Could you tell me a time you felt tired?

I’ll always remember the night before my trial day as a painter on a popular TV series as the first one I didn’t slept a wink. Before that night I’d miraculously slept very well! But something about ‘proper adulting’ after university unlocked some issues with anxiety I had managed to suppress for a while as I survived the rest of art school. 

 As the hours went by I got more and more anxious that I was only able to get five hours of sleep, then four ... to the extent that I anticipated my alarm going off at 5am. I tried reading, watching tv, podcasts, breathing slower, nothing worked! In fact the opposite, I felt way more anxious and breathless after focusing on breathing. After engaging with medical services, I now understand that I was experiencing an anxiety attack. 

Eventually I got the bus, then train, then taxi to this random location outside Glasgow to complete a trial day, even though I’d never felt as fatigued in my life before. It became a case of just surviving the 12 hours, and I didn’t have high hopes for the outcome. And I was right, I didn’t get the apprenticeship I applied for. This was devastating but I persevered, finding temporary employment at the Fringe. 

Turns out I didn’t do as terribly as I thought as the production company offered me three months of work anyway so I still got an incredible taste of working in TV. More importantly I learnt that you can live off of very little sleep and still function! I was naive enough to never even consider this becoming a part of my reality, even though I now can see my parents have both struggled with sleep for years, past the stages of our infancy. 

However it isn’t a sustainable way to be, and I knew there was more than a scattering of sleepless nights in my life after art school. This came to a crux in early 2018, after a bad relationship uncovered some other unresolved mental health issues I had been ignoring in order to live as normally as I could. My GP was incredibly helpful and guided me to the right medication and therapy. This came in the form of visiting the Rivers Centre in Edinburgh, a specialist NHS service for anyone who has experienced psychological trauma. I attended a meeting called the lightbulb course, which aptly helped me to understand that what I had been dealing with for the last four years was in fact PTSD. 

The course was great for helping me understand what happens in my brain to make me feel this way, and to allow me to stay awake for more than 24 hours. It took a different perspective than the talking therapy that I had sought closer to the time of the traumatic event, and honestly helped me look more objectively about why I am the way I am. By looking at PTSD from all these different angles, I am able to be empathetic to myself and others who have experienced trauma. Indeed seeking this help has actually empowered me to make a significant career change into nursing, a profession in which I hope to be able to provide the care and dignity that I was given by the NHS during my diagnosis.

Could you tell me a time you felt self doubt?

I never liked to admit I had a fear of failing, I saw myself as a very optimistic person who thought you can accomplish anything you put your mind to. It wasn’t until I really started working on myself that I realised I wasn’t following my own advice. I began to realise self doubt was eating away at me, limiting my life to the point I was so scared to try new things incase I wasn’t good enough.

I had to get real with myself and admit to this instead of making excuses. As a child I never really had any hobbies I stuck to or anything I would say I was really good at. I was the oldest child in my family I had always loved caring for my younger brothers and cousins, I knew I’d end up in a caring job role and I must have been right as I’m now a care worker in a children home for children with special needs. However I definitely think my belief of not having a “real talent” at a very young age had a huge effect on my self doubt. Looking back I have a early childhood memory of my dad and brother playing football in the garden, I went to join in the game of how many kick ups you can do and I couldn’t get passed two! My dad and brother tried to help me but I just couldn’t get it, my dad tried his best to hide his frustration but I could tell he was getting agitated. In the end I gave up, that’s my first memory of feeling like a failure and I hated it, I just felt so stupid.

I then began to realise small things in my life now where self doubt is holding me back. Such as always relying on my boyfriend to cook for us as I’m a rubbish cook compare to him even though I quite enjoy cooking. One time my self doubt really stood out to me was my fear of painting. My boyfriends a artist and works from home so I’m always around him painting, I used to love art as a child yet I was so scared to paint with him incase I was bad at it and embarrassed myself.

Realising these small things really changed my way of thinking leading to a change in my behaviour. I had to make the decision to stop caring so much what people think. I started to really push myself when I felt fear and say yes to more opportunities. I now try things I haven’t done before even if I’m rubbish as it doesn’t matter and you wont get better unless you practice. Like people say feel the fear and did it anyway! Saying yes to opportunities even if I have anxieties is the best decision I’ve ever made. Nearly every time it’s resulted in me having a really good time and feeling a lot better about myself. I still have times I doubt myself and let negative thoughts take over but on the whole my mindset is a lot more positive. You just have to accept you’re not going to be perfect at everything and most importantly don’t take yourself too seriously.

Could you tell me a time you truly loved who you are?

I never thought I would be sitting here writing a note on a time I felt I loved who I was- I always thought that people who said they had reached “ self love” were lying and I thought I’d get to a point where I too lied that I liked myself. 

I have spent the last 19 years hating every fibre of my being but in 2019 I started reclaiming bits of myself in the war I was raging internally. One day when I was sitting on my councillors comfortable blue couch we un loaded the compounding social pressure I felt to be ‘ what everyone wanted me to be’. I realised in that moment I’d been living a lie - an inauthentic version of myself where I had based all my self worth and self esteem on how much people liked and accepted me. I realised that existing in this place was fuelling my anxiety and depression and I was dissolving the true fibre of who I actually was. 

I can’t tell you when I started accepting and reclaiming bits of my self back.  

It was like a small thing at a time, I stopped wearing clothes to ‘ be cool’ and wore what I liked and made me feel good. I stopped stressing over what someone thought about me when I was introduced to them. I stopped hiding my anxiety or my sadness or my happiness. I started treating myself like a friend, I rested when I was overwhelmed, I prioritised my needs first over others and I listened to the voice deep inside that I’d been ignoring for years. 

In October 2019 I stepped into a little hat stall in Camden markets in London 

I picked up a little fedora type hat with a feather in it. I put it on and stared in the mirror. For the first time in my life my brain didn’t scream “ YUCK” at me, in fact I said to myself wow, this hat is a bit of YOU. I immediately bought the hat and wore it out of the shop and I didn’t really take it off for the rest of my trip. I almost felt like when I wore my hat, with my favourite black jeans, my band t shirt with my sleeve tattoo delicately inked down to my wrist that I finally was living an authentic version of who I was. I no longer felt the outside was just a reflection of what I thought people wanted to see. I was just being me. 

In that moment in the hat store I felt a glow, and I couldn’t stop smiling. In that one single moment I’d accepted everything that I wasn’t and everything I was. I truly loved my whole being. I can’t tell you I feel like this all the time, it comes and goes but I can tell you the war which was raging, there was white flags when I realised we were both on the same side.

Could you tell me a time you felt scared?

When I launched my first full scale business I was 18. I opened a luxury clothing boutique in the small country town that I grew up in. I was so excited. Of course there were nerves and a little bit of anxiety around opening a business. There always is. I wasn’t scared or fearful but then again, I had never allowed those words in my vocabulary. My philosophy was to always give everything a crack, because if I do fail I’ll only be back where I started.

When that day came that I decided to close the business that had single handedly launched my adult life, I was petrified. I had given myself such high expectations and I just could not seem to get there. I was ​scared​. Scared because it wasn’t that I had to close the store due to financial hardship. It was because I had pushed my mental health down the list of priorities. I had let something so important slip out of my gasp, and I had felt as though something had to give.

Closing my business was my biggest failure and biggest success. I had to fail in order to establish a better life, a better routine and a healthy relationship with myself. My philosophy was to always give everything a crack, because if I do fail I’ll only be back where I started. This has changed. I now give everything a crack because if I do fail, I learn. I am no longer scared of failure. I am scared of not trying.

Could you tell me a time you felt happy?

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.

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 felt confident?

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.

Could you tell me a time you procrastinated?

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.

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 vulnerable?

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.

Could you tell me a time you felt hopeless?

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.

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.