Could you tell me a time you worried about the future?

Throughout my childhood and the first few years since leaving school I had no worries. I remember the feeling of boundless possibility open in front of me - I could do anything I wanted to do. I had a lot of good friends and a supportive family that would help me do whatever I wanted to. I don’t believe this was in an arrogant or an overly self-confident way but rather a youthful optimism, ready to take on whatever came my way. 

I do still have good friends and a supportive family yet I worry about the future. It is not a constant worry but rather an intermittent nagging of what am I doing with my life, where am I going, who do I want to be? 

A lot of my anxiety stems from comparing myself to others. Whatever I find myself doing, be it as a professional sportsman, be it studying for a degree, be it simply scrolling through social media, I am constantly comparing myself to those around me. This leads at times to a sense of inferiority, a sense helplessness and a desire to be elsewhere in life. Having been a youngster with a lot of aspiration, the reality of ‘real life’ hits hard.

This leads to me worrying about the future and all that comes with it. I find myself stressing about things that are largely speaking out with my control and I find it hard to always be present and fully apply myself to small tasks in the here and now. I frequently change my mind about what I want to do with my life and this leads to an anxiety about whether what I’m doing right now is the ‘right’ thing to be doing. It is also very easy to look back on prior life decisions and feel frustrated about taking one option and not another!

All of these problems are completely human and will touch just about anyone I can think of - it is a source of strength to speak to people about your worries and this should not be shied away from (especially when such worries seem relatively trivial). Writing this, I do feel very fortunate for what I have and I want to try to return to being enthusiastic about everything around me. I think that if we value what we have in the present moment it is much easier to let the future take care of itself. This moment in time (lockdown) is a great opportunity to reflect on the things we value and let that help guide the direction in which we are going to travel. We are a short time on this planet and any time spent worrying about what is to come is time wasted. 

Could you tell me a time you felt alive?

Suddenly, my chest was collapsing. My eyes, wide open in panic, looking for a way out. At this moment, I don't know which way was up or which way was down. My body was rapidly losing the battle not to inhale underwater. I'd been pulled under for too long, one too many times. I went limp; there was no fight left in me. Immersed in the beauty that I admired so much; it abruptly took an ugly turn. 

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I began surfing in 2013; it was a frigid, dull, late December day - the furthest image away from the luxurious, sexy feed of photos we too often see on Instagram. 

Neoprene covered almost every inch of me - other than my puffy cheeks squeezing out of the hood. A friend was kind enough to lend me her surf gear - from wetsuit to board - allowing me to try a new sport I was desperate to attempt. I was apprehensive, excited, and fucking cold. 

There was no one in the water - a telling sign to an accomplished surfer that the waves were nothing to be excited over. Even still, we ran in with joy and the biggest smiles we could manage in our tight hoods. 

I had no idea what I was doing, but I didn't care. The power of the white waves, hitting against my body, pushing and pulling me in all directions, relinquishing all of my control felt exhilarating. My skin was tingling - brought alive with the cold water seeping into my suit. The frigid water even causing my brain to freeze. These new sensations were more than invigorating; they were addictive.  

I always felt like something was missing in life - if only I'd known sooner that it could be replenished with salt water. My life decisions now revolved around the ocean, the tides and the swell — the search for my next opportunity to be submerged in the sea was constant. 

It became a place of solace, prayer and mindfulness; calming my nervous system, quieting my busy brain as it reminds me to be present. Each time I entered the water, it felt symbolic. I worship the beauty and purity of the ocean and the natural environment. 

Having suffered depression for many years, the fact that something brought so much pleasure and desire into my life was liberating. On some of my darkest days, the only thing that would bring equilibrium into my life was surfing. As it washed away my sadness, it gifted me with a new lease of life. 

There's no place for doubt, in the sea. You must always be alert, aware, focused. Sometimes I feel as though it awakens a new sense in me; I explore and observe the vibrations and energy of the water. Like braille, she speaks to me in a language I was never taught, and somehow, instinctually, I understand. Other times, she enjoys laughing at me, challenging me beyond my limits, pushing me into every uncomfortable corner of my body and pulling me under waves when I get too cocky — crudely reminding me of her power and depth. 

A couple of years after my first immersion, I took a solo trip to Morocco - doing my best to escape reality. My skills had been (slowly) developing over the years, and this is where I experienced my first point break. The feeling of nervousness and apprehension, along with excitement filled me again, just like the first time I entered the sea with a board in Wales' bleakness. 

I was in complete awe; the waves were beautiful, peeling, perfection - much closer to those tropical pictures on social media, that I'd long been pining to experience. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to experience this moment.

I paddled out to the break using the rip to assist my journey there. I attentively listened to the ripples and energies the ocean was whispering to me while admiring the striking cliffs and landscape that surrounded me on this desolate beach. 

I needed to be more alert than ever on this point break. You can't fuck up on these kinds of breaks. The conditions are not forgiving. One wrong move and you can get caught in the impact (or danger) zone, where the waves break heavily on your head with the likelihood of rips. It's messy, and it's unpleasant, it's scary - especially if you are still learning to master the craft, like me. 

On what felt like the wave of my life, someone unknowingly dropped in on me - causing me to dodge them and fall off the wave. I was in the danger zone. 

Wave after wave, I was beaten down. Their force and impact were far too powerful for me to get back out to the back. I tried every method I could to get back to safety with the other surfers. But she, the mighty ocean, was too fierce. 

There was no time for rational thought; adrenaline filled every cell in my body, fight or flight was activated. I ditched my longboard and dived beneath each wave - fighting my way through. I had mere moments to catch my breath before the next one would hit me. My energy levels were quickly depleting. The waves were so powerful and strong, sucking me under and tumbling me around before spitting me out again, and again. Each time I surfaced, I was only able to catch a small amount of air before I was pulled under again, and again.  

Suddenly, my chest was collapsing. My eyes, wide open in panic, looking for a way out. At this moment, I don't know which way was up or which way was down. My body was rapidly losing the battle not to inhale underwater. I'd been pulled under for too long, one too many times. I went limp; there was no fight left in me. Immersed in the beauty that I admired so much; it abruptly took an ugly turn. 

Then, a moment of calm. As if weightless, I surfaced - just in time. I notice a break in the set; this was my chance to seek refuge. I wanted to cry from relief, but there was no time. I grabbed my board, hopped on, and with every ounce of energy I had left, I paddled away from the rocks, towards the beach. 

I got myself into a safer position and caught a wave into the beach, riding it on my belly. I flailed my way out of the sea, reaching the sand - the sanctuary I was begging for moments before. I wanted to collapse and howl on all fours - I needed to release some of the adrenaline still coursing through my body.

I looked around, dazed and confused by the ordeal. I was seeking support, a hug, something! But everyone around me was oblivious. 

I almost fucking died, and no one even saw it. 

I sat on the shore, facing the water that had just digested me and spat me back out. A few tears rolled down my cheeks while my mind processed the experience I'd just endured. I took some deep breaths, more consciously than ever, appreciating every molecule of air that entered my body - grateful for each breath. While unconsciously, my body worked on regulating my heart rate and neutralising the hormone imbalance.

I never leave the ocean the same person I was when I walked in. Perhaps it's a rebirth of sorts. However, this felt far more significant and poignant than ever. I allowed myself a few more moments on that beach to reflect. Everyone and everything around me was the same; nothing had changed externally, yet here I was - a fresh, new me. 

As my mind and body returned to the present moment, I noticed people having fun, playing around in the white water ahead of me. I smiled gently to myself - finally accepting the unexpected gift mother nature had just given me. There was little hesitation before I decided to pick up my board and join the others. 

The experience made me realise that this is why I surfed; to feel alive, to experience all of life, not just the divine, but the terrifying and challenging, too. 

Now, ready and willing for every opportunity the ocean has to offer me - I continue my quest for the perfect wave. Only now, it's not merely a way to seek refuge from my own, inner turbulence, but to embrace all the lessons the ocean has yet to teach me. 

Could you tell me a time you hit a wall?

In the year of 2016, I entered what would ultimately be an unsuccessful year of education but from which I learned some valuable lessons about myself and my approach towards other people. It was to be a victory lap on what had been a vastly enjoyable experience at university where I studied the field of Physics. I had glided through my penultimate year with relative ease and I was comfortably swimming in safe familiar waters with a final year ahead that was a stage set up for its final act, a predictable but happy conclusion. I entered my Honors year brimming with confidence and a keen interest to explore new territory. All through life I’ve maintained an awareness of the issues that our planet's environment is facing and like many others I’ve experienced frustration for my incapability as an individual to influence change on a large scale. In the brainstorming for my thesis proposal, I was presented with a rare opportunity to do just that and it was an easy choice. I was offered the opportunity to study the intake of microplastics in marine life; an issue that was rapidly becoming more prevalent and headline-worthy as people become aware of the damage that their favourite facial scrub was doing (another topic for writing in itself, but in short… the oceans are a mess). I recklessly bowled into it like an electrician attempting heart surgery, so eager to help without fully assessing my suitability. As you may have realised (unlike me) there is little overlap between a physics degree and the study of plastics in fish and it was already a stretch but my mind had been lit up with possibility at the prospect and after meetings where the possibility of having results published there was no question of me not choosing it.

Ironically with the field of marine biology, I found my self stranded in deep water. I was placed in a new building away from all the students and colleagues I’d been working with from the beginning with a laboratory I had no familiarity with.The apparatus was all new and I would have to repeatedly ask strangers for the simplest of advice. I’m sure in retrospect they were all welcoming of a newcomer in their departmentbut from my perspective I could feel eyes rolling back behind closed eyelids and imaginary disdain in their every tone. I hit my first stride a week or so in, finally being able to produce some results I could show to my supervisor. When presented, however, I was told of the irrelevancy of the results and lambasted for wasting valuable time with inconsequential research. I felt a significant knock to my confidence that day, but I still felt driven to correct my mistake. I would wake up with determination, pack my bag for the day, lunches prepped and all, and walk to university with the intent of spending the whole day making drastic breakthroughs and uncovering newground-breaking results. But I’d reach the front door and I’d pause, hesitant to step in from the cold. I’d do a small lap of the block maybe picking up a coffee as if that was the answer to everything and head back only to slow down again outside and be hit with a sudden overwhelming urge to just go home. Try again tomorrow! Something’s just not right today. I conceded and fell into this awful pattern, only rarely making it across threshold only to be met with further frustration and perplexity and every day I’d return to bed another rung down the ladder. Numerous times this frustration reduced me to the verge of tears and I’d make a hushed exit stage left so I could be alone before I had a breakdown in public. After a while, this solidified connection was formed between the work I was expected to complete and being unhappy. I knew every morning looking up at the modern architecture of the department building that if I was to put myself in that small dark optics room on the third floor I’d just feel like a failure. I’d have more ease scaling the side of the building than overcoming this unsurmountable wall I’d constructed in my mind.

Eventually, after weeks of repeating this awful pattern and dodging emails, I met with my head of year (after the previous experience of meeting my supervisor I’d rather avoid a repeat of that). I explained my situation and was greeted with welcome sympathy but rather than accepting the unfeasibility I was told to endure it and keep going. I am very fortunate in life to of had my mental wellbeing in good health for most of my life, never having to experience to horrible realities of clinical depression or anxiety but I feel like I understand a little more the extent of this inability from this experience. Stories of people who suffer depression and struggle to get out of bed in the morning are not to be dismissed. Whenever somewhere, someone is suffering from a resistance that their own brain can pose when faced with the simplest of tasks you should treat it like you would a physical illness. I’d like to emphasise that my experience doesn’t fall in this category but to the senior staff in my department, it was probably like asking a primary kid to learn his times tables. They may have understood the difficulties but its far from an insurmountable problem, just a learning curve to be overcome. What’s far harder to fathom is the pure impossibility of a task. For me this was impossible. Nothing was going to change that. I didn’t care about trying again. I didn’t care about graduating. I just didn’t want to step in that laboratory every again and I feared that forcing it would only jeopardize my wellbeing. Forcing out of idle is almost never the answer. It only exacerbates the feeling of failure.

I firmly believe that a far more consoling and productive reaction is to try a new avenue. One from which you can gain just the same sense of achievement. Criticising a person’sinabilities can often feel for them like they’re just digging a bigger hole for themselves. For me, I took the following summer for myself and returned with a project that played to my strengths. I don’t mean to dissuade from exploring outside your comfort zone but going in with the understanding that sometimes it just might not work out and that’s okay is very important. Realise that you can still learn and grow from such experiences. I returned to blue shores where I completed my degree with a superb final result that I will always be extremely proud of and attended my graduation ceremony that had felt light-years away only a year prior.

Could you tell me a time you felt insecure?

Insecurity is something that is always there, small and almost inconsequential in the back of my mind. I think that must be the case for almost everyone, you have to be a certain kind of confident to never compare yourself to anyone else and get that feeling you’re not-quite-as-good. I find social media can be a world that exacerbates this problem, there is always going to be someone more attractive/sportier/confident on your timeline that makes you feel lacking. For me I particularly struggle with feelings of insecurity in social situations or stressful times, it takes one lack of an invitation to feel like you’re nowhere near as popular as everyone else going, but that’s where perspective and rationalisation come into play. Yes it is a difficult and frustrating situation but if you take time to think about all the good things that are going on (which are always there, if not always big things or particularly obvious), then the feelings of self-doubt slowly ebb away.

One of the hardest things to do, but something that I’m slowly learning makes an enormous difference in everyday life, is to try and not be envious or compare yourself to other people who appear to have everything easy. I am one of the biggest over-thinkers I know, less than I used to be, but still constantly unsure of myself, and yet I think many people who meet me would be totally unable to see this aspect of my personality. I like to think that is the case for most other people too, so if you are ever feeling insecure for not being quite as good as someone in one aspect, never forget they are probably comparing themselves back against you and thinking they aren’t as good for another reason.

A time recently that I have felt insecure was just a few weeks ago when things got on top of me at university. It got to that point at the start of winter that you’re feeling run down and ill, and deadlines stack up. When I’m tired I find it so much harder to think rationally, and for one particularly challenging piece of coursework I just couldn’t work out what I was supposed to do. I felt like every single other person in my module could understand so much easier and I was in the wrong place, insecure in my intelligence. I felt like if I reached out to my friends and said I was really struggling they would judge me and dismiss me for not understanding it like they did. Reaching a point of overwhelming panic, I had to sit down with one of my friends and just admit I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. She was EXACTLY the same. We sat for about an hour just non-stop complaining about how difficult the module was and how we felt everyone else understood while we didn’t. Next we started actually tackling the questions and while it was still difficult, we made a lot more progress than I had been able to before, and had the confidence to text more friends to help us, some of them who are super bright who got it straight way, but many more others in similar situations.

When it comes to insecurity about things like this, or about your looks, or popularity etc., it is so important to bear in mind that there are so many others who feel the same, and if you reach out to a close friend a problem shared can often be a problem halved. You could spend your whole life comparing yourself to others that appear to be better-off in a whole load of different ways, and it’s so difficult not to, but the more you put yourself out there and stay active – keeping your mind off things that make you feel less-than – the more I find you can start to be grateful and positive about other unique aspects of yourself.

Could you tell me a time you took a step back?

Around 2 years ago, at the age of 27, on a holiday with some friends in Sète my mental health reached a melting point. Looking back, I realise now that it was mostly likely years of escaping my negative self-beliefs through various avoidance strategies that led to this event where my complications with mental health became self evident. At that moment in time, and for the weeks that followed, I experienced a complete loss of self esteem and confidence. I felt embarrassed, confused, stupid, useless and ashamed of myself. I found it impossible to concentrate from having severe brain fog and had a deep rooted un- comfort and stress around my friends. As a result, I chose to isolate myself which led to me then slipping in to a dark depression.

I remember the exact moment when I reached breaking point. I was assisting my friend making breakfast one morning. Usually what would be a simple task became an overwhelming experience. Finding it difficult to concentrate, I needed him to guide me through the process as I feared making a mistake and embarrassing myself over the most basic task. Once we had finished preparing food, I felt severely stressed from how difficult I found this everyday routine. My friend, unaware of my negative thoughts at the time, made a passing joke about me only having half a brain that morning. Unfortunately this solidified the negative thoughts I was having about myself and my worries that my insecurities would become noticed by friends was confirmed. I felt completely embarrassed and useless. As a result, I couldn’t even stay to eat the breakfast we had prepared - I sat down and started to profusely sweat in the sun. My friends conversed and I focused on trying not to embarrass myself further so I sat there in silence trying to persevere over the negative thoughts I was ruminating over. My situation did not improve and I eventually started to feel like I was going to have a panic attack so I said I needed to go for a walk. I rushed out of the house and sat by the canal worrying about what was happening to me and fearful of returning to the house. All I could do was ruminate over what had happened and catastrophize what was going to happen in the future. At this moment in time, I thought that I would never be the same again. I began to identify with these new feelings and believed that the happier less anxious me of the past was actually an imposter that had had his day and that circumstances had finally exposed the real me that would remain for the rest of my years.

At this time, I was very unfamiliar with the complexities of Anxiety and Depression. Even though I had probably been experiencing such symptoms for years I never felt like they were severe enough to warrant much attention. I was told by one friend that I could be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as result from traumatic life experiences. At the time, I couldn’t believe that my symptoms were solely caused from this and convinced myself that it must have stemmed from a biological failure in my body or a physical accident. Despite experiencing these symptoms in the past they had never been so crippling so I thought that they must have been worsened by some recent development. I then started my own research and became obsessed with getting to the route cause of my psychological complications. My first diagnoses was that I had an Over-Active Thyroid and I was experiencing Hyperthyroidism.

Once I returned to the UK from Sète, I became obsessed with trying to discover what was causing my condition. As a result of ruminating over my negative thoughts, my symptoms remained and I began avoiding social situations and not answering phone calls from friends. I continued to diagnose myself with all sorts of illnesses online that continued to make me feel even more hopeless about the future. I began to believe that there was no chance of improvement. My condition got so severe that I even contemplated suicide. After visiting the doctor and having various blood checks, it was clear that it wasn’t a overactive thyroid that was causing my symptoms. Through diagnosing myself online (the worst thing a hypochondriac can do in this situation), I then developed a new theory that I had experienced Brain Damage caused by a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) which had triggered my anxiety and depression. Besides various minor knocks to the head, something which is probably common for skateboarders, I’ve only ever had one major knock that resulted in a concussion. Despite having scans at the time of the accident and being given the all clear from doctors without much sign of concern, I continued to worry about this long after the injury. My worries were not necessarily unjustified as I have seen the affects of Major Brain Damage in my father who had accident when I was in University and now requires 24/7 continuous care. After revisiting the doctor with this proposal, I was told that it was unlikely that my psychological state was the result of a previous bang on the head. This scepticism from the doctor was due to the nature of my symptoms, as they quite often come and go. I was then given a prescription of Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRI’s) called Citalopram to see if this would improve my condition. I started the course of SSRI’s and simultaneously began Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) to satisfy the notion that my condition could be improved and was not irreversible.

Once I started CBT I learnt a lot more about my mental health. I was told that to improve my mental hygiene I would have to retrain my brain through various mental exercises to transform my negative thoughts cycles about myself in to more positive ones. After a few sessions with my therapist I stopped taking antidepressants and began to believe that my symptoms were not the result of Brain Damage, but were the result of a form of mild Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD) and could be resolved through therapy. My therapist reaffirmed that my hypochondria had got the better of me and through self diagnoses I had found something to explain my condition that would only allow my negative thought cycles to continue. I began to understand I was suffering from very low-self esteem that most likely resulted from negative core beliefs about myself that I had developed throughout my entire life. I began to understand that some of the traumatic events surrounding my upbringing were most likely the cause of my negative thought patterns. I could see the patterns of my thoughts that had been developing for years and the ways I would ruminate over negative thoughts and begin to identify with them. I began setting my self challenges to break my negative thought cycles. Most of the exercises I worked on came from a book by Dr Melanie Fennell called ‘Overcoming Low Self-Esteem and Overcoming Low Self-Esteem Self-Help Course’ and the website www.getselfhelp.co.uk. After about a month of starting CBT I slowly started to feel a return of my old self. My symptoms began to dissipate and I was able to carry on with things with a new sense of empowerment over my thoughts. Although there are times when my symptoms have returned, I have stopped obsessing about what is causing them and instead focus on things I can do that can make me better in those moments. Overtime I have noticed many other triggers that have an impact on my mental hygiene. I’ve seen that my symptoms sometimes worsened during;

- Periods when I am idle and don’t have much to concentrate on.

- Times when I have been travelling a lot and not sleeping properly.

- Mornings after drinking alcohol.

- Weeks when I have been eating a lot of sugar and drinking a lot of coffee.

This has led to me avoiding these triggers at times when I can feel my anxieties returning which definitely benefits my mental hygiene. I have began to accept that there is not necessarily a singular reason to explain my condition and understand the fact that I can only hypothesize what brought on my break down in Sète and that obsessing about previous injuries only allows my symptoms to persist. There are most likely various environmental and biological causes for my symptoms. Fortunately, I now have the tools to help prevent me from ruminating over them so they persist and instead I can carry on with life as normal.

Could you tell me a time you felt grateful?

There was a time when I played my dream sport, with my dream team and surrounded by all my friends. Then one day I got a terrible injury and my whole life got turned upside down. Everything I felt I had worked for throughout my life at school and as a young adult had slipped away. I could no longer go out and enjoy everything I felt I was or had been. It felt like I had lost my identity.

However, the old saying is that every cloud has a silver lining, and the silver lining for me was that I learned, after my accident to really appreciate life. To really appreciate being able to get out of bed in the morning without passing out of feeling ill. To appreciate being able go out and spend time with my friends instead of being shut in a hospital. To appreciate having the freedom of getting in my car and driving instead of having to get help to do so.

So, although this injury took so much away from me. It also gave me so much. And although it’s not the way I chose to end playing my sport, it probably taught me just as much, if not more about life and how to be grateful for everything in it.

Could you tell me a time you felt connected?

I recently moved The Hague in the Netherlands from my home in London to study for a year. An experience that has turned out to be far more challenging and lonely than I ever pictured it to be.

When I’m waiting at Centraal Station for a train one of my favourite things to do is to sit on the steps next to the piano where commuters sit and play. I love watching people sitting down playing, so absorbed in what they are doing and so connected to everyone that is listening to them. I like observing the smiles it puts on people’s faces and the people just jumping up when they have finished playing and continuing on their way!

Doing this reminds me that everyone is kind of alone, but connected at the same time. I gain a lot from taking time out of my often hectic day to sit down and watch people walk to where they have to be, whilst listening to someone play the piano. I think it’s little things like this that you need to appreciate when you’re feeling lonely or anxious and this really lifts my mood on a blue day. It would be easy to sit on my phone or have both headphones in, but I feel so much more connected to people when I’m looking up and not plugged into a device. This is so important with regards to my generation. I was born in 1998 so have been exposed to technology and social media since the beginning of my teenage years. Social media can make it really difficult to get a realistic picture of life, when all you see is the idyllic visions and social personas that people present on Instagram. Something I really struggle with and that gets me down is constantly comparing my reality abroad (which can be pretty miserable at times) with the life my friends at home are having.

But, right now I feel present and content, which is something I’m really trying to feel more often; through doing yoga, running, reading more and spending time outdoors disconnected from technology. Growing up is hard and I’m still trying to figure out how to live well and be happy, but baby steps! Memo - written sitting on the steps of Den Haag Central station next to the piano!

Could you tell me a time when you stopped relying on prescription drugs?

I've lived half my life on medication of some sort, and my entire adult life in a fog of anti-anxiety pills. I've tried to come off them before, but every time the floodgates opened I couldn't cope with the torrent of suppressed emotions. I quickly hopped back on the meds and shut everything away, fully aware that it would continue to build up. These feelings would leak out in dribs and drabs, but I soon conditioned my brain to resist them. This resistance would manifest in uncharacteristic attitudes and behaviours, some incredibly dark and life-threatening.

I developed a loud, confident persona to cover all this and - even though I hated "her" - she seemed to function relatively well in public life. So I accepted that she was the best I could hope for and plodded on. Then a year ago, a tragedy rocked our family and exposed the terrifying power that the drugs and my coping mechanisms held over me. I saw them working harder than ever to prevent me from feeling grief and I couldn't do anything to fight back. I cried, but I wasn't sad. Anger and devastation plagued my thoughts, but I couldn't feel either. Instead, I felt calm and muffled. And yet, for the first time, I didn't want to feel muffled. I can't express how strange it was to want to feel sad, but I knew it was what I wanted and needed: a breakthrough.

While I had convinced my rational brain that I needed to engage with my feelings, I also realised that my emotional brain wasn't quite there yet. So I made the decision to once more attempt what I had failed several times previously - to come off the anxiety meds. My dosage was gradually lowered like before, but this time when the floodgates opened, I stopped fighting and welcomed the torrent. And it was horrible... They were gut-wrenching, agonising feelings, but there were accompanied by a huge sensation of release. I felt light and aware. I physically, emotionally and mentally felt like a new person, but really, I had resurrected the real me.

I have come to accept that suppressing unpleasant feelings - whether on my own or with pills - will not make me happy or healthy. By embracing feelings like pain, fear and anger as an inevitable part of my existence - no intrinsically better or worse than the pleasant feelings - I can work towards having a better-quality and more genuine experience of life. The drugs served a purpose at one time, but getting off them was the first step on my journey to real happiness.

Could you tell me a time you felt overwhelmed?

I work in the skateboard NGO world and this year has been the most difficult in terms of work stress that I have ever had. 

As more and more projects and events came our way I was finding it difficult to say no to things, as I felt that I could probably handle them and that if I could then I should do it. 

Everything reached a point a few months ago where I had a breakdown and I realised that there was no way that I could do everything that had been planned. The feeling I had was a mixture of guilt and mental exhaustion. Guilt because, in theory, everything was achievable, and the people with whom I was working overseas lived in a much worse situation that I do. The idea of looking after my own mental health was a foreign idea to me, and one which I thought I would not have to think about as most things we’re seemingly going OK. 

There was a specific moment in which I realised I couldn’t continue in this way and have since been opening up more about the pressure and stress I was under. Thankfully, in some ways, there were several other people who work in the same field who were also having to deal with similar issues, and coming to terms with the fact that we needed to take some proactive steps in order to work out how best to continue. 

Looking back with hindsight it was obvious that this was going to happen. My colleague and I often discussed the issue of having a lot on our plate and the need to take things a bit easier but we didn’t really put those ideas into actions until we had suffered the consequences, learning the hard way. 

In many ways I am grateful for having had this experience when I did and having a supportive network of friends and family around. I feel that if I had somehow managed to get through it alone it would only be a matter of time before it would happen more severely and have far bigger negative impacts both on my work and my personal life. 

My colleague and I are now in the process of getting help and are a lot more open and honest about taking adequate time off and letting the others on our team know when we need a break and how we are feeling.

Could you tell me a time you felt emotional?

I’ve always been described as an “emotional person” and I’ve never really known what it meant. I just assumed that it meant sad because I cry all the time. As an individual, my definition of emotional has changed a countless number of times, especially over the past 5 years living in London. I went through a pretty tumultuous time at university, and during the 3 years I guess you could say my overriding emotion was delicate, but also incredibly uplifted. This was the most exciting time of my life and I was throwing myself into everything head first. I didn’t sleep a lot, but all I had to worry about was showing up, working hard, and having a good time. That’s supposedly what university was for…right…?

After I graduated, my emotions definitely took a turn for the worst. I got a full time job starting more or less immediately after I graduated and from there my priorities began to change. I had no idea what I was doing and became quite introverted. Suddenly, rather than having loads of free time for my friends and for myself, I had a much smaller time frame into which I felt I had to cram everything I was doing before. I guess due to lack of experience, I neglected my friends to prioritise myself. I made some selfish decisions and it resulted in losing a friend. I think it was during this time that I became a very anxious person. I’ve always been perhaps overly conscious of how my actions effect others, but this time it really effected me. The worst part was I couldn’t understand at the time, what I’d done wrong. I was making time for myself and doing things that made me happy but also forgot to make time for those in my life that made me equally as happy. From there, I’d completely shut off and avoided confrontation. I think my way of dealing with situations became unhealthy where I’d just wait for things to sort themselves out.

After this bout of anxiety I was overcome with a weird sense of self acceptance. It took a lot of courage but I’d addressed issues and felt I’d come to terms with the darker phase. From there, I began to live pretty stress free (as stress free as adult life allows). Work life was fantastic. I was surrounded by strong female characters who did nothing but support every life decision I made. Or told me if they thought it was bloody awful (rarely). I was writing music, and performing and had honestly felt as though I was on cloud 9, and as if it couldn’t get any better, I met the most amazing man in the entire world.

Now, being in a relationship you have even more prioritising to do. It’s stressful. Going from a fairly airy fairy lifestyle where all I had to worry about was making sure I looked both ways when crossing the road and remembering to cook food etc, I now have another person to think about (It sounds like this is a burden but it’s absolutely not!). It really is quite stressful sometimes but also the most euphoric feeling. One of many things I’ve learnt from my boyfriend, who’s definitely had his fair share of life experiences (far more than myself), is. don’t just wait for things to sort themselves out… and that you don’t have to get along with everyone. As a people pleaser this upset me. I strive to make people like me… But what I’ve come to realise is that there were quite a few people in my life who were quite toxic and didn’t necessarily have a positive effect on my life/mental health. I think that’s what I’m getting at here. This phase of my life has made me pretty ruthless. But in the best way. I now not only need to make time for myself, but for my relationship and for my friends. Putting myself first is not something that I’ve found easy, but as time goes on and I have less time in the day to do things that make me happy, it’s become something I’ve had to learn. Ridding people from your life that effect your emotional state in a negative way, or make you feel like the issue for feeling a certain way is not all bad. I’ve learnt to surround myself with people who encourage me to say how I feel rather than constantly sweeping it under the rug.

Nothing in life prepares you for dealing with the highs and lows of your emotions. Some moments your ecstatic and the next you just wish you could stay in bed all day where nothing can get you. I was made to feel a certain way a lot of the time, and was told that I was being too “emotional” about situations. What I’m really trying to get at - above prioritising and the positivity - is that no one can ever be the judge of how you feel. Surrounding yourself with people who will listen regardless of what you're feeling is something you should never feel guilty about.

This spectrum of emotions is something to be proud of. The fact that I don’t know what I’m going to get when I wake up in the morning infuriates me but also excites me. Emotions are part of this life we’re all living and it’s important to embrace them rather than shut them away.

Could you tell me a time you needed time?

When you’re loud, it’s hard to be quiet. I have a big personality. Always cheery, always smiley and cracking jokes. I’m a people person. A massive extrovert. I definitely love nothing more than spending time with others.

But recently I got rejected from a job that I had worked hard to have enough experience for, and one that I had wanted for a while. I’m lucky. I have a job that I love, friends around me and supportive family. But still, it has really hit me. My confidence has been knocked, I’m disappointed, embarrassed and more than ever I’m doubting myself, rethinking my abilities and what I want to do next. I currently live in a fantastic place, where there are always things going on. I live with other people, people come over, and people invite you round to spend time with other people. Usually, I love it, but recently it has meant that it has been hard to take time for myself. If you’re an introvert people expect you spend time on your own. You can take an hour, an afternoon, a day out, to spend doing whatever you need to. But if you’re not, any time that you try to take is interrupted by a barrage of texts and phone calls, knocks on the door to check that you’re ok. People think you are being rude if you don’t fancy going along to an event, for the first time since they’ve known you, if you want to go for a walk by yourself or just fancy a day watching Netflix (other streaming platforms are available) in bed. They worry, constantly ask if you’re alright and you say yes, because, despite acting out of the ordinary, you are. But when you’re loud people don’t expect you to want time to be quiet. They expect you to bounce back. To constantly remain the life and soul, to crack jokes. If you say no it sounds too dramatic for the way that you’re feeling. They try to help, to fix it, to get you out, give advice, to hang out with you, when all you really need, is a little bit of time. 

I won’t be sad forever, or probably even for very long, but I do need to be allowed to be sad and disappointed and sometimes, that’s ok. I need time to figure out what I can do differently, where I might want to go next, what steps I need to take.  

When you’re loud, being quiet can be a battle. But I think that we all need to be afforded some time to think every now and again. 

Luckily, today, I’ve been able to take a minute for myself for the first time in a long time. And it’s given me time to write this blog, which I’ve been meaning to do for a while. 

If you ask me again next week, I’ll write a post about feeling happy - about how funny I am (or think I am) and how much I love a good boogie at a party, because that is me, most of the time.

Could you tell me a time you felt strong?

What does being strong really mean? Psychically – being able to lift a heavy weight, run a marathon or finish a tough mudder? I will probably never run a marathon but I still consider myself to be strong, not physically but mentally. 

Three years ago, I was on cloud nine, I had just finished my first year of uni, I had a great social life and incredible friends. And we were off on an adventure, a month in South East Asia with my girls. We arrived in Thailand and we were having the most incredible time, we arrived in Phuket after a week in north Thailand. We had the best morning, bathed elephants at a sanctuary followed by a giant burger for lunch, I was having a great day. Until I wasn’t. I went outside our room, on to the balcony, to hang my towel out to dry, that is when the floor tile I was standing on gave way. Here is where it all gets a bit blurry, I won’t drone on about the drama, but I fell around 15ft. Not the best end to my day – I regained consciousness to a haze of faces and the sound of other people crying. I remember being so confused, however, after a terrifying ambulance ride and night in a semi decent Thai hospital I was released and sent on my merry way. For the remaining few weeks of the trip I was a tramadol filled mess. But anyway, back to your question – tell me a time you felt strong – well in the weeks that followed I was weak, physically I was so weak, but mentally I had to be strong. I was with my friends and I didn’t want to let anyone down or ruin the other girl’s holiday. So, I kept smiling, I kept pushing, I didn’t fly home early, and I tried to do all the activities we had planned. Maybe not my best decision making – but never trust the girl who’s on tramadol.  

But then I got home, the next year is when I learnt the meaning of strong. Being strong isn’t pushing down your emotions or ignoring your pain, but for months that’s what I did. Weekly doctors’ appointments with one thing leading to the next. I was in so much pain that the amount of pain-killers I took caused a stomach ulcer, and this caused bowel issues. Basically, I was falling apart. But I had just started second year and I wanted to be out having fun. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me, when I was asked how I was I always answered with “its just a good story” or “it could have been worse”. I tried to hide the pain and I tried to keep it to myself. 

I started to slow down, and shy away from going out with my friends, because I knew I would be in pain. This led to me getting anxious in clubs, I was so fearful of the pain in my arm or back that I was scared just at the thought of it. This spiralled to me just not wanting to go out or having panics when I was in crowds or busy places. It took me a year to realise that just by talking about my worries made them seem so much smaller, telling my friends when I felt anxious or in pain lifted a massive weight from my shoulders. I wasn’t alone. So many people are anxious about a huge variety of things but by talking about it you can take the load off, a problem shared is a problem halved. 

Three years on and I can finally say I am and I was strong. It took me years to finally say, “yes it could have been worse, but you know what it is still shit and should never have happened to me”. For years my attempt at being ‘strong’ was just to hide it and pretend nothing had happened. So now I will quite happily say my arm is tired and I need to slow down. And personally I think that makes me so much stronger. 

Being able to admit when you need help is far more difficult than slapping a smile over your face and carrying on. I think in this day and age we need to stop the old British way of hiding our pain or worries. We need to talk about our issues, if you are ever mentally or physically struggling don’t think that by telling someone they will think you are weaker. You are so much stronger if you can raise your hand and ask for help. 

Could you tell me a time you felt lonely?

My dad died when I was fourteen. It was sudden, it was quick and we should have probably seen it coming but mental health wasn’t such a big subject back then. Despite all my family round me it was really peculiar. Everyone rallied around to support us but I still felt very lonely, sheltered and yet by myself. It felt like my world had been rocked and I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore. My dad had disappeared and although everyone was around me it felt like my friends were gone. Life was just drastically changed. I didn’t speak to anyone for days and I remember the two weeks waiting for the funeral just passed by in the blink of an eye. I felt stuck in my room not knowing the right things to do or say. 

During the first weeks and months after my dad’s death It felt like I was in a daze, but after the shock I had to adjust to my new life and it started to become real. But, I never processed his death properly, I was so alone inside my head. I just wouldn’t tell anyone how I was really feeling and would hide it. It took me a few years to actually process what had happened and feel comfortable opening up and addressing my emotions. I found it useful to just talk, so I started just opening up and being an open book. If the topic ever came up I'd just meet it head on, be honest about everything with everyone. Obviously there's polite guides in conversation, but I felt like when I was being so open and honest about everything I felt it made it all much easier to process. The words weren't trapped inside my head, I could get them out and take a bit of the weight off. So I just stopped having secrets, the weight of them gets to you. Obviously, it is always going to be a bit of a sore spot for me. But, I can now talk openly about it without choking up which is progress. 

Could you tell me a time you felt pressure?

Whilst studying in my last year at university I got involved in a start up business where I had the chance to combine two passions of mine in a business context. Quickly the realisation of the the competitive entrepreneurial world hit me and throughout my tenure with the business I had many situations where pressure was high. I often found myself letting it build up without any release mechanisms which, in turn started to affect other elements of my day to day life. When looking back upon this experience, I realise that by removing myself from what I perceived as reality and assessing these situations from a wider perspective rather than in the heat of the moment, it would in turn lead to more rounded solutions. Furthermore, it gave me an understanding that more often than not there are solutions and my perceived sense of reality in the moment was often not as bad as I deemed it to be.

I am a big believer that from every negative comes a positive and my experience made me feel incredibly grateful to the support network that I realised in hindsight was around me. By drawing upon others experiences you can see similarities and solutions much quicker. Nonetheless, this experience was one I greatly cherished and the lessons I have taken I am sure will be beneficial in the future.

My own experience has definitely lead me to have a deeper personal level of understanding on how important mental health is within all members of society, especially those who are recent school or university leavers. Personally, I feel the word "depression" is associated far too regularly with our peers, something we must do more to combat. I am delighted to see the way a friend that I have had little contact with since school is using his experiences in a humble and innovative way to support people. Allowing them to share their emotions. A topic which, my short experience has led me to believe we too regularly leave aside in the growingly competitive modern day landscape

Could you tell me a time you felt liberated?

I had worked hard to get in the position and was fortunate enough to be in my dream job, one I had aimed for from a very young age. For many people on the outside looking it looked like a dream job and I’m sure for many people it is. However, when my passion become my career I was going into training day after day feeling trapped. I had spoken to a few people who told me to keep pursuing the career, keep working hard as you will regret leaving the career when you are older. I listened to the advice and thought hard about it but ultimately decided to go with my gut and made the decision to retire and ask for an early release from my contract. I remember the next day walking around feeling truly liberated. I had a great time but decided I wanted to fully invest my energies into my interests away from the sports field and pursue a career in property. It's a time in my life which went from feeling confined to feeling very excited about life. I just went with my gut instinct and did what I wanted to do and made it happen.

Could you tell me a time you felt calm?

My mind is usually racing all the time, thinking about the day, what things need to be done in an hour, that evening, tomorrow... I'm feeling restless and can't switch it off. What has helped me immensely is spending time in a garden, burying my hands deep in the soil, hearing nothing but birds and bees. No traffic, no schedule, no head fuzz. Every time I set foot on the patch of land a curtain lifts and I'm in the moment. Seeing all the vibrant colours, smelling the lavender, hearing the wild life. There is also a small pond, I sometimes spend ages looking at the still surface to see insects and amphibians doing their own thing, like they are on a wee mission, without any hurry.

I'm in a different country now. No garden around me, however, I did manage to sneak some home-grown fruit into my suitcase to remind me of the peace and quiet from before.

Could you tell me a time you felt close to someone?

My roommate and I had ended up living together sort of by accident, there was a big group of us and I didn’t know him well but we ended up being put together. For a few months we chatted, cooked and ate but I never felt that close to him. About six months in, he seemed normal except he barely left the flat, missed classes at uni and never wanted to be that social - I asked him about it but he always said he was just tired. A couple of months after that began, we were up late playing Fifa and we got talking about family. It’s then that he told me his mum has terminal brain cancer and that’s why he never had the energy to do much. It seemed like a small thing at the time but after that we became so much closer. I told him things that I and my family had gone through, and those moments of vulnerability completely changed our relationship. We have been so much closer since and can talk about anything. For some people it can be really hard to get over that hurdle of sharing your issues, but it is so worth it. Now, a year on I know we will be friends for life.

Could you tell me a time you felt lost?

I have always struggled with my mental health. I don’t know when the words depression and anxiety started to resonate with me, but I always recognised a sadness, a kind of darkness, that lay within me and at times gripped me harder than others. I have had hard years and happy years, bad years and good years. Sometimes, it lies so quietly, I almost forget about it. At other times, it is something I fight every morning, just to get out of bed. This seems to be the easiest way to tell if I am doing well or not: if I can or cannot get out of bed. This is the simplest tell-tale sign, the most grounded in reality. The rest of it can get hard to explain. 

When the darkness is winning, it feels like an abstraction. The world around me, my emotions, my own identity, shift into kaleidoscope patterns. My thoughts and actions are no longer anchored to this world, but exist in an abstract, chaotic space through which I seem to be floating. I grasp at strands and safety lines: my family and friends, routines, or simply my bed. Meanwhile, my very identity and ability to make sense of the world seems to have been thrown off balance, jeopardised by my own mind. It becomes harder and harder to know who you are without your illness. 

A few years ago, I had a very bad year. It happened and I lived through it. With time, patience, therapy and a lot of (self) love, I got back in touch with reality, with myself and managed to create a life I was happy with. I worked hard, celebrated the little things more and, slowly, the little things added up. I became full, happy, strong. I was doing the best I had in my entire life. I had fought for my happiness, for the life I wanted to live, for my friends and family. I am proud of myself for that. I still am.

Obviously the path to recovery is never smooth and I still get low, but these days my lows aren’t so low anymore. I take a moment (a day or a couple of days if needed) to look after myself and gently pick myself up again. Normally, this works and I will be back on my feet. However, last autumn, I lost my way again. I couldn’t seem to get back on my feet. A couple of events or situations tripped me up in quick succession. I fell the lowest I had been in years. Yes, relapse and bad days are always going to be a part of recovery. But this is truer than I’d ever thought. The words people say and all their reassurances of ‘this will pass’ fade away. I felt like I had failed. Like all the progress I’d made, all the work I had put in, the mountains I had climbed – it had all been for nothing. I kept asking myself: am I back where I started? Do I have to win this fight all over again? The weight of these questions dragged me further down into the darkness. 

In a way, yes, it was a fight that I had to win again. A fight I will probably have to continue to win over and over. Except this time, I had the right tools. I asked for help. From my university, from my friends. I recognised my own limitations and put my recovery first. Most of all, I kept going and telling myself if I could do it before, I damn well could do it now. While part of me dragged every step of the way, deep down I knew I could get through it. I was just a little lost and I would find the path again. A year later and I am doing better. Still healing, but much better. The most important lesson I learned was that recovery is not a road that has been paved ahead of you. Every person will have different bends and turns to navigate. You must make your own path and occasionally you will get lost in the woods.

I know that I am stronger than the darkness I live with and each time I beat it down, it gets a little smaller, a little less scary and a little more manageable. I believe in myself a little more and the power it holds over me lessens. All I want to do is to put one foot in front of the other. I hope that one day I turn around and realise the darkness has faded into the past. This piece is a small testament to that recovery: it takes time and it is ok to lose yourself along the way. Just remember, you will find your way back. 

Could you tell me a time you felt committed?

I have no reason to be unhappy. I have a path carved out for me; good upbringing, good school, good university, good job. It’s involved a bit of hard work as well but overall a lot of things have been put on a plate for me and all I have to do is take the opportunity. This somehow makes me feel much worse, like I haven’t made the most of the opportunities. People will think ‘what’s he complaining about?’ but that pressure isn’t as great as the expectation you put on yourself when you’re disappointed for not being able to make the most of or enjoy what you have. For example, I was constantly told that at university I would have the best time of my life. I really didn’t. Could I have taken another path? Well yes, I could have, but at the same time I really couldn’t. I think that having a path carved out for you means that you aren’t truly free. Not because of the expectations of your parents or teachers who have worked hard for you but because of the expectation from within that tells you to take advantage of it.A quote from an old rugby coach particularly sticks in my mind; in the end of the day it’s not what other people think of you but what you think of yourself.”

I have always been told that to be happy in life you have tospend time doing the things you enjoy doing. Get a job you enjoy, spend time with the people you love and study the subject you are interested in, not necessarily the one you’re good at. These things are all there for you to enjoy, after all why else would they exist? However, it isn’t so simple when you are afraid of your own enjoyment. I’ve always somehow managed to distance myself from the things I enjoy most and the people I want to spend more time with. It’s not like I try to, I guess it’s a natural reaction I have or a kind of protection mechanism I possess. But why? What’s the point in avoiding things that are good for you? What does it tell me about myself? I think that if you enjoy something you will stick with it, but for me, this means I will be missing out on every other aspect of life. I find it hard to fathom that I have to miss out on other things, but that’s all a choice is isn’t it? You go with one option and miss out on all the other experiences that you could have. I’ve slowly come to realise that that’s the essence of growing up, just making choices. However, now I have to realise that there’s no point in making a decision without wholeheartedly committing to it and being thankful that I had the choice in the first place. It is folly to regret the experiences that you missed out on. So, when making a decision I have to ask myself ‘am I just committing to my path or am I truly committing to myself?

Could you tell me a time you felt shame?

 ‘Vulnerability and truth aren’t always comfortable, but they are never weakness’ -Brene Brown.  

To write about my own shame feels genuinely terrifying, and that is exactly the reason I have chosen to do it. Shame is something I have struggled with since leaving school. For me, school was a safe haven of continuous acknowledgement for my successes and hard work, but a bubble that was soon to be burst as I hit the Real World. I planned to join the Army as a nurse and had completed months of arduous fitness assessments, interview panels and aptitude tests, finally passing my selection board just weeks before leaving school. Everyone knew about my plan, congratulating me and wishing me luck as I set off for 4 months of intense training in London. I was ready to prove to everyone, and mostly to myself, that I had what it takes to achieve my dream of becoming a military nurse. 

Two months on, one week stay in hospital, and one diagnosis of glandular fever with clinical exhaustion later and my dream of passing out as a soldier that December was over. I was back at home having been medically discharged from the Army to recover, and whilst physically I was in pieces, it was my mental health that would take the biggest hit. That year was the beginning of an incredibly difficult physical and mental recovery. I hadn’t previously suffered with issues surrounding my mental health but it had always been something I’d feared having grown up watching my father struggle with depression throughout his life. But that was never something I could get. Not me. I was upbeat and positive, always striving for better and constantly on the go. I assured myself that people like me didn’t get depressed. 

That Christmas, as I sat in bed on Facebook looking at photos of my friends at the Army Pass Out Parade I should have been at, I knew then what genuine heartbreak felt like. I was a failure. I had made a fool of myself and let down so many people. I understand now years later having worked hard at processing what happened that I had no power over becoming unwell, but at the time I couldn’t see any other way than to blame myself. I constantly questioned if I could have pushed myself harder. Was I really that ill? Did everyone think I was weak? They’re right. 

I finally reached a point where I couldn’t talk about anything that had happened to me during training, I was having recurring nightmares, I didn’t speak to my family and I felt nothing. Not sad, not angry, just numb. After being recommended that I see my GP it was agreed that I would be put on anti-depressants for a short while. They were the beginning of me trying to pick myself up again, and I started to feel slightly more ‘me’ but being medicated came with a whole separate serving of shame. 

It is so incredibly hard to think about what a dark time it was for me, let alone write about it, however five years on I’m now in the process of qualifying as a physiotherapist- a guaranteed entry route back into the Army, something I never thought I’d be able to do. 

The point of this longwinded tale of post-school reality checks is that mental illness can truly affect anyone. I felt it important to write about shame as it can be an incredibly powerful barrier to being open and honest with loved ones about the struggles we may be facing. I would find myself lying and covering up about what I spent my unintentional gap year doing and playing down how much I was struggling coming to terms with the shame I experienced. I may have been more inclined to open up about the way I was feeling if someone had started a dialogue about mental health and helped break the stigma that surrounded depression for me at the time. Allowing ourselves to be vulnerable may be the catalyst for someone who is suffering in silence to open up. My own shame surrounding mental illness prevented me from talking openly about it with any of my close friends and family, and most to this day are unaware of what I went through. Shame by its very nature derives its power from being unspeakable but if we are able to share our story and have it met with empathy and understanding, shame cannot survive.