goals, rather than just the results, so I want to place more emphasis on enjoying activities for their own sake.
I hope 2020 will be a year of recovery and growth. While I have always valued health, especially since my worst years of depression and anxiety, my experience of gallstones has highlighted its importance even more––which is why losing weight and living a healthier lifestyle continues to be my top priority, alongside improving my mental health. I’m sure the ‘rewriting’ stage will come at some point, helping me reframe my experiences and view 2019 in a more positive light, but for now I’m resurfacing and coming back to my life.
I recently read a book called How to Come Alive Again by Beth McColl, which has led to me thinking a lot about a subject which doesn’t get discussed often enough: the work involved in managing chronic mental illness. One of the book’s strengths is its acknowledgement that readers will have varying levels of functionality and these may fluctuate a lot, even over short periods of time, yet everyone has to work hard to try and maintain or improve their mental health. Some days, this means challenging ourselves and flying through a list of tasks. Other days, it means forcing ourselves to do basic tasks like drinking some water or getting out of bed. It’s all work.
A lot of people take this work for
granted. If you haven’t spent years struggling with your mental health, it may
be difficult to believe that simple activities are hard work for some of us.
You may not understand how taking a shower can sometimes seem like a gargantuan
challenge. You might wonder why people who have mental illnesses can’t just “pull
themselves together” and carry on like a “normal” person (a viewpoint I have,
unfortunately, encountered many times). But doing these things can be hard
work. Mental health problems can drain us of energy, motivation, self-belief
and a thousand other things which would enable us to cope better. Things which
many people don’t need to consider when tackling mundane tasks.
Working on yourself
Managing one’s mental health also
involves extra work, such as addressing complex issues and engaging in
activities which have a positive neurological and/or psychological effect. Last
week, some counsellors of my acquaintance were talking about their work and
mentioned that many clients expect counsellors to fix their lives for them.
Instead of embarking on counselling to work on their issues, they seek a quick
fix. As one of the counsellors said, “I can’t fix their lives for them. I’m not
I was fascinated by this
conversation, because I have received counselling at different points in my
life and had never approached it as a quick fix. In fact, the NHS counselling I
have received in the past is often criticised for being too brief to be
effective in the long term: six sessions, the first of which is an introduction
rather than a proper session. I went through two or three rounds of this with
different counsellors and it was a sticking-plaster solution which helped me
feel slightly better for a few weeks, only to deteriorate when I encountered
more challenges. I had been given neither the support nor the skills to
negotiate life as someone who has mental health problems. This started to
change when I was given a year of drama therapy, which enabled me to work
through a lot of personal issues.
I have also received longer-term
counselling (around nine or ten months) from a local charity in more recent years
and I was grateful to be given the opportunity to learn coping skills,
including how to be more supportive of myself. The counselling itself was hard
work, but putting what I have learnt into practice is an ongoing slog. I need
to learn to be more accountable to myself now I don’t have anyone to check I’ve
done my “homework” each week. Learning not to judge and criticise myself is
also a constant challenge—I worry I’m not pushing myself enough and accuse
myself of being lazy, even when I know I’m doing my best.
Tailoring your work to fit you
The work I do to manage my mental
health is very personal—not so much private, but adapted to my own needs and
preferences—and probably looks different to what many other people do. It has
been a long process of trial and error which is still ongoing. I have also
changed my approach at different points in my life, depending on what is most
effective at any specific time.
The biggest difference in my
approach over the past eight years is the prominence of exercise in managing my
mental health. I started walking on a treadmill, because I was too scared to
walk outside alone. My intention was to get a little fitter, because I had been
very inactive for a couple of years and my lack of fitness was beginning to
scare me. I had no idea it would lead to the decision to replace medication
with exercise and if I had started getting fit with that intention, I probably
would have been disappointed because it took around four years to reach the
point where I could consider reducing my antidepressants.
Medication is another thing people
consider a “quick fix” yet, like counsellors, antidepressants are not magic.
They rarely work instantly—it can take several weeks to see an improvement,
which is normal—and it may take some experimentation to find a variety and dosage
which works for you. However, even when I found antidepressants which helped
me, I didn’t experience the complete turnaround in mood expected by some
people: they simply took the edge off my depression, which meant I could do
more basic self-care tasks and work on improving my mental health.
All of these things seem so ordered when I write about them: counselling, medication, exercise and other coping strategies all organised into discrete boxes, all tracking a linear progression from “worse” to “better”. The reality is very different. My symptoms fluctuate a lot and the treatments I have used have been both effective and ineffective at different times.
I emphasise this point because
reading about other people’s mental health can create false impressions,
especially since many of us can’t write about our experiences during the worst
times so write with the benefit of hindsight. These paltry lines of writing represent
over fifteen years of struggle following my diagnosis of anxiety and
depression; especially during the eight years before I was diagnosed with BPD
(borderline personality disorder) and could finally make sense of the symptoms
which didn’t fit with anxiety and depression. I don’t think I could ever fully convey
my experience and while I can make sense of chunks in retrospect, other aspects
I will never understand.
It might be tempting to take some
things out of context and to make assumptions about the decisions I have made about
managing my mental health. For example, many people assume I disagree with anyone
using medication because I have stopped using it myself, whereas I actually
credit antidepressants with keeping me alive. Without medication, I would not
have been able to access therapy and counselling. I would not have started
exercising. I would not have been able to do a large proportion of the work I
need to do on a regular basis in order to maintain and (hopefully) improve my
So, what does this work involve?
My current mental health management
plan prioritises exercise: strength-based gym classes and dog walking
constitute its core, but I add running and yoga when I feel able. Exercise has
a strong impact on my hormones and neurochemicals, which is why I have found it
effective as a direct replacement for antidepressants (though not without its
drawbacks). I also find it very powerful psychologically, as feeling strong and
fit helps me feel more prepared for life’s challenges and I gain a sense of
achievement from every workout. Focusing
on strength and fitness means I approach exercise with a healthy attitude—it’s
not merely a way to control my weight through burning calories and I know that over-exercising
would risk injury without providing extra benefits for my mental health. My
exercise plan also gives my life structure, but without forcing me into a
strict routine which I would be unable to follow when my symptoms fluctuate.
Regular exercising makes it easier
to practice self-care, as it means I have to shower often. Basic hygiene may
seem simple and non-negotiable if you have never had depression, but showering
less often is one of the key signs I’m relapsing. Ditto with changing bedsheets
and wearing clean clothes. This might manifest in subtle ways—leaving it a few
days between showers but making the effort when you need to go out or be around
people—and may never progress beyond this point, but it can get worse. Sometimes
it can feel pointless to make the effort to shower, because your illness prevents
you from leaving the house. I have been in this position and yes, I might have
felt better if I had showered more often, but I was in a lot of emotional pain
and had no energy. Nowadays, self-care tasks piggyback on my exercise routine:
I shower more, so I change my sheets more and wear clean clothes more often. It
also helps me sleep better, which further improves my mental health.
A lot of the work I do to get/stay
well comes under the umbrella of “stress/anxiety management”, which is my way
of describing a variety of techniques I use to varying degrees. Goal-setting
and planning are key strategies for me, because they help me to focus and stay
vaguely motivated. I use breathing exercises when I feel particularly anxious,
including 7-11 breathing (inhale as you count to 7, exhale for 11) and box
breathing (in for a count of 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4, pause for 4 and
repeat as needed). Venting my current stresses on paper also helps me feel
better, especially if I can identify action points which could reduce or solve
the problem, and I sometimes use a few CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy)
techniques I have learnt over the years.
None of this work is easy,
especially when my symptoms worsen, but there are some areas with which I struggle
a lot. Nutrition is difficult because I’m prone to emotional eating and often
grab food which is convenient rather than healthy. My diet is generally
healthier than at any other point in my life, but I sometimes slip into
unhealthy habits—a situation which is not helped by my gallstones symptoms.
Perhaps I will be able to prioritise nutrition in future and do stuff like meal
prep and batch cooking every week, rather than intermittently, but it’s not
something I’m rocking at present and that’s okay—I try to do what I can and I
may fall short of my goals, but I’m doing my best.
Considering the macros along with the micros
Most of the work I have detailed is
done at the “micro” level: small tasks performed on a daily or weekly basis. This
type of work is what fills most of my days. When things are going well, it
helps me feel in control and gives me the ability to enjoy my life. Doing the “micro”
work also puts me in a better position to handle the “macro” work.
The “macro” work is the big
picture: what I want out of life, my long-term goals and mental health
management from a higher perspective. Again, this work is very personal. My
priorities are my writing career, inspiring other people with mental health
issues to chase their dreams, owning my own home (which seems impossible) and
having fun along the way. Your priorities may look very different. My current
priorities are different to the ones I have had in the past and will have in
the future—they are subject to change, but they emerged from my values and I
use them to guide me.
Keeping sight of the “macro” work can be extremely difficult when you have mental health problems. When you are struggling to get through each day, you can’t think about long-term goals. Yet, there’s a paradox: keeping my long-term goals in sight reminds me why it’s worth struggling through the days, why it’s important to keep working on self-care and the other “micro” work which helps me feel better. It gives my everyday life a sense of purpose.
I have learnt to revisit my “macro”
work on a regular basis (at least once a month) for this reason. It makes my
life meaningful and it makes the small steps I take each day meaningful. Do I
get frustrated when I seem no closer to achieving my long-term goals and pushing
through my daily wellness work feels like a massive challenge? Of course! I’m
human. I wish I didn’t have to deal with mental illness every single day of my
life, but it’s the material I’ve been given and I have to mould it as best I
can. Considering the “macro” work also reminds me to check for progress, no
matter how small, which I might overlook. For example, submitting a short story
or making an extra debt repayment. My progress may be slow and excruciating,
but it’s still progress.
You control your own work
Nobody can tell you what to
prioritise in order to manage your mental health—trial and error is the only
way to find out what works for you. It’s annoying when we would all prefer a
quick fix, but it’s the nature of mental illness. Just in case you need me to
point out the obvious, this also means you can’t dictate what other people
should be doing to improve their mental health. You don’t know their struggles.
It might be easy to judge from afar and when we find something which works for
us it’s tempting to evangelise, but we don’t know what will help other people. You
don’t get to decide what treatments and coping strategies someone else tries—they
You get to decide what you try and
how to determine whether it’s effective. For instance, you may find something
which helps you, but is too difficult to implement or access on a regular
basis. You need to consider the costs and benefits of different types of work. Some
of my current strategies would not have worked for me at other points in my
life. For example, I tried to exercise at many different times, but struggled
to create a routine—I could only establish some structure when I was well
enough to attend gym classes. I still get anxious when I go to gym classes, but
the benefits are worth this cost and if that changes, I would have to
reconsider my situation. Likewise, the CBT techniques I find helpful nowadays
were introduced to me in my NHS counselling sessions and didn’t help at the
time. It’s important to keep trying new—and old—things to find out what works
for you and your lifestyle right now.
I am not magic. I have to put a lot of work into managing my mental health and trying to get well. Sometimes I make progress, but other times I seem to regress and wonder why I bother making the effort. However, I’m learning that when I keep trying to do the work of wellness, moments of magic come into my life. Half an hour of feeling enthusiastic and joyous, rather than anxious, when I’m chatting with a friend. A moment of gratitude when a butterfly crosses my path. Three solid hours of working on a project which could turn into something. These fleeting moments might seem insignificant, but there have been times when I experienced nothing good or positive for weeks on end. Nowadays, if I remember to look, most days contain a little magic.
The clocks going forward is always welcome to me, because the improvement in my mood is almost immediate. Everything shifts. It doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days and my depression doesn’t get cured miraculously, but I’m a little less depressed and it’s a little easier to cope. I feel less overwhelmed.
The brighter evenings make it easier to use some coping strategies which I find helpful, including spending more time outside and exercising outside. I can organise my day so that I can make time to walk or run in the evening. The change to BST is a powerful reminder that spring is here and summer is coming: things will change and get better. When my days are (generally) brighter and warmer, focusing on the positive aspects of my life becomes more natural to me.
Summer will also bring the end of my second year studying for a Psychology BSc part time with the Open University. I have three assignments left to complete for my two modules. It has been a difficult academic year, because the first half coincided with my gallstones making themselves known. Before I got diagnosed, I found it incredibly hard to cope. Until the past month, I was constantly trying to catch up on the work I had neglected when I was ill, falling behind on one module as I struggled to meet an assignment deadline for the other. I wish I had managed to enjoy studying more, as I find the subject fascinating and a lot of the material resonated with me.
Thankfully, my gallstones are a lot quieter at the moment, although I dread another bad attack. I still have the baseline pain and nausea, but I have found ways to cope. A friend recommended rubbing lavender oil on my stomach, because it’s anti-spasmodic, and that has been more effective than anything else I have tried (thanks, Su!). I also rely heavily on heat pads and find that intermittent fasting (eating during an 8 hour window) helps a lot. I still get moderate attacks, but not severe ones like I was getting from October to January, which left me writhing on the floor in agony. I’m hoping this will continue until June, because my end-of-module assignments are due at the end of May…
I’m also coping better because I’m exercising more, although there is some circularity in that it’s easier for me to exercise more when I feel better! I have been running again, which is brilliant for both my mental health and the gallstones. Although it’s difficult to ignore the gallstones pain, especially as it likes to affect my back and the tops of my hips (the iliotibial band), the endorphins kick in after 10-15 minutes and are an effective painkiller. I get a psychological boost from exercising, as well, because it helps me feel fit and strong. Knowing I’m getting stronger physically helps me feel as if I’m getting stronger mentally.
It finally feels like I’m moving forward again, after a hard winter. I’m making progress towards my goals, even if it’s slower than I would like, and things are beginning to change.
I have spent four months in”maintenance mode” and I’m sick of it. While it was necessary to cope with the pain of my gallstones, especially for the three months when I didn’t know what was wrong, I felt as if my life was on hold and my mental health was suffering. The gallstones seem to have calmed down: I still have the baseline pain and constant nausea, but I’m learning to handle it and the really bad episodes have become less frequent. Combined with the frustration of feeling stuck, I decided it’s time to refocus on my goals.
Top of my list is getting back to losing weight. It feels strange to admit, because I struggled with an eating disorder for many years, but the past few months have taught me that health is valuable and shouldn’t be taken for granted. I already knew that, but life has a way of re-teaching the lessons we need to learn and in this instance, the lesson was about physical health. I want to lose weight primarily to reduce my risk of heart disease and diabetes. My dad has both of these conditions and recently had a heart attack and double bypass. I don’t want that to be in my future, so I’m trying to avoid it by taking control of the factors I can influence: being a healthy weight, staying fit and eating well.
Exercising is also a priority, mainly because it’s the most effective way of managing my mental health. My doctor has encouraged me to stay as active as I can, because it will help me recover faster when I have surgery to remove my gallbladder. Knowing I can exercise without causing damage is a huge relief, especially after exercising caution when I didn’t know what was wrong, and I feel better when I exercise more often. My anxiety is easier to control and I feel less depressed. I also feel better physically, in a way which is hard to describe: generally fitter and stronger. Like I can handle anything that comes my way.
I’m slowly beginning to piece my life back together and have begun challenging myself a little… One of my mini-goals for this year is to be more confident when driving and I recently drove on my own for the first time in approximately two years. It feels strange to admit, because I passed my test nearly nine and a half years ago, but driving became a source of anxiety for me and it was easier to avoid it than to suffer. And that’s okay. I may feel a bit ridiculous for being unable to drive for such a long period, but I think it’s something I needed to do.
The past four months have been a reminder to take care of myself and switch to “maintenance mode” when I need to, but they have also taught me not to let problems stand in my way. It might be a while before my gallstones get sorted out, so it’s another burden I have to carry, but I’m pretty damn strong. I can take the weight and keep pushing onwards and upwards.
I spend a lot of my time thinking about goals, which are both a key strategy in managing my mental health and a source of frustration, anxiety, disappointment and other feelings which contribute to my mental health problems. On balance, working towards my goals (and achieving some of them) has a positive influence on my life. They give me a sense of purpose and fulfilment. However, this year has been a little strange, because one of my goals is becoming very visible to other people: I want to lose a lot of weight and have lost almost 5 stone.
Announcing my goals is something I find very awkward, even when it’s necessary. For example, fundraising for charity was an integral part of my trek to Machu Picchu last year and telling people about my goal put a lot of pressure on me. On the other hand, being open also enabled people to give me a lot of support and encouragement, which helped me achieve my goal.
Odd as it sounds, one of the few advantages of severe mental illness is that nobody has any expectations of/for you. During my worst points, I felt my life was such a huge disappointment and burden to people that I couldn’t disappoint them any more than I was already disappointing them. Having a shower or cooking a meal was a massive achievement; I had no other goals.
So having goals is a positive sign. I am trying to live a better life and working towards my goals indicates that I have some degree of hope (if not confidence) of achieving them. However, there is a shadow side: I’m terrified of disappointment and every failure along the way is a reminder that I have let down my family, friends and myself.
But people don’t always see the failures.
People complimenting me on my weight loss is great, especially since I can’t see the difference as clearly myself, but it has made me think a lot about how my experiences differ from what people see. It has also made me realise there are parallels with other goals and aspects of my life, which are less obvious because I can’t measure them in the same way that I can track my weight and clothes size.
My weight loss has become more visible over the past few months, so people see I’m now a size 14 instead of 18. They didn’t notice the first few months of this year, when I started eating less/more healthily but couldn’t see the results. People don’t see the weeks when I lose no weight, despite following my eating and exercise plan. They don’t see me getting frustrated and discouraged because the effort doesn’t seem to be paying off.
Likewise, people view my mental health from the outside. They only see me on my good days, because I can’t leave home on my bad days. My anxiety may seem much better, particularly as I get used to specific situations (gym classes, writing group), yet I still get panic attacks. I’m still too scared to drive or into a shop alone. There are days when I spend hours worrying about everything from whether my dog seems a little “down” to if I will ever repay my debt or move out of my parents’ house.
The outside only shows part of the picture. Yes, I have lost weight and my mental health is generally better nowadays, but neither has been as straightforward as it seems. My progress hasn’t been linear — and my mental health can be very erratic — but it looks linear to other people, who don’t see the effort, frustration and frequent disappointments.
The changes started a long time ago and it has been a rocky road.
While I consciously choose to work towards my goals at particular times, my ability to do so is often rooted in changes I made long before setting them. At my highest weight, during the final year of my BA in 2010-11, I was a size 26 and have no idea what I weighed except it was definitely over 20 stone. Yet I had already begun to make the mental changes which are helping me to lose weight this year: when I decided to go to university, I decided I was worth the effort. I was worth the expense. I was worth the risk of failure, embarrassment and disappointment.
At 18, when I had a place at another university in a different subject, I made a different decision. My self-esteem was nonexistent and I didn’t think I was worth the cost. I wasn’t worth the hard work.
I went through a lot of pain and despair before I started to build a little self-esteem. I took antidepressants and had counselling. I tried to help myself, but I failed a lot of the time.
Along the way, I tried to cheat my way to self-esteem by losing weight, going from a size 18 to a 12 in a few months. (Sidenote: sacrificing muscle tissue for a lower number on the scale is a stupid thing to do and takes ages to repair). I half starved myself, binged because I was hungry and then punished myself by eating even less. Over and over. I thought I would like myself if I could fit into a size 12, but I was wrong.
Eventually, I got sick of my life. I was 23 and my mental health had improved a little, but I hated everything about my life apart from my dog. One of my best friends was working in Spain at this time and had invited me to stay with her for a low cost holiday. I hadn’t been away since a family holiday when I was 17 and I love sunshine, so I was tempted. I had enough money for flights, food and spending. I was running out of excuses — except the usual one of having crippling anxiety. But I was sick of that excuse, too. I booked my flights and knew I would have to go through with it, even if I failed.
Looking back, I think that was the start of believing I was worth anything. I was sick of staying inside the house and missed my friend, but I also wanted to be the type of person who could travel somewhere. Someone who wouldn’t be fazed by going on a plane alone (and for the first time, to boot!).
That holiday changed my life because I realised I could do more than I anticipated. I could travel by plane without having a panic attack. I could wander around Valencia alone. I could even speak a few phrases of Spanish, including “I miss my dog!” I loved the holiday and it was well worth the costs. It opened up the possibility that I could do more. By the time I got home, I had decided I would try to get a place at university the next year.
I hedged my bets a little, going to my local university to minimise expenses and ensure I had some support at home, but I was trying to achieve something I had once thought was impossible. I believed I had missed my chance of going to university, but I was proving myself wrong.
My graduation was one of the happiest days of my life. So many people point to photos of themselves at their highest weight and say how miserable they felt, but I was happier than I had ever been. I was still struggling a lot and my weight is an indication of that, because I have always had a tendency to comfort eat, but I had finally gotten a degree. I was disappointed to have missed out on a First after my grades dropped in the final year, thanks to the stress of being diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and an eye condition which can lead to blindness in a single month, but a 2:1 was better than no degree. Besides, I already had a place on the Creative Writing MA course and was focusing on the next goal!
I became concerned about my physical health, which had taken a backseat for a long time. My fitness was atrocious and my habit of buying crisps and chocolate bars at the university shop had to stop now I didn’t have a student loan to finance the habit. I was too scared to walk outside alone, so I bought a treadmill (which is how I know I was over 20 stone, because I had to take weight limits into account when choosing one) and started walking. By the end of summer, I had dropped to a size 22.
I can pinpoint my current attitude to that summer: I started focusing on fitness and weight loss as a path to better health. The journey since then has been up and down, but although my weight has fluctuated a little, I haven’t gained a dress size since that time. I was finally making lifestyle changes — and for the right reasons.
I know I have come a long way, but it doesn’t always feel like it.
Part of the reason why I set myself a lot of goals is because so much of my life seems to stagnate; working towards goals reminds me that I’m making progress. I think this is especially important because monitoring my mental health is difficult.
Many aspects of mental health are intangible and while some symptoms improve, others regress. For instance, my anxiety and depression are generally much better than in my final two years at university, yet I drove 50 mile round trips to lectures four times a week and the most I have driven this year is a few 7 mile trips with my mum beside me. Having goals stops me from fixating on what I can’t do, switching the focus to what I can and might be able to do.
I achieved one of my key goals for this year at the weekend: I ran a half marathon. It has been a useful goal because, in addition to improving my fitness, running teaches me a lot about life. My main goal was to complete the half marathon, which meant I had to learn to pace myself. However, I also wanted to finish within 3 hours if I could, which meant pushing myself. It was difficult to balance these approaches during the race, but my mum and I made it in 2:59:51. Yep, a whole nine seconds to spare!
Knowing when to pace myself and when to push myself is one of the most challenging aspects of any goal. Part of the challenge is to appreciate how far I have come while focusing on where I want to be. It’s difficult not to get frustrated about how far away the end goal is, especially when working on something which will take months or years ro achieve. I find myself comparing my experiences to other people’s achievements — which is a fallacy, because as I pointed out at the start of this marathon post (pun intended), the outside doesn’t reflect the true experience.
Playing the long game, you have two choices: keep going or give up.
As with running long distances, working towards long term goals involves a lot of different factors. You need to develop a strategy and assess your energy levels to know when to push and when to pace yourself. You need to train and learn from your mistakes.
Gradually, you learn what works best for you and realise there is no point comparing yourself to other people. No matter how fast the other runners are, the only person you are really competing with is yourself. I suspect this is true even for elite athletes, who want to break their personal bests as well as beating the competition, but it’s especially true for those of us who just want to do our best and finish the race.
An advantage of playing the long game is that there’s always another race, another chance to make strides towards your goal. You might not manage it in the same way or time frame as you planned, but every experience teaches you something which will help you (eventually) achieve your goal.
The alternative is to quit, which guarantees you will never achieve what you want.
Achieving my goals is never pretty or easy. I often feel the universe is testing me or taking the piss — especially when my glasses broke 40 minutes before the start of the half marathon, meaning I had to run half blind — yet these additional challenges are what make my experiences unique.
I know I can run 13.1 miles without being able to see anything more than colourful blurriness and the three feet of ground in front of me. I can complete a four day trek while contending with altitude sickness, multiple panic attacks and a throat infection. On a more mundane level, I can write and study around the symptoms of my mental health issues. I can force myself to do a gym class straight after having a panic attack. I can make healthy choices most of the time, even if part of me still wants to munch crisps and chocolate.
I don’t always feel like carrying on, but I keep going because it’s the only way I have a chance of getting what I want. Challenging myself is the only way of discovering my capabilities. The long game is a massive commitment, but the potential rewards outweigh the sacrifices.
I had a strange experience last week. Back in January/February, I booked an Arvon course called Editing Fiction. My plan was to use the opportunity to finish my novel and start submitting it to agents. The course was last week and it was amazing — I learnt a lot and felt inspired. However, by the end of the week, I had decided to abandon my novel.
To say I hadn’t expected this outcome would be an understatement. One of my 2018 goals was to get The Novel up to a decent standard, making it the best I could. I was persuaded to read the opening chapter to my writing group and got encouraging feedback. I had redrafted it 4 times since I wrote the first draft 3/4 years ago. I was sure that working on this novel was what I should be doing.
And that was the problem. I was no longer enthusiastic about The Novel. Had fallen out of love with it.
The realisation came during a tutorial with one of my favourite writers. I went in babbling about not knowing whether I should be prioritising The Novel and feeling like an utter idiot. Luckily, the tutor is an excellent teacher and reader of humans: she saw something I hadn’t yet realised. She recounted her experience of writing a novel and losing it when her laptop was stolen. After the initial shock, she was relieved.
She asked me how I would feel if the same happened to me. My answer? Free.
The Novel isn’t right for me. Not at the moment, anyway. As the course tutor pointed out, if it had been right for me to keep working on it, I would have been offended and defensive when she suggested I quit. Instead, I was delighted to receive permission to stop.
I have thought a lot about permission in relation to writing. Like many other writers, I struggle with confidence and the paradox of assuming my work isn’t good enough and being arrogant enough to want people to read my stories. However, I had never considered seeking permission not to write — to abandon something in which I have invested a lot of time, effort and even (thanks to an online course on plot) money.
I don’t think twice about casting aside short stories that aren’t working for me, but The Novel felt different. I have never written a novel which is good enough to publish; perhaps I thought I had to prove myself. A lot of the writing advice I came across said to keep going, to finish projects, so I felt obliged to continue. To keep redrafting, even when I was no longer motivated.
Quitting feeds into a lot of my fears and negative beliefs: that I’m a failure, lazy, simply not good enough. Yet what is the point of pursuing a goal which I no longer want to achieve?
The tutor reassured me that I hadn’t wasted my time on The Novel. It’s an experience which has improved my writing and will help me to clarify my goals as a writer. I have learnt a lot through writing it, from the fact that spending 3/4 years on a project probably means I’m not lazy, to the Writers HQ course which developed my plotting skills. I’m not upset about giving up on it; I’m happier, lighter.
Although it’s early days, I believe that I will learn a lot from putting The Novel aside. It has made me wonder what else I’m clinging to in my life.
The strangest part of this experience has been finding evidence that I knew — unconsciously — I should abandon The Novel before it was pointed out to me. In my lists of current goals, I have not prioritised The Novel. I was reluctant to show the other course tutor, an editor, my synopsis because I thought it was crap, which I now translate as knowing I didn’t believe in it, since it would have been sensible to ask her how to make the synopsis less crap. In my tutorial with the editor, she asked me questions about The Novel which I hadn’t considered. Why hadn’t I considered them? Because I didn’t care.
Other people on my course talked about their projects with enthusiasm, but I didn’t enjoy talking about The Novel. I was too ashamed to show it to the writer I admire — instead of my first chapter, I submitted a short story which I actually quite like.
With hindsight, it is clear I shouldn’t be working on The Novel. Yet I ignored the signs for months.
Again, it makes me wonder what else I’m overlooking. I am trying to trust my intuition, but I get swayed by what I “should” be doing. I “should” finish The Novel. I “should” focus on The Novel because its premise is commercial. I “should” be better at promoting myself and my work.
When I act on my intuition, the outcome is usually good. I can’t think of a time when I have regretted following my intuition; just loads of times I wish I had, but didn’t.
Forget what I “should” do. That’s the main lesson I took from the Arvon course. I can’t waste time and energy trying to be a different kind of writer, a different kind of person.
I’m not sure why I fight against my intuition so much — or why I fail to see the signs which point me towards what I really want. I think I’m getting better at recognising what I need to do, but this experience has taught me that I’m far more likely to listen to people I admire than to myself. It’s something I need to change.
Another issue which was mentioned in my tutorial is confidence. The self-doubt will never go away, says the writer whose books I buy as soon as I can (in print, no less). And it can be a good thing, because the best writers are those who are continually trying to improve, not the ones who believe their work is perfect.
Again, this is something I kind of knew, but it was reassuring to hear from one of my favourite writers. If I wait to feel confident before doing anything, especially writing/submitting stories, it won’t happen. I need to take action despite lacking confidence, to make it a habit.
When I take action towards goals which are important to me, I feel energised. Even if I was exhausted and demotivated before doing anything. I stopped feeling energised by The Novel long ago. I just needed someone else to give me the message.
Progress in anything is often slow and nonlinear, but these qualities are exacerbated when you have mental health problems. In particular, anxiety and depression can create conflicting symptoms: it feels like I’m progressing too slowly and have the urge to rush into everything, yet it’s difficult to find the energy and feel motivated, plus many activities are too challenging. It feels like being torn in different directions.
I have been feeling this way a lot over the past few months. So much of my time has been lost to mental illness that I feel frustrated when it steals more time from me. I’m glad and grateful that nowadays these increments of time can be (usually) measured in hours, days and weeks — in the past, they were most commonly measured in months and years — but it’s still stolen time. Time I can never get back.
My frustration might be due to my experience of losing so much time during my teens and twenties, when most of my peers were achieving amazing things, changing their lives and having fun. I may never reach the milestones of adulthood which the majority of people consider “normal”, like living independently and supporting myself without relying on state benefits, so it feels like everyone has overtaken me. I feel a deep need to prove myself, to demonstrate that my goals are worthwhile and I can make a valuable contribution to the world.
I constantly worry I am failing at life. I tend to dismiss my achievements, because it feels ridiculous to be proud of them when I struggle with tasks that most people find easy. I pressure myself to reach high standards because I hope it can atone for my failures, which include relying on my parents and finding driving a huge challenge nearly 9 years after I passed my test. If I could choose to exchange my achievements for being able to do everyday tasks, like shopping on my own and holding down a full time job, I think I would. Other people, I suspect, would find me more acceptable.
Lately, I have been in a reflective mood. I think it’s because I had to wait several weeks for my results from my first Psychology module. In the event, I got an overall score of 95 and surpassed my expectations, but I was anxious about failing because it would effectively terminate my pursuit of the degree. I managed to almost convince myself I had messed up my final assignment so much that I had failed the module. As frustrating as it was to waste yet more time worrying for no reason, my anxiety sometimes gives me insights: studying Psychology is very important to me.
While it should be obvious that I’m not choosing to accumulate more student loan debt for no reason, I think part of me worried about my reasons for pursuing a Psychology BSc. I have no career path mapped out. No way of knowing how my mental health will affect my life when I complete the qualification. However, I do feel a strong desire to improve my understanding of psychology and mental health so that I can help others. Perhaps I will do this through my writing; perhaps it will be via research or something else. I don’t know the route I will take, but I have clarified my first steps and am heading in the right direction.
The experience has highlighted a few truths:
1. There will always be waiting periods in my life, whether it’s waiting to hear about results or taking action in the face of excruciatingly slow progress
2. My mental health issues might mean I have more waiting periods than the average person
3. The only way to deal with waiting periods is to accept them
Acceptance is bloody hard.
Acceptance. It’s a simple concept, but difficult to practice. My instinct is to get upset: “why should I accept chronic mental illness when other people don’t experience it at all or for shorter periods?” And no, reminding myself that other people experience more severe mental illness for longer periods doesn’t help. Yet acceptance is the only way forward, because fighting against mental health problems doesn’t work — you have to take a collaborative approach, working within your constraints while pushing for progress.
Unfortunately, accepting my mental health issues can be difficult for other people. Many friends have dropped away because they couldn’t understand my symptoms, or why my symptoms differ from their own experiences of mental health problems. I know I’m better off without these “friends” but it’s still painful. Society in general doesn’t seem to accept mental illness. Even when people express understanding for “high functioning” people who have mental health issues, they are quick to judge those of us whose ability to work is affected. Stigma still prevails: people assume you are lazy if you need to rely on benefits, many express sympathy while acting in unsympathetic ways and judge you based on how you appear on your good days, without considering how they might be outweighed by bad days.
It’s difficult to accept your own situation when other people send negative messages. Even common assumptions can be hurtful for those of us who don’t fit the “norm” and these assumptions seem to increase as I get older. People assume a woman in her mid 30s should have her own home, be in a serious relationship, work full time, want or have children, socialise at least a few times a week, etc. I don’t fit the pattern and probably never will.
Yet everything boils down to the same old truth: improving my situation requires acceptance.
Learning to be patient.
I know comparing myself to others is ridiculous. Everyone’s situation, experiences and challenges are unique to themselves. All I can do is work on my own goals, try to improve my mental health and hope it all works out in the end. Oh, and I should probably try to enjoy my life along the way!
Maybe that’s the key to self-care, achieving goals, managing mental health and life in general: to aim for progress, not perfection, and have fun whenever you can.
Setting deadlines for myself isn’t always healthy, although they can sometimes help me to feel motivated. Sure, I would love to turn my life around in an instant, but that’s not realistic. I need to hold on to the positive aspects of my life, especially when they are overshadowed by the negatives, and see what happens.