Happiness is not something that can be gifted. It is something that we must find within ourselves. No one and nothing will make you happy, it’s down to you to find your inner happy. Once you find it, it will glow loud and proud and you must protect it as it will forever be your most valuable possession.
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!
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.
If you asked me if I felt I was a confident person I’d tell you no. But I suppose that’s because I know how I feel ‘behind the scenes’. I feel I’ve always imagined this ‘confident character’ as this untouchable, collected, unflinching person that's always cool in any given situation. They could literally take on the world and would just take it in their stride. I mean I still get nervous and awkward at the idea of meeting new people and that really doesn’t go with this idea of confidence I’ve made up in my head. It’s also just the complete opposite of who I feel I am.
But I know I’ve grown a lot in confidence throughout my life. With all the time stuck by myself in lockdown I’ve had so much time to really reflect and just appreciate who I’ve become.
I remember when I was around 13 or 14 I was really stuck in my own bubble. I wasn’t confident in myself in any way and I let this hold me back so much. I used to sweat answering the phone to an unknown caller, I found it so uncomfortable and felt I would only embarrass myself or say something stupid. Knowing the answer in class but never putting my hand up to answer. I never used to be able to go into a shop on my own because I was terrified of having to interact with the person at the till. I remember having to beg my parents to go into the shop for me and if they didn’t I would just go without. You can only imagine how relieved I was when they introduced self check out. I remember bursting into tears after being turned away for a job experience interview because I had been so nervous to go in the first place.
I can laugh about all these things now, among the numerous other embarrassing or silly things I’ve done. But at the same time looking back I find it sad. Not because I had these feelings, being nervous or worried is a natural reaction and is totally normal. It’s more because now I can see how I let these feelings stop me and I probably missed out on so much.
I’m not really sure what changed. I probably just slowly unlearned my own bad habits or just pushed myself over time. Being faced with new opportunities like volunteering overseas or going to university I didn’t want to be stuck so I just went for it. A lot of fake it ‘til you make it until it wasn’t as fake. Learning who I am and to just love myself for it has definitely been a big step.
I do remember one day though that it just clicked, that people are just people. It sounds obvious but I think when I was younger I was just too scared and in my own head to realise everyone's just normal. We’re all just trying to figure each day out as it comes. I still feel nervous sometimes but the only difference now is I don’t let those negative feelings hold me back.
Confidence is weird and thinking about it now there’s so many different aspects to it. I know now it’s not this all encompassing thing. It’s not black and white. Actually the reason I got turned down for my job experience was because I had dyed my hair bright blue. Did I suit it, who knows but I loved it and it made me so happy. So to be confident I don’t have to be great at everything or be ready to take on the world every second of the day. Knowing what my strengths are, just doing my own thing and not apologising for being myself is my own way of being confident.
It might sound like a very banal problem, but it’s actually something I struggle with very often. I always do things at the very last possible minute. And I’m not just talking about essays at university or cleaning my flat, it’s also about texting people back, calling someone, doing favors or even things I just want to do for myself like playing piano or painting.
But why?
I’m absolutely not a lazy person and it’s not about me not enjoying the stuff I have or want to do.
So, what’s my problem?
I always want to do everything perfectly. When I have to text someone back, I want to take my time to read through his or her message attentively and reply with a well formulated and interesting message. When I have to write an essay, I don’t just want to write a normal essay. It has to be perfect, longer than anyone else’s and with a well constructed layout. When I want to play piano, I want to play it for at least two hours to learn a demanding new song and play it flawlessly. When I want to paint a picture, it has to be the most beautiful and meaningful picture I’ve ever painted.
And in the end of that I do none of all these things, because I set the expectations about myself way to high. It comes to a point that I don’t enjoy any of these things anymore, and by that time it just feels like pressure. Sometimes I even disappoint people, which is the worst consequence. And because I’m so embarrassed and I think I have to do so much to make up for it, I do… right! Nothing!
A vicious circle!
I think the only way out is to be comfortable with imperfection. None of my friends will be disappointed because my message is a little bit boring, but they will if I just don’t reply.
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.
The thought of a ‘safe space’ at university had not occurred to me until I was in need. I used to think that toilets were the best place to escape or cry until I realised how quiet they can be when hyperventilating in one. Having a phone call here and no-one listening in is near impossible. The gender neutral toilets at the entrance of the library is probably the best place to get away with sobbing for a while. However, why are there not more private spaces in the place we spend so much of our time, often at our most stressed?
Two years ago, I was given a phone appointment by the NHS for an assessment for therapy. As I prepared myself mentally for the phone call, I suddenly realised quite how limited my ‘safe spaces’ were, where I could avoid being overheard and could cry without the worry of someone seeing or hearing. After deciding nearly every building at uni was inappropriate, I went to the counselling and psychological services building to see if they had an empty room where I could take the phone call. The last time I had been here was the previous year for some CBT sessions to help with my panic attacks. My life and problems had been written on a whiteboard and arrows linked these up in simplistic conclusions: I had a lot of guilt and wanted to be invisible. My reaction at the time was a lot of frustration and I was offended that it was so simple for this trainee counsellor to draw a few lines and suddenly understand my life. Looking back three years later, these conclusions did have some truth in them, yet I still had not spoken to any counsellor about any of the experiences which a year later had me referred to sexual trauma therapy.
Fast forward a year and when I asked for a quiet space to take the over-the-phone assessment for this therapy, the secretary told me there was not, however I could sit in the reception with her and she would put her fingers in her ears. This woman was a complete stranger and compared to the other options I was faced with, this seemed like the safest option.
At 3:30pm on the dot my phone rang and I listened to the chime, just as I am sure the secretary did too. A couple of deep breaths and the assessment started. A woman asked me my name and details; I was very aware that the secretary now knew all of this information, even if she said she would not listen it was inevitable. One quick search on the university database or social media and she could know even more.
Next I was asked about the reason I wanted therapy and even though I tried avoiding the question by asking if she already had my notes, I was asked to describe in my own words what has happened to me and how it is affecting my life every day. I could not answer at first as I completely clammed up and felt claustrophobic and transparent, like the secretary could see every damaged, hurt, ugly piece of me and my story. Ten minutes later the secretary then knew my condensed sexual assaults history and I was feeling more and more vulnerable. She brought me tissues; any speculation as to whether she was listening was then confirmed.
I was asked to describe any suicidal thoughts and explain what I had planned and how it turned out. I was also asked about self-harm. By the time I ended the phone call half an hour later, I was angry. Angry again at the men who have hurt me in the past as the experiences were brought back into the forefront of my mind. Angry at myself for being so sensitive and not being able to keep myself together over a phone call. Angry at the woman from the NHS who asked me such sensitive and intrusive questions over the phone. Angry at the secretary for working in a part of the university which should be looking out for people, yet let me down. But most of all, angry that the entire situation would have been different if I had had a safe space to talk over the phone and not worry about whether I would end up in tears, or whether anyone would hear the conversation. At one of my most vulnerable points I was made to feel even more vulnerable.
I was on holiday in St Andrews when I got the first call. There had been worrying times before but he had always pulled through. Was it another one of those times? Or was this it the end?
My Grampa had been put into a care home due to the onset of dementia. He had always been such a fun and social man so this was so hard to see for all of our family. His mind had failed him but his physical health was top form. The main thing that hurt me so much about his passing was seeing my dad struggle. This is not something that is natural in life, seeing the people you look up to, the adults who always assured you that things would be okay, hurting. On the day I got the call I remember my dad saying that my Grampa was in a bad way. I was 170 miles away, a three-hour drive, and something inside me told me that this wasn’t one of those times. Something inside me was telling me I had to go, I have never felt a feeling so strong in my life. The pull to be there with them. The whole drive I remember saying out loud “Grampa please just hold on until I get there, I want to say goodbye”
Standing by his bedside in the care home I felt so much love and sadness at the same time. This is as close I had ever come to death. I was fortunate enough never to have lost anyone until now. I held his warm hand and said a prayer for him.
The thing that got me the most when my Grampa passed was the helplessness I felt when I saw the fear and sadness in my dad’s eyes. The same eyes that I, as a little girl, had looked into for reassurance and saw nothing but strength, courage and love and so much support – the same eyes I was now looking into as a young adult filled with sadness, fear and loss. The eyes are the portal to the soul and my heart ripped at the thought of the sadness that filled my dad’s soul during this time. An image which clearly sticks in my head, one which I will never be able to remove, is my dad on his knees at my Grampas bedside holding his hand, head down, and my brother standing behind my dad with his hand supportively on my dad’s shoulder. A complete role reversal. A chain of heartbreak and grief. This just isn’t right; my mind couldn’t comprehend it. It’s supposed to be my brother looking up to my dad, who looks up to his dad. Not the other way around. This memory will forever be engraved in my mind. The fragility of life and the certainty of death.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
