Could you tell me a time you felt resilient?

As I reflect on my life to date - my childhood, adolescence, my education, family ordeals, relationships and the longed for profession I find myself in, it has become increasingly apparent that only through episodes of raw emotion have I become resilient and grounded in the face of adversity.

With, often, little say in the cards we are dealt with in life, we can find ourselves presented with very few options. These options, though simple on the surface, prove to be incredibly complex in moments of despair, particularly when you are yet to navigate life and encounter the peaks and troths it inevitably has in store for you.

Adversity can mean lots of different things, to lots of different people; over the years I have come to recognise that one person’s pain is not always another person’s privilege. I (would) frequently find myself diminishing my grief on the basis that ‘somebody else has it worse’ or ‘it’s not as bad as...[insert person or event]’. Of course it’s not always ‘as bad’. I am not ignorant nor naive enough to think my suffering is at the peak of human hardship - I do not live in a society where: children are pushed to the brink of starvation; political indoctrination costs innocent lives; people are desperately attempting to flee their country in fear of prosecution or war.

Recognising the lived and unfathomable realties of others is imperative; having an awareness of these ensures we remain empathetic and grateful. However, when we compare our own experiences to the conditions in which we are not products off, we delay and neglect our emotions, often parking them up and never driving them away.

I tended to fear that by feeling upset or ‘sorry for myself’ this correlated to being selfish and self-indulgent, narrow-minded or misanthropic. How could I be upset with my Mum’s diagnosis? Her life had just been saved...How could I be saddened by my parents divorce? People dream of having two Christmas days...Though the latter may be true for both, does this reduce the pain of an absent mother when transitioning into womanhood? Does it remove the vivid image of your parent being wired up to countless machines in HDU? Is the nomadic natured lifestyle, endured from 4 years old, eradicated? Recognising others’ suffering should not come at the cost of invalidating your own.

If I could give my younger self any advice, what would it be? Quite simply, this: Feel deeply and suffer loudly. “We live the rest of our lives in our own heads - make sure they are nice places to be. “

Could you tell me a time you survived?

I think the crux of this question is acknowledging that you have been through something you have found difficult and overcome that difficulty. Whilst it might not have been glorious or at all enjoyable the fact that it has passed, you have survived and life goes on is bloody amazing!

This is something I try to remind myself when thinking of my failed suicide attempt when I was nineteen. Coming to terms with my mental health as opposed to ignoring it and thinking it was ‘just me’ that dealt with these difficult emotions badly.

To have taken the decision to give up and for it not to work out is embarrassing and something I find hard to discuss when I’m sober. Wrestling with these emotions is difficult because I don’t fully understand them and to some extent never will.

This is the beauty of life and I’m thankful I can’t always figure everything out because it gives me something to strive for. As I get older and reflect on that moment I consider all the opportunities I would have been throwing away, all the moments I would have missed; from great moments with great people to absolute shockers and ex girlfriends. It’s safe to say, In hindsight everyone brings a smile to my face.

It leads me to reflect on life, it’s beauty, it’s mystery, it’s improbability. It’s that against all odds essence of life that touches me the most. The chances of you, out of billions, being the special one to make it where you are today! No one else has done that. Guaranteed.

I often envisage myself as an old man reflecting on a full life. A collection of moments, memories and experiences. I enjoy the thought of sharing these, even if only through my very existence.

As I get older my sense of perspective widens every day and I hope it continues to do so. Allowing me to clarify the direction I would like to be heading in, wherever that may be.

It’s such a wonderful life, it would be a shame to miss it!

Could you tell me a time your body taught your mind to slow down?

Monday May 1st 2017, a day the sofa swallowed me whole, the day my legs gave way, the day a thick heavy fog settled into my brain, the day my body resembled lead, the day that mirrored many yet to come. 

That day I got up like many before, it was early, I needed to get the dog walked, I needed to check my emails before I left for work, I needed to check my phone for any news on family down south. I needed to look smart as I had a important meeting, I needed to make sure I had all my notes sorted, I needed to make sure my team knew where I was going to be that day, I need to be at my best this day. 

As I set out to walk my dog, the sun was starting to rise, the night sky was shifting into day, and the air smelt of rich earthy tones as the sun shone onto the damp ground.  

One step, another step and then another, the ground was damp, but the ground felt like sinking sand, puling me down towards the earth. As I shifted and stumbled around the field everything felt so loud, so bright and yet so dark, and empty. 

I heaved my body back through the door, and willed the sofa to catch me as my body gave way. 

That day the sofa swallowed me whole.

A week later my doctor helped me along the corridor, as I used the wall to prop me up. The ground felt uneven, the lights were blinding, and the sounds of the doctor’s surgery were deafening. 

A chair, held my weight as my head dropped forward my body unable to have the strength to hold it up. 

As I studied my doctors shoes, his voice came calm and steady , “Laura you have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, also know an as ME, I am going to sign you off work for 2 months, and then 6 months, and you may not be able to work again… there is a 5% recovery rate.”

As this news clambered its way through the fog in my brain, I felt my body sink lower, words, and thoughts drifted through my mind. My body had stopped my ability to function, it was holding me in the present moment, making me feel, making me be, making me have to notice every little thing, from thoughts, emotions to all bodily sensations. 

It was torture and discovery encapsulated into one. 

Before ‘the day the sofa swallowed me whole’ I was 35, just completed MA in illustration, I was working for a charity as a Art Therapist in a role I had been hankering after for most of my career, I was training for a trail race and I was dealing with some complex family health and mental health challenges.  There was no doubt life was full, and in October 2016 my body started to throw up signs that something wasn’t right. Enter six moths of tests, blood being taken, hospital procedures, and the general feeling of being poked and prodded. 

I felt rubbish, but not rubbish enough to stop, so what I had a temperature, so what I couldn’t eat food very well anymore, so what my back was agony, so what my skin was suddenly becoming allergic to everything, and so what my hair was falling out.  To me it still wasn’t enough to make me stop, until my body did.  

Enter the feeling of relief; I was never going to give myself permission to stop, so my body did. 

The day the sofa swallowed me whole was the day I had to learn to listen, not tune out of the pain or the thoughts and the darkness that had lain unawaken in the depths of my soul. Now it was here, present and it was ready to be seen and heard. 

Did I want to see the depths of the darkness, NO! Did I want to be swallowed by the sofa, NO!

But did I appreciate the reason to step of the merry go round that was starting to spin out of control, YES!

The months and years that followed saw a slow and steady ebb and flow of communication to body and mind, to what I felt I needed to what I really needed. 

Instead of fighting and denying my CFS I got to know it, I even named it, became friends with it, and started to understand it. 

By acknowledging it was there as a part of me, it allowed me to stop, notice when I needed and still do need to stop. It allowed me to be in the days that were so dark, where it felt unjust, like my whole life had been ripped away, as it lead me to realise it hadn’t been ripped away, it had been readjusted and I was learning this new way of being. 

Three years later I do all the things I love again, I work for myself, I run workshops, I illustrate and I work as an art therapist and spend hours out on my bike. 

The day the sofa swallowed me whole; it brought darkness with a beauty nestled deep within. 

May 1st 2017 ended one way of being and started a new one. 

Could you tell me a time you reflected?

A couple of years ago I embarked on something that for me was both terrifying and exciting. Leaving the comfort of my university where I had all my friends and my life to going across the pond to Canada to study for 6 months.

It was something that I embraced, and even though at times I missed home, I met some of the most amazing people. One of these people was someone I became very dear and close with and before I knew it we were dating and I was heading back home for my final year of university.

One of my biggest regrets to this day was spending that year in a relationship, I made myself distant from a lot of people; my family, my friends from school, and even the friends at uni who I lived with. I refused to go to the pub when I instead sat in and FaceTimed someone who to be fair meant a lot to me at the time. It was small things like this which were building a barrier between me and other people that were important to me.

We saw each other maybe twice that year being that she was in Canada and I was in the UK so distance was obviously a factor. When finally I finished my final year of uni I decided that I had to try move to Canada and start a life there against a lot of people’s wishes, including my family which was particularly difficult to take. There was a lot of advice I got from my friends and family that said this wasn’t a good idea and I didn’t have any support from any of them. I have to admit this was really tough to take but for me it was the right decision.

While I was out there I fortunately had the most amazing experience after picking up a job which I then learnt new skills from and living with one of my best mates who I am still in contact with every day.

Ultimately the relationship didn’t go the right way but for periods over that year at university I felt that I was letting down a lot of people and I didn’t know what I was doing wrong? But what I was doing wrong was so obvious?

I now make sure that my friends and family are the most important things in my life and I have made more of an effort to include them. Maybe it was love? Who knows, and till this day that word scares me but I have learnt a lot and this is the most important thing.

Could you tell me a time you felt alone?

From a personal perspective, until recently Mental Health had never been something that I had ever given much thought to. I had spoken to friends about feelings that they had in an attempt to be there for them but I always found myself not properly being able to relate or understand. I’d imagine this made any advice I gave them not particularly helpful.

Then about nine months ago, two different things happened weeks apart that I’d imagine will continue to have both positive and negative effects on me for years to come. The first of these was an accident on a football tour that led to me having relatively severe concussion for a number of weeks. The result was that for quite a while I struggled to sleep and became anxious in normal social situations and particularly in busy London streets (Brixton to be precise!). As these symptoms began to fade, I joined friends for a curry followed by a night out. I have no idea if the concussion played a part (probably didn’t) but I got too drunk and tried to make my own way home. I fell asleep on the underground and had my phone and wallet stolen. By the time I came to my senses, got home and managed to call my bank thousands of pounds had been taken from various accounts. How they gained access to my phone I still don’t know, I can only presume they used my thumb to unlock it.

What followed was hours and hours of discussions with the police, action fraud and a couple of banking institutions and a betting company that the fraudsters had moved money to. I was lucky to have many supportive people around me however sadly their words meant little to me, I felt that no-one really understood what I was going through. I became increasingly paranoid to the point that I’d think people were following me home so I would take different routes to try and get them off my scent. On reflection, I am not sure why I thought any would be following me home but thinking rationally was a struggle during this period!

Trying to get the money back was a pain staking ordeal where it felt like it was me against the corporate world. This again led to problems sleeping, but worse feelings of isolation and a lack of focus when it came to everything else in my life. I recovered most of the money with help from some of those around me (shout out to those guys!) but to this day am still £800 out of pocket. The reaction when I tell people that is that it’s a lot of money and how could I give in. Trust me, I tried. Ultimately I got to the point that for the sake of my mental health I wanted to close the chapter on the story and move on.

Nine months later, the knock on effects of these two events have largely faded but I still have flashbacks that cause me pain (regarding the latter) but these are fading. However, mental health is something that I’m now very much aware of and something that I think about day to day. All in all, could I say that I’m happy these two things happened because of what I have learnt about myself as a result? No, I don’t think I could. However, there are certainly positives. One of these is that I feel more able to open up to my friends and utter the words “mental health” when speaking of my own emotions, something I wouldn’t have done before. Equally important, I feel much better placed to speak to friends about their own experiences and to try and help advise on their situation and what may help based on my own understanding. I also feel much more confident in asking friends how they are feeling under the surface when feels appropriate. Finally, I am also a big believer in Kelly Clarkson’s “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and that these experiences will make me better equipped to deal with the future obstacles that life throws at me.

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 used the power hand?

The Power Hand activity is an opportunity to practice recognizing our strengths. When we recognize our strengths, we feel hopeful and resilient, which helps us make healthy choices and manage our thoughts, emotions, and actions. This has a positive impact on our mental, emotional, and physical well-being. Below are the steps for the Power Hand activity, which can be done anywhere, anytime, to help us feel calm and strong.

1. With your eyes closed, take five slow and deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth. While breathing, focus on relaxing your muscles, and feeling comfortable in your body.

2. Once you feel comfortable, hold one hand out in front of your body, in a relaxed manner.

3. As you take a deep breath in, use the index finger of your other hand to trace the outline of your thumb.

4. When you get to the tip of your thumb, think of one of your strengths. This is something you like and value about yourself. When you think of the strength, gently squeeze your fingertip – this will help you remember this strength!

5. In your own time, continue to take deep breaths, and focus on a strength of yours at each fingertip, until you have completed your Power Hand. If you can’t think of five strengths, that’s ok – just think of as many as you can for now.

6. When you have built your Power Hand, take three deep breaths in and out, and remind yourself of your strengths you have just identified. Focus on how thinking of these strengths makes you feel, and how you could use your Power Hand in the future.

7. When you are ready, gently open your eyes.

Remember: this is an activity you can use to feel resilient and hopeful, and to remind yourself of your value, whenever you need to!

Waves For Change

Could you tell me a time you let go of someone you love?

Snippets of time

that came and went,

in and out of our lives,

like the waves crashing at our feet.

Moments in squares,

never to be added to our scrap book

that’s been rehoused,

from your book shelf,

to an old cardboard box.

I cast my mind back to our travels

to the individuals in the photos,

obliviously momentarily,

in love.

And my chest throbs.

A tight feeling in my throat.

I swallow back the lump hard

but it rises like the tide

And I’m hit by the realisation

that there’s not enough time.

And my eyes sting

as I stare straight ahead,

An attempt to fight back the tears.

But they’re already there

and they fall,

my eyes and mind

flooded by salt water

and memories.

Could you tell me a time you needed time?

A time I needed time was the 31st of January 2020. That day started when I jumped into an Uber at eight in the morning with my head feeling the size of a balloon, a headache that could break through mountains and my mouth as dry as Tesco own brand rich teas. 

I got to my course and did a day of marketing and sales. By the end of the day my head was spinning with information in which I was going to go home and collect into notes on my computer. 

When I got to the bus stop however, my girlfriend messaged me to let me know she was just round the corner visiting friends at a social club. I decided to join them as I hadn't seen her all day and I wanted to say hello to her friends and wind down after a busy day of learning.

I was only 15 minutes in the premises when I got the phone call. The phone call I never wanted to ever receive. A phone call I'll always remember to my dying day.

On the other end of the phone was my best friends sister, I took the call in the hallway as it was unusual of her to make a phone call at such a time. It was my best friend’s sister who informed me that my best friend had passed away that morning. 

After the phone call, my head seemed as if it had turned into cotton wool, my legs gave way and I slid down the wall and to the floor, my head in my hands with only one thought. My best friend is dead. My best friend is gone. 

A flood of tears began to stream from my eyes, I started to cry hysterically, I was in a living nightmare that I will never wake from. 

The memories started playing like a movie tape in my mind, I started to hear his voice and his laugh then my girlfriend appeared in front of me. 

She asked "What's wrong?, what's happened?" As she trys to lift me from the floor and keep me standing upright. 

I just couldn't believe it. 

A time I needed a time was after my friend died. People were trying to support me and be there for me, tried to visit me and encourage me to go outside. But no. At that time, all I needed was time. Time to get my head straight, time to grieve the boy I grew up with, time to process how hard he tried to come off the drugs but...never quite made it. Time to think about my life and what would happen if I died tomorrow? What would I leave my girlfriend and what would I leave my family?. Time to cry into pillows and on my girlfriend's shoulder, time to drink and get so drunk to realise the next morning actually...this isn't helping. Time to heal. Time to remember. Time to celebrate those who's life had gone far too soon, but time for me to realise how fragile life is. Time to be grateful for who is in my life and time to take the time to say hello.

Could you tell me a time you needed someone else?

It was a day I nearly lost. Waking up early in my, suddenly, messy room, again. I'm locked into bed demanding why things persistently tumble from order to chaos. It's too late, before I realise I'm wasting my time. A day off is a day off, the only one I got. I'm finally feeling lazy enough to get out of my bed, and it becomes clear this is how every day off goes. So to motivate myself I make coffee, cigarettes and food. Essential things to do before leaving the house, but perhaps a little distraction before too. Watch some videos and read some news, make attempts to reach out of this loneliness. If no one close is free, I'll happily go further and further until I'm talking to robots. Before long I realise I'm wasting my time again.

Frustration pushes me to get out and leave for a walk. I suit up, grab the lead and get in the car, I'm going north. Perhaps this beautiful part of the country is bad for my soul, at the drop of a hat I can disappear up a hill, through the woods, along the coast. Perhaps this is why I give myself so much time in the morning. I still hadn't decided where i was going, I had a memory in my head, of a place I wanted to reclaim, but without a clue where it was. This is sometimes why the voice in my head tells me I'm crazy, busy looking for something to reclaim, stumbling around like a fool without that clue.

After over an hour of driving, the pin I dropped in the map was wrong, the road is leading me through a pretty flooded Ford, so I stopped. For all this stressing about relaxing, I achieved little more than wasting petrol. Brilliant, a nice accompaniment of guilt to join the laziness and foolishness this morning has already brought. This is when it hit me the clearest, I'm only here wasting my time again. More time spent in my head justifying, apologising and arguing myself to myself all the while wasting my time from things more productive. I'm impossible, there's a hole in my bucket and I'm annoying myself, out for a walk but not finding one, out for myself and all I do is argue.

Resigned I was about to go home. I put the car in gear and notice someone is walking towards the car from theirs. Suddenly, this woman had arrived at the window of the car and knocked. I had a moment, while I fumbled to open the window, to notice this women must have been in her 50s, with a well worn jacket and that this is the first person I'm going to actually speak to today. As the window opens the lady leans down and arrives at my level. Well this is it, I'm going to have to talk and connect with a stranger.

She asks me straight "do you want to move my car forward so you can park behind mine?"

I'm hesitating, trying to quickly arrive back to the present to reach out and give my response.

"Oh, you know, it's ok, I havent decided where I'm going just yet, dont let me put you out" I finally replied, quietly hoping she didnt notice the vulnerability I'd woven through the words. I'm caught in her friendly face with a feeling that shes looking right through whatever mask I've put on to hide my internal voices. I'm left asking myself, just who is this woman?

Her face breaks into a smile, causing my defences to begin to dissolve, and she tells me I should park and leave for a walk from here.

"There's an old woodland that goes up the valley, it's perfectly quiet and has indications that people from a time long ago lived and worked within this woodland. If you are looking for a walk this is the one to do" she finally said through her smile.

This strange woman, who appeared from nowhere and has an apparent ability to talk straight through the feeble defences I normally put up between strangers, was using all the words that would persuade the child alive within me to get out and really explore. I dont need to hesitate anymore, the idea has been firmly sold, or maybe I'm just happy someone has come and told me what to do.

I move my car and fill the space this woman has created for me, I take a moment to roll a cigarette and process all these unusual feelings meeting this woman has stirred. I've already imagined her as a magical gatekeeper, loitering around the entrance to these woods to encourage, or discourage, individuals on whichever path they need to take that day. I know I'm back wasting time, but I'm inspired into a world that I love wasting time in. This has been what I've been waiting for all day and I feel it.

I'm ready to set off and make sure I thank this woman once again because my gratitude has grown considerably since parking the car and catching up with my thoughts. I confidently stride towards the gate and it barely slows me down as I open it to let me and the dog through. Already, after the first few steps I feel like I've moved far away from the world I woke up in. I find a rocky outcrop, that worked as a quarry at one point in history, and I'm straight up climbing to the top. Ok, it's raining, and my shoes are not appropriate, but it doesnt matter. I've long left the self loathing that would have seen these as hindrance, completely removed from the hindrance the ford presented to me. Completely removed from the guilt, laziness and foolishness that was accumulating within.

With this new spirit and perseverance I was able to take the good with the bad. One became the other and this motivation encouraged me to ditch my unsuitable shoes and to trust that wet and muddy feet are more practical to me than wet and muddy shoes. This symbolic act of removing my shoes and walking muddy trails and through muddy puddles rescued my fragile mind in a significant way. It represented to me that being ill-prepared is solvable.

My mind is a labyrinth of endless corridors to get lost down, this is something I cannot change. However, it's a dynamic place which can transform in a moment and learning to trust the corridors I find myself roaming through is difficult. Knowing how I see these corridors is never permanent and that fills me with reassurance. I'm learning that the lonely corridors are sometimes the most difficult places to roam, without physical company it can feel impossible to experience the perception change that can inspire or debilitate. So loneliness is not a choice, it's a situation many people find themselves, and if you are open to connection, and willing to let your path cross, even the slightest moment of company can be enough to transform your perception.

So thank you again, wonderful strange lady. I might never get the chance to tell you to what extent you changed my day, or my life, but I'll pass on your intuition to people over again. If it can happen once, it can happen again. You're likely to never know how much you mean to other people, whether close friends or complete strangers, but every day a stranger makes someones world less lonely. Here's to hoping that this wonderful strange lady knows this, I find her worth talking about again and again.

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. 

-----------

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 felt vulnerable?

University, a time where for most it’s the first taste of freedom, independence and a hell of a lot of fun (as well as learning of course). For me this is exactly what it was, my first two years were great, I joined the rugby club team where I met some of my best friends and created some of my most favourite memories. I was just like any other “normal” student up until the start of my third year where I started to develop a few dry, red patches of skin which quickly turned into hundreds of dry red patches. I had no idea what psoriasis was or had ever had an issue with it before, but it turned into the bain of my life. After visiting a doctor and getting cream I asked one of my flatmates to help me put it on my back as I couldn’t reach. His response was “this is disgusting”. Although I didn’t show it/say anything at the time it broke me inside and I became so self-conscious. I was never a straight A student nor was I ever one for perfect attendance, but I completely gave up and stopped going to class in fear of what people might think. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but I was definitely slightly depressed. I was barely leaving the house and self-medicating with weed, which only made things worse. My attendance was so low and grades were so bad that it actually resulted in me being kicked out of uni at the end of my third year. This was the lowest point of my life but as it turns out coming home was probably the best thing for me. After a long time, I gave myself a kick up the bum (as well as friends and family). I’d let these hundreds of red spots define who I was for so long and I could not be bothered with it anymore. I started to look at things more positively and simply not care about the psoriasis anymore. I got the right medication and my skin started to clear up and I became the best version of myself again. The point I’m trying to make is - don’t let anything or anyone define who you are. For so long I looked for my happiness in the wrong places. It doesn’t matter what other people think or what you think they might think, what matters is what you think of yourself. Life is way too short so just focus on being the best version of yourself and have fun during the process.

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 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 optimistic?

Optimism is a hard emotion, in my opinion. Its not just like feeling happy or sad, its deeper than that. It’s telling yourself that you believe you can achieve something. In a lot of situations, I let other emotions push that feeling out of my mind. I’ve recently realised that tapping into that optimism can make me feel better about something that’s happening in a completely different part of my life. It gives me focus and excitement.

Optimism for me, at the moment, is directed towards my future and career. It feels great knowing that I’m doing everything possible to set myself up for success in the future. I’m not focussing on only one thing; I’m trying to set myself up with options through my studies and work experience. It may be hard work, but it gives me that belief for the things to come and distracts me from other things that may not be going so well right now.

There is always something that can get in the way of feeling optimistic, but there is always room in life to do something that can give you that feeling and its worth every minute. Giving myself time to think about what I am doing well so I can focus on feeling optimistic isn’t something that comes naturally to me, but I hope I can keep doing it in more parts of my life.

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 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 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 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.