Could you tell me a time when you found your voice as a mother?

When my daughter was about four months old, I realised I was struggling - no, drowning. I felt low, irritable and frustrated with myself. I wished away the days and would count down the seconds until my husband came home. As a therapist, I couldn't help but think, "I should be okay", and I remember hating myself for struggling so much. Shame just flooded through my body. Out of desperation, I realised I needed to find my voice as a mother and ask for help, starting with going back to therapy myself. I want to show my daughter it's not the pain that matters, but how we respond to it. No one needs to do it by themselves, especially mothers who are taught to be martyrs. It's time we find our collective voice and share the beautiful challenge that parenthood is more equally.

Could you tell me a time when life wasn’t picture perfect?

Everyone has heard the saying “when it rains, it pours”, right? Well I truly lived that earlier this year.

This may be surprising to a lot of people who know me. Based on social media it seems as if I’m living an idyllic life. I live on an island in the Caribbean, with my dream job and have had some incredible experiences. And this is all true; I live in the British Virgin Islands and work as a marine biologist, a job I have dreamed of and worked towards for 8 years. My days are an Instagram highlight reel full of sunshine, turquoise waters, scuba diving, and field work with coral reefs, sharks and whales. But for the last 6 months it has been so much more than that too. It has been, without a doubt, the hardest, most difficult time of my life.

In March 2024 I was about four months into my new life, settling into my new home, job and circle of friends. And then came the rain.

Part of my job involves me working as a divemaster for our partner dive shop. In addition to dive excursions we also offer snorkelling trips, which can be just as much fun as diving. So much so that I volunteered to take a snorkelling excursion in mid-March. Unfortunately, near the beginning of the excursion there was a medical emergency which led to me administering CPR on an unconscious man as the boat returned to our dive shop. An ambulance met us at our dock but sadly it was too late and the man had passed away. I remember every minute of the experience and don’t think it will be a memory that will ever leave me. I’ll remember everything. I’ll remember the panic, the cries of his wife, the sheer will to get through it and get to help, the disbelief and numbness I felt while simultaneously trying not to fall apart. But there are other things I will never forget either. The support I received from my friends and co-workers, the people who didn’t leave my side and stayed in bed with me the days after it happened. The strength I now know is in me, that I can hold onto when hard times come again (because they will, and they did). The sanctity of life, that it is short and can disappear in the blink of an eye.

Two weeks later, just as I felt I was returning to some semblance of being okay, I got the call I had been waiting for since I left high school and ventured out away from home. My grandad had fallen and was in hospital. He’d broken his hip and it wasn’t looking good, it was looking like a “when” rather than an “if”. I’ve somewhat been expecting this kind of call (or at least fearful of it) any time my dad unexpectedly calls - a feeling I’m sure anyone with older relatives can relate to. It’s a much harder situation when you are 6,500km away. I battled with coming home, even though there wouldn’t be anything I could do. I decided to stay, for now. The idea of trying to get home and not making it in time was unbearable to me. This should have been an exciting time for me; at work I was assisting on a project transplanting coral in preparation for a marina expansion. In reality it was long days spending multiple hours at a time underwater doing very physically demanding labour. This whole time period I was both physically and mentally exhausted and struggling considerably. The emotional turmoil that the unknown puts on you in these situations shouldn’t be discounted, it is a heavy weight to bear.

Another two weeks later I got another call. The call. Exactly a month (minus a day) after the loss of the snorkeler, I lost my grandad. I had previously made the decision that if I were to go home then it would be for the funeral. Luckily my boss had been so supportive throughout and it wasn’t even a question that I could go home at a moment’s notice. So another two weeks later and I was on a plane home to my family. I remember sitting on my last flight from JFK to Edinburgh before we even took off, unsuccessfully holding in the tears at the thought of being so close to home after everything I’d been through in the last six weeks. Living abroad means you have to get used to the distance between you and your loved ones, and I feel like I have but still, there’s nothing that beats a hug from your mum. Seeing my family was very much the silver lining throughout all of this.

These 6 weeks tested the limits of what I could endure. I have had previous instances in my life where I have had to overcome some form of trauma, but never in such a condensed time period. In the initial weeks and months after it was a very overwhelming thought that would upset me a lot, thinking all that I have been through. It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking life isn’t fair, why is this happening to me? But I am trying to view it from a different perspective. Life is short; live it, lean on your loved ones, appreciate the small things. Be kind to yourself, you are the only person you do all of life with.

With some time and space from the events I realised I am not only going through these two different types of grief for the snorkeler and my grandad. I’m also grieving myself. I’m grieving the person I was before I went through this, I will never be that person again. I will never not have gone through a man dying in front of me, I’ll never not have lost my grandad while on another continent, I’ll always have had a panic attack at my grandad’s funeral thinking about the family of the man I couldn’t save. I will never again be the person who didn't go through that, but that’s okay. I have come out the other side of it and in the end it has made me stronger.

There is a certain stigma that comes with living in places like I do. That “you can’t complain about anything, look at where you live, look at your life”. But no matter where you live, life still happens. Nothing is perfect, no matter how it may look on social media. I have felt some guilt around this idea, that I only share the good, happy moments and not the boring or hard times. Social media (Instagram specifically) is a highlight reel, and can perpetuate this idea of a “perfect life”. I really noticed this when I went home for holiday in July, about 4 or 5 months after everything happened. I was getting all these comments about how amazing my job looked, “was it everything I dreamed”, my Instagram looks so cool! I would smile and offer small talk and anecdotes, maybe explain some of the boring realities of my job, all while wanting to scream “you have no idea what I’ve been through!” To a certain extent that is my fault. I haven’t done anything to stop this perception of my life. But what can I do? I’m not just going to trauma dump the last six months on them. And so, while this blog has very much been something I’ve done for myself, I want it to offer some truth to those who know me and leave with this; you never know what someone is going through, so please lead with patience, grace and kindness.

Life comes in waves, there are crests and troughs. Some are bigger than others, but they all eventually dissipate as they reach solid ground. For me I feel like I’m still riding the wave, and while it’s a long way from shore, it’s slowly losing energy. The 6 month mark is this month and I’m looking after myself, putting in the work to keep going and appreciating my life and loved ones.

Could you tell me a time where you took a leap of faith?

They say the best way to build your wings is on the way down.Two years ago, I would have questioned that statement.

You place the parachute on before the jump. You slide the floaties on before you swim. You assemble a belay before you climb. It’s not the other way around.

However, two years ago, I found myself at a harrowing crossroad. I’d been navigating a tenuous battle with my health, over seven years of failed treatments and regimens to mitigate the burden of my condition.

Known as Topical Steroid Withdrawal, it’s debilitating and relentless in its hunt to control every piece of your life. I’d lost my performing career, my marriage, my hair, and the complete foundation of my life’s trajectory. The type A, top-of-her-class, “Most Likely to Be Famous” superlative winner was now a scrambling, inconsistent mess of a human being – and I just had to go along for the ride.

I hated it. The loss of control swallowed me whole. Yet, no one was the wiser of this civil war raging beneath the surface. I exuded positivity like a badge of honor, asserting that the glass wasn’t empty nor full, but refillable. I continued to make vision boards, to castigate any self-doubt that I wouldn’t get better, and fell into a routine that became uncomfortably comfortable.

I landed a full-time job as a secondary school dance teacher (known as middle/high school in the states – originally from Florida), I entered into a relationship, and I seemingly started to rebuild from the rubble that Topical Steroid Withdrawal gifted in my mid-twenties.  

How I wish that was the start of a happily ever after.

The bulldozer, the one I’d hoped had disappeared into the distance, came charging back for more. It decimated my ability to be a functioning partner, a consistent teacher, and it sunk its proverbial teeth into my already aching body, sucking every bit of resilience I had left.

I wanted to die, and I wanted the universe to do it for me. But she had other plans.

As silly as it sounds, I listen to what the world has to say. Not people – the actual world. And I was being pulled towards creating my own bulldozer. If I couldn’t hold on to pieces of a life that I wasn’t even sure I wanted, then I would just start from scratch. I didn’t want to be with my partner anymore. I didn’t want to be a teacher. I especially didn’t want to be living back in my hometown, a space that never felt like my own.

There were no wings in sight, but I was desperate to jump. I didn’t see it as running away from something, but towards it. The it could be negotiated on the journey, but the journey had to start despite my utter lack of plans or blueprints.

So, I listened. I observed. I allowed the world to point me towards places that I prayed would bring me back to myself.

It pointed me towards Europe, to the UK, and particularly to Scotland. I wasn’t sure why, but I let the gravity take hold, and I leapt. I leapt into an 8-week summer holiday that would change my life.

I ended my relationship before leaving; I turned in my resignation my first week away, and I didn’t look back. I lived each day with eyes wide open, writing and journaling, eating fresh food, soaking in nature, allowing my nervous system to breath. I didn’t know where I was going, but I was committed to getting there.

Coddiwompling, That’s what it’s called – to move towards an unknown destination with purpose. It became my new favorite word. It taught me so much. It gave me the grace to open myself up to someone who resuscitated me, and it planted a seed that is now flowering into a dissertation here in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Life went from suffocating to liberating; from a foggy black and white to intense technicolor.

Now, I’m not saying it isn’t scary at times, nor do the answers come all at once. I think the point of jumping before knowing the outcome is that you learn so much more about yourself than you could have in planning every detail or, worse, staying on the ledge because you just haven’t figured out exactly where it is you’re going. The contract is releasing control and accepting the possibilities.

I think too many of us stay within the confines of societal norms, what we should and shouldn’t be doing in the eyes of others who, in the end, do not matter. Life is so short, and precious, and worth every ounce of your tenacious will. So, go do the thing. Take that leap of faith. Do not shy from the courage it takes to assemble your feathers.

Could you tell me a time where your idea of happiness changed?

Throughout, and up to a very recent point in my life, I have always been under the strange guise of what made a successful existence. As a child growing up in a working class home, the dream always focused around prestige. This seeming idiosyncrasy could be in any sphere: wealth, status, friendships, appearance, education. And these expectations were emancipated through school, my family and my peers. It was about being whatever you wanted to be against a rigid benchmark of what was impressive, and socially seen as acceptable. Simply, semblance was important.

You see, and not to out myself as a flourishing 26-year-old, I went to school during the late 2000s and 2010s when one of the main teaching pedagogies was based around self-esteem and self-worth. Initially theorised in 1960s psychology, the practice of teaching kids they could be anything, and directing them to what were seen as idealised professions - i.e, doctors, lawyers, teachers, police officers and firefighters - suffered a resurgence in the early noughties. The idea was that if you told a child they could be anything; that they were valuable; and that these roles would pave the way for them to have a successful future, then they would go on to achieve that. They would become healthy citizens in a healthy economy who felt good about themselves. It was all about working toward having flash cars and big houses, consequently achieved through “good jobs”, and not letting your previous experiences dictate those that you could have in the future. You should aim to “change the world”, they said. And don’t get me wrong, it makes sense! It makes complete sense in fact. It makes so much sense that the colloquial equivalent of this self-worth teaching style, nominally, ‘the sky's the limit’ suddenly appears like gospel. You’d not be surprised to see it printed on tea-towels, phone-cases and those daft TK Maxx notebooks.

And so off I went on my little quest with my own little distorted ideality of what formed success. I went off to become whatever I wanted to be (within reason), and to find my happiness because of it. I made it my mission to get the best grades at A-Level - which I did; to go to a good university - which I did; to do a masters - which I did (twice); to do a teaching degree - which I did at Oxbridge for good measure; and to finally get a job as a teacher and settle down with my little piece of paradise. Yet, and as you’ve probably managed to work out, that didn’t turn out quite as I’d planned.

It turns out that being told what is good, and acceptable, and just, and then abiding by that, doesn’t necessarily work out in the long run. I studied endlessly, and worked in hospitality non-stop through my studies to fund it. And that put a real strain on my mental health that can be traced all the way back to my A-Level mock exams at the age of 16. 

On my sweet 16th, I received my results from my mocks. I’d performed well, brilliantly in fact. However, from what I’d been told by so many people in my life, and how highly I regarded myself, I knew it wasn’t enough. I took it out on myself as I thought I wasn’t good enough. But everytime, I picked myself up and I kept pushing. I went to university and graduated with honours, constantly emphasising to my parents about its placement in the World University Rankings as if to impress them - despite all them wanting was my own happiness. I then came to Edinburgh and studied two masters degrees, had two breakdowns, and threw myself into my studies to distract myself from what was going on in my head: my anxiety and issues with self-worth wrestling endlessly. Then, and in keeping with my desire to have a proper job, and fear of being a “failure” at the end of higher education, I started a teaching degree utilising my love of teaching and that of my subject. It seemed like the most logical thing to do, a perfect harmony of passions and expectations that had been instilled in me since infancy. 

Yet, at the end of it, with my teaching certificate in hand, all I felt was pure exhaustion. I stood in my classroom in my first proper teaching job, after having taught back-to-back lessons for six hours, dealing with parent queries, and seemingly moulding the minds of the future, and all I could do was cry. Despite loving teaching, I simply did not care. I didn’t care about the size of my paypacket, I didn’t care about my so-called purpose on the planet, and I certainly didn’t care about having a “well respected” job. Yet worst of all, I didn’t care about myself. I was indeed in the doldrums. 

I carried on, expecting it to get better, and expecting the appetite of my self-worth to be satisfied, but it never did. I spoke to my friend, and my newly found therapist, and reached the conclusion I should have arrived at seven years prior: it is only a successful existence if it is successful to you. The previous building blocks for my future, those laced with idealistic goals were not what I wanted, and if something didn’t change, then the large salary, house and profession would be useless, because I wouldn’t be there to enjoy it.

So, I changed it. I left teaching, and dropped my pre-dispositions. I had some hard conversations with myself and moved back to Edinburgh, returning to my job working in hospitality. And, instead of broadening the horizons of the future generations, I serve bacon rolls. Instead of leaving my mark, I sell tea and coffee. And instead of changing the world, I give out complimentary biscuits. And, in all honesty, I’ve never been happier. I take each day as it comes, let whatever will be, be, and smile. Sure, I miss it at times: I miss the actual teaching; I have to watch what I spend; and it hurts when people notice my qualifications, and say “well, you don’t want to be doing this for the rest of your life”, and I guess that’s true. But for now, it’s good. Although I’m not embracing “the sky’s the limit” mantra at the moment, with my feet firmly on the ground, I know truthfully that if my younger self were to see me now, they’d be proud. Proud of the happiness I found for myself, and proud of me for going against my own proverbial grain. Eventually, everyone has to come up for air.

What I realised on my quest, is that life is both short and long, and heavy. But one thing it is not, is someone else's. Funnily, I don’t regret any of it. Instead, I bask in the admittance that at the time, it was probably what I wanted, and has forged me into the person I am today – anxiety and all. 

So, take it from a “failure”, you’re doing great. Live life as you please, and please do what is best for you. 

Could you tell me a time where your life took an completely unexpected turn?

Like many people during the global pandemic, I seriously started considering my "career". At the time I was on furlough from my job as a Visual Merchandiser with high street retailer H&M, I had time on my hands and knew I wanted to do something with a little more meaning. After some deliberation I decided to apply to be a Firefighter with the Scottish Fire and Rescue service. I didn't receive any sort of response for over a year, this was followed by an extremely lengthy application process but in January 2023 I was proud to be starting my journey as a trainee with the SFRS.

Unfortunately, things didn’t work out as expected. Just a few weeks into training I was removed from the course due to an ongoing injury, the in-house physio at the training centre was worried about my injury turning into a stress fracture so I was signed out of training for a couple of weeks. This is where things really took a turn.

It had been a completely normal day, I'd been out for a coffee in the morning with some friends, had a walk with my wife and cooked dinner. Halfway through whatever film we were watching I got up to go to the kitchen and noticed I was struggling to balance, things were spinning a little and I felt lightheaded. I dismissed it, I thought I'd most likely stood up too quickly. Unfortunately, a few hours later the sensation was still there and I was beginning to also feel it at rest. I contacted the NHS 24 hotline and was advised to wait until the morning and see my local GP. I woke up at 4 am and things had gotten worse, the room was spinning to the point I couldn't make out my hand in front of my face, I couldn't walk and I was extremely nauseous. So after a ropey taxi ride, I found myself sitting in and out of our GP’s office at the hospital where I was told there was a chance I’d had a small stroke. Several tests and 9 hours later I was informed this was not the case, and that in fact, I had an inner ear infection which was wreaking havoc with the balance centre in my brain.

I felt relief like I'd never felt before! and a few days later I was back home and able to head outside for the first time, I took a short walk to our local shop where I essentially used my wife as a human crutch (thank you Lanah), it was tough but things were definitely on the mend. I discussed my condition with the fire service and it was agreed I could return to training in May, a lot longer than the initial 2 weeks I’d expected to be off, but given the nature of my balance, precautions were taken to ensure it was safe for me to return to training.

As it turns out healing isn't linear and over the next few months this cycle of being struck by crippling vertigo, followed by a short spell of recovery only to be hit with vertigo again continued. There were full days where I couldn't stand, I had issues with my vision, experienced partial hearing loss and spent large portions of my time crawling between the rooms of our flat. It was hell. I have always been a bit of an anxious person, a bit of an overthinker, someone who gets stressed when they travel, but I'd never experienced anything like this. It became apparent I would be unable to pass the medical assessment required to return to the fire service and I hit an all-time low. I felt completely lost, upset and frustrated with my physical and mental capabilities. It sounds fairly silly considering everything else that was going on with my job and day-to-day life but I am a keen runner and the thought I might never return to the sport haunted me. I was unable to get any sort of diagnosis as to why these symptoms were recurring and my mental health rapidly deteriorated. I spent several days in tears, nothing was working, until it did. After months of trial and error, the GP’s and specialists found a combination of medicines that worked for me, and I was finally able to get the vertigo under control.

Cut to the present day, there are moments where I experience the vertigo again, but these are short lived and so far none have lived up to the brutal nature of the attacks I experienced last year. My mental health is on the mend and slowly, I was able to return to running. In May, myself and a close friend, Lizzie, ran the London marathon and raised over £6.5k for the mental health charity the Samaritans. I also have a new job! I'm Currently living that Monday to Friday, 9-5 office life. I didn't expect to be here and I've had to make peace with the fact that I'm in no mental state to return to the SFRS, but that’s ok, life is good.

Could you tell me a time you felt genuine and long-term happiness again?

On the morning of the second of January this year, I was in a beautiful town called Longniddry on the East coast of Scotland. I was walking through the beautiful Gosford Forest with perfect winter weather and nobody else around except the person I was with. The peacefulness and feeling that came with the morning was something unfamiliar and I realised that for the first time in a very long time, I was genuinely happy. And I had been for a few months.  

I know that I have it very good in the grand scheme of things and there have obviously been many happy moments over the last few years however, I’d been going through a long a tough internal battle with myself up until recently, and this moment in Gosford Forest was the first time I really realised that I’d made it through. This also isn’t a sob story. It’s hopefully just a reminder that even when thing after thing keeps happening and it seems like the negative feelings are just going to be part of your life now, they don’t have to be. So, this is my journey.  

Towards the end of year 10 and the start of year 11, I had a lot going on at home, COVID was coming, and I was entering my final two years of school. I started to feel pretty stressed out however, when I feel stressed, I tend to bottle it up and try and act like everything is fine instead of letting other people help me. COVID hit and sent everyone into lockdown in March and I think that’s probably when I started to struggle the most. COVID lockdowns were the most amount of time my family spent together in pretty much my whole life. And we didn’t really cope well with it. My middle sister started to struggle a lot with her mental health and although she didn’t mean for it to, it had quite a large impact on me.

I have a very clear memory of going into school one day in between lockdowns to sit an assessment, and at the end of it doing all I could to hold my tears in. I’d been trying to keep everything together for months and months and this was my tipping point. I had a meeting with one of my favourite teachers and burst into tears pretty much straight away. I was tired of my parents arguing at home, I was worried about my sister, and I didn’t cope being stuck in the house in the environment that it was. I’d also lost all motivation to do well in school. That’s when I started going to therapy. I’d been before when I was about 10 years old but hadn’t been since.  

I spoke to my therapist a few times whilst we were in lockdown, but I knew that so many people had it worse than I did so I convinced everyone that I was fine and got on with it. Throughout year 12 and the months that followed I would often just end up sitting on a floor or in the school bathrooms in tears. There wasn’t always a reason, I would just get massive waves of anxiety that tipped me over the edge and reminded me that although I could act like I was fine, I wasn’t really.  

I soon turned 18 and exactly one week after my birthday, my parents told us they were getting a divorce. Parents divorcing has many challenges that come with it, especially for young kids. However, when your parents get divorced as an adult, you don’t get sheltered from any of it. You are aware of all the cheap shots that get fired between parents, the digs from one parent if you’re not seeing them enough for their liking, the constant being asked what happened and why it happened. I’d never really had much social anxiety up until this point. My family always had it challenges but now it felt like we were on a whole new level. There was always someone arguing or drama that had happened. This, along with trying to be a young female today, quickly became a bit too much. I barely ate because I was insecure about myself, I overthought everything, the waves of anxiety increased, and it felt like I was on the verge of tears constantly.  

But as I mentioned before, I tend to bottle all this, and I’d gotten good at always being just ‘fine’ whenever anyone asked. But the thing with bottling things up is that eventually it explodes. And eventually it did. But like usual, I never let anybody see the explosion. But it was bad. I was home alone and afterwards; I knew I needed to do something to improve my mental state.  

Most people would go back to therapy. Me? I moved to the other side of the world. And I haven’t regretted it for a second. Moving came with its own challenges but for once, these were challenges that I’d signed up for and was facing because of all the opportunities that overcoming them would unlock. I could feel myself starting to feel lighter in the first month I was here, but properly healing took time. And temporarily removing myself from the environment that made that near impossible was what gave me the time to do so.  

And that brings me back to that peaceful moment in Gosford Forest in Longniddry. Breathing in the fresh Scottish air and walking around the beautiful lake, I had a chance to realise that I felt the best I had since my early high school years. I had just spent New Years with a beautiful friendship group full of people I’ve met since moving to London.  The friendships I have are some of the strongest and most genuine ones I’ve ever had, and I also have a greater appreciation of the friends I still have in Australia, as well as my family. I am the healthiest and fittest I’ve been in a long time since I’ve started cooking for myself and eating properly. I also run now which is something that I used to hate even the thought of. I have a job that I love and that is incredibly rewarding. And I get to travel and experience incredible places often, which is something I’ve been passionate about doing my whole life. I am WAY more self-confident than I ever have been, and even wear my natural curls out in public! Family and friends have been telling me recently that they can see a difference in me and that I look so happy. And I am.

I know there will always be challenges in life, but for now, I’ve made it out the other side. And so can anyone else who feels stuck in a never-ending cycle of bad times. It’s hard and it takes time but try changing your environment to one that heals instead of hinders. Don’t bottle things up; talking to others for help is never an inconvenience. And just because other people have problems that may be worse, doesn’t mean yours are any less valid!

Could you tell me a time you navigated grief and loss?

In the intricate tapestry of life, we are bound to encounter chapters that challenge our very core, leaving us forever transformed. These are the chapters that define us, shape our perspectives, and ultimately forge our strength. The journey through grief and loss I have experiences spans my years of adolescence to early adulthood, imparting invaluable lessons about empathy, resilience, and the unexpected wellsprings of support.

I was just 16, at boarding school, when grief made an uninvites entry into my life. The sudden passing of my Gran left me grappling with the void that her absence had created. Amidst the ache, I found comfort in the knowledge that I had a supportive network to help me process and understand the storm of grief I was feeling.

As I turned 17, life delivered another kick – the loss of my close childhood friend to suicide. His absence weighed heavily on my heart, accompanied by the weighty guilt of not having reach out to him sooner. This marked the onset of a relentless struggle with overpowering emotions, the grip of anxiety, and an unforeseen battle against my own mind.

The subsequent years seemed to be a series of trials testing my resilience. My 18th birthday came and went, without the presence of two individuals who has always been pillars in my life. The loss of my aunt at 18 prompted contemplations about whether these years were a sequence of unfortunate events or a start revelation of life’s fragility.

Transitioning into young adulthood brought new waves of heartache. At 19, witnessing friends lose parents forced me to confront the reality of mortality. Watching the vibrant father of my childhood best friend who was full of life one day and gone the next. This experience forced me to reflect on my own inner reservoir of strength and the capacity to endure.

Life's challenges are great teachers. The journey through grief illuminated the significance of support, both giving and receiving. It reminded me that appearances can be deceiving; behind smiles may hide battles unknown. It is this awareness that now drives me to offer solace to those in need.

Grief isn’t linear, far from it actually. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions. It’s about allowing ourselves to feel, acknowledging the pain, and not punishing ourselves for it. Some days, the smallest triggers can evoke the biggest emotions. I realise now its crucial to catch ourselves in these moments, remind ourselves that it’s okay, and seek support when necessary.

I have realised that creating space for healing is essential. It’s about setting boundaries, taking breaks when needed, and practicing the art of compartmentalisation. It really is a gradual process, but crucial for maintaining emotional well-being. I find for me that debriefing with someone or jotting thoughts down can provide a necessary outlet.

Amidst these chapters, life has thrown me many more challenges. At 20, my Poppa was diagnosed with motor neurone disease, and was given only a year to live. I grappled with frequent trips to visit him while managing placement in an environment where death was a frequent visitor. While I did struggle to accept his fate, I am grateful to have been able to juggle these challenges and I cherish those memories made with him in his last year. Exactly a year from his diagnosis, Poppa passed away, ushering in a new phase of challenges involving the complexities of family dynamics after his passing.

And yet, life’s trials didn’t relent. Just a few months ago, my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer, the same day my younger sister lost her close friend in a car accident. As my mum embarks on the journey of chemotherapy, I find myself in a delicate dance between mourning the loss of my grandpa and making space to process my mum’s diagnosis.

Life’s challenges might test us, but I’ve come to realise that strength is often born from vulnerability. My experiences have highlighted that we can never truly know the battles others are fighting beneath their smiles. And so, I try my best to always be a source of support, a listening ear, and a reminder to others that they are not alone in their struggles.

The happenings of grief and loss are often woven into the fabric of our being. They shape our understanding of empathy, resilience, and the importance of seeking and offering support. As I continue to navigate life, I carry with me the wisdom earned from each loss, each challenge. This is a reminder that you are not alone in your struggles – a simple acknowledgement can spark a lifetime of support.  

So to all those treading their path through grief, remember that support is available, your emotions are valid, and there is strength in seeking and offering support.

Could you tell me a time you experienced setbacks?

I consider myself a very lucky person. I have a supportive family, I have loving friends back in Australia that date back to high school and even primary school. My work friends turned into friends I will keep for a lifetime. I also moved to London in January and have made friends here that I don’t think I would’ve survived without. I now have two lives on opposite sides of the world that I love in equal proportions. How good?! 

One thing that drives me crazy though is when people tell me how easy I have it. To me, there is a big difference between things just falling into your lap and working your ass off for the things you want. 

My first teaching job after doing a ‘working gap year’ was a dream come true. I loved the girls I was working with and really thought I had found the place I wanted to teach for the rest of my life. I had been there for two years, and at the end of the second year myself and 5 other girls were required to interview for new contracts in 2017. Nobody was stressed; there were 5 girls going for 5 contracts… What’s there to be stressed about? Turns out a lot: I was the ONLY girl out of those five who didn’t get her contract renewed.

I was utterly humiliated. I took the rest of the week off - mainly because I hadn’t updated my Resume for two years but also to have a bit of a sulk about how shit life was. It took me about 12 hours of crying, and 3 packets of Tim Tams to finally pull my socks up and get cracking on what needed to be done. For three days I did nothing but sit in front of my laptop, sending and editing CV after CV to what felt like every primary school in Melbourne. 

At first the replies were slow, so I continued to rejig my entire CV again and again until I started getting some replies. It was quite satisfying going into the Principal asking for time off for interviews for a few weeks (it must’ve been wildly inconvenient) but at the same time, none of these schools felt like places I wanted to work. My 12th, yes 12th, interview was at a school in Melbourne that was held in very high regard. 3/4 of the way through, the principal asked me what footy team I went for. I said St Kilda and knew that if I hadn’t screwed myself up somehow before that, that would’ve been the nail in the coffin. I said thank you and headed back to school to teach for the rest of the day. By the time I parked the car again I had received a call saying I had got the job! The first person I shared my news with told me “you’re so lucky Mel. Everything always works out for you!” I believed it then, and believe it now. I’m a lucky gal. But in hindsight, I got the job because I worked my ass off to get the job. Days of hard work lead me to this outcome. 

It is still, to this day, the biggest setback and the biggest learning curve I’ve had in my life. Now that I look back at it, it was quite arrogant of me to think that I had anything ‘in the bag’. Nothing is certain. And there have been so many moments in my life where this setback floats into my brain  again and I think to myself ‘just because you think you deserve it, doesn’t mean you will get it’. 

My move to London has been filled with setbacks, too. But everyone only sees the good stuff. And of course you only want to share the good stuff, too! 

“You make friends so easy, Mel. It was harder for me.” Mmm no. I knew one person when I moved over here and put myself in uncomfortable position after uncomfortable position to make friends. It was very hard. I was nervous every time, but did it anyway. 

“You were so lucky to snag accommodation in London.” Yes I was, I was also homeless for 3 weeks in April and lived with a girl who didn’t acknowledge my presence for 3 weeks before that. 

The list goes on.. I traveled far and wide for my visa one Thursday evening, I fell off a scooter in my first few weeks and haven’t had feeling in my knee since and let’s not even discuss how expensive it is to actually survive in London. It’s all good for the storyline. 

I don’t need a pat on the back, or acknowledgment of the things that I’ve overcome; I’m past that. But what I have learnt in my 30 years is that the comeback is always stronger than the setback. I know that life always has a way of working itself out, I truly believe that; everything will always work itself out. But that doesn’t mean that everything is falling in my lap. I have worked for, and deserve, everything that comes my way. And I’m bloody proud of myself for it. 

Could you tell me a time you felt completely lost?

I remember falling into my first Job in a kitchen pretty young at about 15, and from there I worked in that kitchen pretty relentlessly until I was 22. 

When it came to the point where all my friends were planning for University and deciding on which part of the country they’d move to for the same reasons, I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do. 

I’d already left school a year early, and went off to college to study professional cookery. Little did I know, that it wasn’t really even a career I wanted to pursue. The busyness of the kitchen and the closeness of everyone that worked there, enticed me and seemed like a pretty fun environment to work in. I’d always liked cooking, I loved food and I enjoyed the creative aspect of coming up with dishes. 

Even though I was completely immersed in the kitchen and college, I was totally unaware of the impact the hours and the stress of the kitchen were having on my mental health. I was pretty unaware of my internal goings on into way later into my 22nd year, and even then I was just completely confused as to the heart palpitations, tight chest and constant stream of negative thoughts. I was so detached from my body, that I didn’t really have any awareness of what was bubbling under the surface. 

During my time in the kitchen, most people I worked with either smoked weed, drank, and or took drugs in the spare time if they weren’t with their families. For a long time, they had what I didn’t, which was people close by, like family and friends. Most of my friends had moved away to Uni, and I stayed behind, and moved into a flat by myself. 

The space on my own and unsociable hours left me in a space that I felt completely alone. Yes, my family did stay near by, but I didn’t want to spend much time with them at this point in my life, I just wanted to drink, smoke, and hide from the world in my own little bubble thinking that everything was okay. In the midst of being at my worst, my dad got diagnosed with cancer, which I had absolutely no idea how to process or deal with in any way whatsoever. So I continued how I knew, I drank more, and smoked more, by myself. I thought about leaving my career several times, and threatened to leave several times, but for some reason I stuck with it. 

Luckily, my dads cancer was treatable and he made a strong recovery, and still is doing well. 

Fast forward to my 22nd year, my relationship with my partner was a mess, I was a complete mess and totally lost as to what to do, I felt like I was in a total spiral until everything fell apart. I ended up quitting, my partner left me, and quite rightly so at the time, and then I ended up leaving my flat and moving home to my parents house to try and recalibrate.

In the time between, when I was in the process of moving out of my flat and back home, everything felt completely hopeless. I was filled with extremely dark and negative thoughts, and my drinking got quite bad again. I couldn’t stay in my flat as it was filled with memories that I could barely cope with, I didn’t want to stay at home, so I stayed on a friends couch for a while. This felt like such a complete low that I really didn’t think id recover from at all, but, I did. 

It took a lot of time, and my mental health is still something I have to attend to each day, and that’s okay. 

Once I moved back to my parents, I started to find my way again, got into counselling, therapy, meditation, and really solidified a yoga practice that helped me find a sense of direction and keep me on track. 

Even though things can feel completely hopeless and you can feel so lost in a really dark place, it can still get better. There’s nothing wrong with seeking help, and reaching out. 

Could you tell me a time you felt free?

Last October I secured a charity place for London Marathon 2023. Running is a big part of my life, (some might say the majority of my personality ha), so this felt like a bit of a bucket list moment, and I was hella excited for it. Running has always helped not only my physical health, but also my mental health as well as being a huge social aspect of my life. Since moving to London five years ago, I have met the majority of my friends through running and its open so many doors for me. So, like I said, it felt like kind of a big deal. I wanted London to the be the best run I ever did, and in preparation for it, I decided I would give up booze.

Me and alcohol have always had a funny relationship, I love that first sip of a margarita, or that popping sound of a champagne cork... the relaxing sensation you feel as it enters your bloodstream as well as all the anticipation of the night to come and the fun times that come with it. When I drink, it's often the only time I feel "in the moment", and it cancels out any anxiety or stress, and I like that feeling (a lot...) so I drink quickly and drink more to keep that feeling... and often get carried away. You know how the story ends. Fast forward a few hours and I'm a sloppy sleepy mess, making bad decisions and the next day I am an anxious shell of my former self, and that was not going to be a good start to my London Marathon training....so drinking was out from New Year's Day.

I decided to start my training for London ahead of the 16 week training planning suggested. I wanted to get ahead of the game, so I signed up to a plethora of running events in November and December to start working on increasing that distance past my comfortable half marathon zone...and it was all going so well until the week before Christmas, after a 31K and a barrage of Christmas party drinks, I tiredly agreed to run a half marathon with my friend. The last few KMs were not fun, and I started to feel a sharp sensation in my hip. Being so close to the finish, my natural instinct was to just get home, but after finishing I struggled to walk properly. After a visit to the physio and an MRI scan later, it was confirmed I had a stress fracture in my femur and could not run for at least 12 weeks. 

Gutted was an understatement, running was such a big part of my life, and my mind went into overdrive and obtrusive thoughts, trigging a lot of previous mental health issues which running had been masking. "I'm going to have to pull out the marathon, I'll be letting the charity down, I'm going to get fat, I need to start restricting my diet, I'm never going to run again." I was in a really bad place mentally, somewhere I've not been for a long time, and the only thing I felt might help me was to stick with my plan of quitting drinking. After a very boozy final blow out on NYE (waking up anxious, not remembering much, definitely tried to snog my friend…), I pledged to start therapy and stop drinking until April to allow my body to heal more quickly and to also sort my head out. 

As with all things, it turned out alright in the end. The charity deferred my place, I rested and found a slower pace of life from my usual frantic self, I focused on what I could do exercise wise, and not what I couldn't do, I worked with my physio to build on my weaknesses, started acupuncture (and got over my fear of needles), found new hobbies in yoga and swimming, started therapy and learned as much as I could from the experience. The whole time, I stayed off the booze, and even when I started to feel better mentally, and start running again, I decided I'd carry on going alcohol free for as long as I could.

Yesterday, I hit 6 months sober and being alcohol free has been so freeing. It definitely takes a few months to get used to socialising without it, to have the confidence in knowing you can still turn up somewhere and be fun without it, to not feel quite so aware and overstimulated by loud music and the people shouting and touching you as they go to the bar, but once you do, it opens up your life to so much more. I am happier than I've ever felt, I can regulate my emotions better, I am more aware of how I am feeling and why, I am a nicer person as I am not so caught up in my own thoughts, that I have more time for others feelings and aren't projecting my own. I have more time, I find joy in the small things, and feel more grateful for things I didn't even notice before, I have better conversations with people, and better connections with friends, I remember everything from nights out and have better memories. I'll probably still leave earlier when everyone starts repeating themselves (hehe) but nothing good ever happens after 2am anyway... x 

Could you tell me a time you felt comfort in pain?

The privilege of been able to push your body to a feeling of pain that finds you comfort. 

Moving through the world as an anxious human can be an exhausting pattern of never ending worst case scenarios. A head so full of thoughts it can be hard to find the good in the small. The “what if” and “it might not work out” are a daily reminder that I am limiting myself based only off imaginary pessimistic outcomes. 

I found running at a time of human turmoil in lockdown (like many) and can’t see a future without it. A chance everyday to quiet the anxious thoughts and feel a sense of achievement in pushing myself. Whether it’s a mid week recovery run, a dreaded Tuesday session, a crew run, or smashing a half marathon PB, every run has 1 thing in common; the euphoric endorphins and the rare sense of feeling proud which we too often reserve for others. Running can hurt and it can be tough, with no 2 days the same at times making you feel like you may not be making any progress. I find visualising this toughness can make me more prepared to face it, reminding myself I have overcome it before. And it’s this pain that always leaves me with a sense of achievement for pushing my body.

Often taken for granted, an able body will shy away from pain rather than embrace a threshold which will result in comfort. As a young person seeing a parent suffer a stroke that led to significant physical disability, having an able body is something I try not to take for granted. Although this is not always the case, I endeavour to be present with my body and quiet mind when I run, every step taking me to a better version of myself. 

Running is a way of meeting new like minded people who are collectively willing to sit in a little state if uncomfortable, to feel comfortable in themselves. So here I am, halfway across the world, living in a new country, running and feeling grateful to be able bodied everyday and finding comfort in pain every day. 

Could you tell me a time you felt powerful?

It has always been said, that when we are faced with difficult times, these are often the hardest moments of our life. Yet, when we overcome these struggles, each moment contrarily rewards us with great strength. Strength in knowing that the next effort won’t feel so mentally or physically straining. Strength in knowing that positivity lies ahead, and strength in knowing that instead of feeling overwhelmingly powerless every time we head into battle, instead, we will feel undeniably powerful. 

I reflect upon these words a lot when I think about the fact that nearly a decade ago, I never could have anticipated that I would begin experiencing seizures and feeling so out of control of my own mental functioning and in being a pragmatic person, I very much like to do what I want when I want, no questions asked. Undoubtedly, these experiences were quite the opposite and I quickly realised that this condition could, in fact, take up a large chunk of my mental capacity and that for the first time in my life, I would experience immense feelings of anxiety and panic surrounding the thought of when a seizure would next occur. It could be in a minute’s time, next week, next month, or never and I didn’t know whether the unknown was the scariest part of all or a blessing in disguise. 

The unknown provided me with an infinite amount of time to reflect up on all the walls that I had built around me as barriers of self-protection and pick at the callouses that had formed to shield my mind. It gave me an expanse of opportunity to understand that I am not incapable of existence and that it is the strength that lies within me that is allowing me to survive, to thrive, and to push every cognitive and physical aspect beyond what I thought I would be able to do so. Nowadays I choose to foster these thoughts when I wake up each morning – how can I push myself further to unlock my mind and stretch myself far and wide to chip away at every self-limiting story that I had written about my inner being in the past. 

I no longer choose to focus on the repressive thoughts and the potential hurdles that may arise in the future. Instead, I accept the circumstances for what they are, knowing that any pain that I endure, will lead me to a point where not even pain can hurt me. Forgetting times, names, and faces after a seizure no longer equates to a direct reflection of cognitive inability. It doesn’t mean that I am incapable of holding memories or understanding the world around me. It reminds me that between the layers of confusion, are moments that I am still yet to discover, and I know that, in embodying a somewhat commanding mindset, I will reap the rewards of resilience, of success, of greatness and in turn, comfort.  

Not every day is as equally as triumphant as the day before. It goes without saying that the future is largely unpredictable. But there always lies the possibility to forge yourself an easier path to walk on, whereby the weight of anxiety, of epilepsy, of sadness, no longer feels as heavy to carry. I hope that this belief will teach you that you are not too weak, or a burden to yourself and the people that surround you. That you’re still surviving. That you’ve gotten to a point where you’re reading this now. Worthy, able, deserving, of a life of great existence on this Earth. That you were never too little, or never too much, you were and are, always, enough. I hope that you continue to fight for yourself. To let the light shine into your life and illuminate the road ahead that leads to endless possibilities where pain and sorrow cease to exist. When you learn to live this way, there is no end to the journey that you are on. 

Thus, the time I feel most powerful is now. 

Today.  

And the time I will feel more powerful, shall be tomorrow. 

Could you tell me a time you had to rebuild the relationship with yourself?

Around four years ago, my ‘perfect life train’ was derailed, well at least what I thought was my perfect life. My long term relationship had ended, the life that I thought I always wanted was ripped out from underneath me in a matter of a few words. Reflecting on the time in my life, I think I was mostly sad about my ‘plan’ being ruined instead of the relationship ending. The house, the engagement, the wedding, the kids (thank god that didn’t happen). The months following this were really tough and lonely. Lost is the only word I can use to describe this time. I felt like I had lost part of my identity. I had to rebuild friendships that had been forgotten and ‘find’ myself in what left like a massive mess. Fast forward a few years and my friendship group unexpectedly shifted in quite a drastic way, I was in this lonely space all over again. While a friendship shift may not seem like much, it honestly affected me as much as my breakup a few years prior. Through these experiences I realised that I was placing so much of my self worth on those around me and felt like I had lost myself. Where was the most important relationship, the one with myself? I realised I can’t keep following this pattern and feeling this deep sense of being lost and lack of self worth when my relationship shifted, changed or ended. Change is a part of life and I decided I could not live it life this anymore. 

From this point on I learnt that I had to build the relationship I had with myself and stop placing my self worth on others. The journey of finding myself sounded easy, but it is one of the most difficult experiences of my life. Now, in my mid 20s, I’m the happiest I have ever been in my life. I'm still on the journey of discovering who I am and what I have to offer the world. I was so lost to begin with that it has been a long and difficult journey. But it is the most important experience of my life so far. Now, I truly feel like I have found my place in the world and found my people. I no longer feel such a deep sense of feeling lost when life shifts and changes. I have worked hard to find myself again, and am still working hard to continue on this journey. It’s been filled with highs, lows, crazy emotions, moving solo to a country I had never been to. But, I wouldn’t change anything and can confidently say that I am now thankful for the 'shifts' in my life that have happened and guided me to where I am today. Every moment of this journey means I am one step closer to strengthening the relationship with myself (or as those close to me could say, discovering the labrador dog that I am).

Could you tell me a time you felt loss?

During my late teens and early twenties I had always been surrounded by close groups of friends that came from the various dimensions of my life. I felt comfortable with the person I was, the choices I made and the people I spent most of my time with. I enjoyed my own company and spending time on my own just as much as I enjoyed being with others. 

Fast forward to my mid twenties when I started to notice a change in myself and my attitude. I would become easily triggered, agitated and emotional. Committing to future plans wasn’t an option. It’d result in me sitting at home for weeks overthinking if I’d be able to leave the house that day or not. Seeing my best friend for dinner would send butterflies through my stomach. Going to work made me feel nauseous. I became very withdrawn. Nothing in my life was spontaneous anymore.

For so long I had accepted that fact that I had developed generalized anxiety disorder which was what my doctor had told me. I was confused and overwhelmed with these new feelings that made it almost impossible to be the free spirited person I was. I decided the only way to overcome these feelings was to be honest with my family and my close friends. If they knew this then they’d understand why I would turn down plans or randomly start spiraling and have panic attacks. I became angry and depressed that this was the person I had become. I spent a lot of time alone, but now it wasn’t enjoyable because I’d get in my own head and overthink every little detail of my life.

Little did I know these were all natural responses to the feeling of loss.

It wasn’t until my psychologist asked me if I had ever felt loss before that I was fully exposed to the true meaning of the word. For a long time my understanding of the word ‘loss’ centred around death. 

Loss however, is a change in your life that can often cause immense amounts of grief. It could be the end of a close friendship or relationship, the end of a dream or a goal, the changing of a job, decline of health, moving away from home. It is something that can impact your physical and mental health.  

I had responded ‘no’ quite sternly to my psych and it was soon after that I realised I was ashamed to admit that a loss that wasn’t a death was a remotely justifiable and appropriate reason to grieve.

I had recently just experienced the loss/break up of a nearly 10 year friendship. I was leaving my three part time jobs to start my full time career. A close friend and I from uni were experiencing an awkward time in our friendship. A situationship that had gone on 5 years too long had come to a sudden end. I felt lost and I was experiencing losses that I hadn’t accepted or had closure from. I felt like I had lost every sense of belonging that carried me for so long and with that went any shred of self worth I had conjured up.  

I have never been one to share my feelings with others. It took my psychologist almost 8 consecutive weeks of sessions to get me to open up enough to explore the loss I had experienced and the unresolved grief I had suppressed.  

The loss of my nearly 10 year friendship had hurt me the most. This was somebody I spent every single day with. They knew all my quirks, insecurities, dreams and fears. We spent time with one another’s family and friends outside of our mutual circle. We would travel together, see our favourite artists together, make future plans. I couldn’t have ever imagined my life without this person. I didn’t know how to react when this ended or when things began to change. I felt so isolated from the rest of our mutual friends. I couldn’t comprehend how it seemed so easy for them to move on. I felt like I was being left behind and for so long it felt like our friendship meant more to me than it did them. I had nobody to call or message about my day or the silly little things we would laugh about. I felt like I had not only lost my best friend but a massive part of who I was. It was hard to explain to those in my life because it wasn't a romantic relationship and it seemed almost silly to be so depressed and so I hid my feelings for so long.

It wasn’t until years later I was at the local pub with my work friends when I saw one of our old mutual friends at the bar. He came running over and picked me up and said he couldn’t believe it had been so long since we last spoke. I hadn’t seen him since my friendship had ended because it was that feeling of being ashamed and the anxiety of what was being said that stopped me from speaking to the rest of the friends in our friendship circle. One day you go from seeing these people every single day to not again in at least 6 years. They’re now married and having children and living completely different lives to the ones you knew when you were friends. For years I had isolated myself and seen all of these connections as a trigger when in reality nobody had any part in whatever happened between our friendship.

Working on accepting and acknowledging the losses I had experienced over this time has helped me learn to live with them instead of feeling ashamed.  I found expressing my feelings in a more tangible way like writing letters and journals helped me to find a sense of closure I never got. I learnt how to look back on the friendships I lost in a positive light with gratitude for the seasons they spent in my life instead of feeling bitterness towards the way that they ended.I met new people through work and travel who remind me every day that I am equally worthy of the love I share with others. I have begun to cultivate a sense of unconditional self-worth. An understanding that we all deserve to be here, to take up space, to be loved and cared for.

The pain of loss is an inherent part of all of our lives. Just don’t forget that we all deserve to accept ourselves, forgive ourselves, and to receive love.

Could you tell me a time you felt Lonely but not Alone?

The phrase ‘alone but never lonely’ has been talked about a lot in the media, but the way I felt was the opposite.

I have been lucky enough to have lots of friends throughout all stages of my life and gladly found a solid group of friends when I came to university two years ago. Through those friends I was also introduced to my amazing boyfriend and more new friends so it’s fair to say I’m far from what I had originally thought a lonely person was.

My first year of university was a lot of fun, especially the second semester. I always had plans, I was the lead in my university musical and I really enjoyed my course. I moved out of halls and into a flat in May, and I loved being in Edinburgh over the summer. I was having a great time so it’s hard to pinpoint when I started to feel lonely and unlike myself, but it was during the summer. With no university work or show to be working on, I felt like I didn’t have a purpose. Working the Fringe in August was a highlight, however when I met all these great people who had such exciting plans for the next year and their lives, it made me anxious about what I want to do after university and it caused a huge shift in my life.

I had thought going back to university in September was going to help me get back into the swing of things and back on track. It didn’t. It made me feel worse, questioning is this really what I want to be doing? Am I smart enough for this course? Do my friends even want to be around me? The list goes on. I tried to go back to musical theatre with my friends but quickly decided not to do the show after my confidence was knocked and I felt like I was losing the love for a hobby that had once consumed my whole life. Looking back, I should have just done the show. It was worse to not go to rehearsal and see my friends, I isolated myself completely.

Over the next few months my brain was on a mission to make my life as difficult as possible. I started to think all my friends hated me and didn’t want to be around me because I was bringing the mood down by being sad all the time. I thought my boyfriend might break up with me because I’m not being my usual happy self, the negative thoughts were endless. In reality everyone was worried about me and just wanted to help me feel better. One of my friends often reminded me she’s just glad that I got out of the house and made the effort to come. My boyfriend would just let me talk and talk, him just listening always made me feel better. But it still wasn’t clicking, even though I knew deep down my friends really cared about me, my brain was still trying to sabotage me. I would tear myself apart, criticising every bit of myself. From my physical body to how I acted in group situations and anything I would say. It made me reluctant to go out or see anyone. I felt so alone amongst people who care about me, because my own brain decided I wasn’t worthy of being surrounded by good people.

It wasn’t until the end of November that I started to see some change in myself, I was going to gym classes with friends, I started a new job, and I was back at musical theatre. Being surrounded by new people at my job completely changed my perspective on everything. Being around girls who are really fitness based and positive made me feel motivated and excited about the future again. I started going to yoga, doing regular runs, being kinder to myself and reading more. These small changes have made a world of difference.

Taking these little steps, focusing on myself, and trying to find new hobbies and passions has completely turned my life around. Realising no one could help me if I didn’t help myself first was the most important steppingstone to feeling better.

I’m nowhere near where I want to be yet but I’m getting there, now when I have off days, I remind myself of how far I’ve come and think about all exciting thing’s the future has in store for me.

It sounds cringey but this whole experience has taught me so many lessons and helped me learn more about myself:

- Change is hard, but it can also be amazing. Don’t punish yourself for feeling sad about it but also don’t punish yourself for being happy about it.

- Try not to put yourself in a box, trying new things can be really rewarding.

- Good days and bad days are normal. No one is living a perfect life even if it may seem like they are on the surface.

- The most important thing to do is show up for yourself.

Could you tell me a time when you were worried and anxious?

After getting drunk in York’s vibrant city centre, I would come home and go back to bed surrounded by my university hockey kit, vodka bottles, and largely unread books on political theory scattered around my room. In bed in a kind of bleary-eyed and peaceful state – before the inevitable hangover – I would sit scrolling through Instagram and Facebook.

While I was flicking through Zuckerberg’s Frankenstein’s monster, I questioned myself the entire time as I saw squares of people enjoying themselves by a myriad of means: doing apres-ski in a French ski resort, enjoying their latest exploits on Wednesday night and their most recent trip to a bigger city at the weekend. I would look at all the likes, shares, and comments throughout it, comparing myself to others.

It led me to question myself: and not in the Hollywood movie way where it leads to some incredible epiphany at the end of the film. Instead, I queried everything about myself and raised doubts about anything in my head.

“Am I going out enough?”

“Am I smart enough to do this course?”

“What grade will I get in the end?”

“I need to be bigger. What gym work should I be doing?”

“That one word I said last night, will they think about it?”

“Am I at the right weight?”

Nonetheless, back then, each of these worries would take up so much time to run through my head that by the start of the next day, I would still be tired from the tormenting thoughts the night before. These worries would wax and wane with time, but there were certain points when they got to their most heightened.

There are three instances when the worry and anxiety reached their highest points: A-Levels, university, and Covid-19 lockdowns.

During my A-Levels, I was very anxious and worried about the whole entire concept of life following school. First of all, I was worried that I wasn’t doing sufficient revision, so completely overcompensated by locking myself in my room at school and at home for hours each day. Another great worry was what grades I would achieve, and, therefore, where I would go to uni. After seeing my sister and brother go down to England for uni, I believed that I too, needed to follow suit, which probably didn’t help with the worrying at that point either.

To put this all into context, I was told by a primary school teacher that I worried a lot and that I must calm down as I overthought the consequences of too many things.

The angst metamorphized at university into something more consuming. As I had much more free time, consequently, I had an infinite time to be fretful about situations that I would play out in my own imagination out of fear rather than anything else. Since I had left school, where I was constantly busy doing something like lessons, prep, rugby, and choir practice – yes, I was very cool – the endless time felt more like a straitjacket rather than something to be enjoyed. Therefore, to counteract the open days, I would get ruinously drunk during nights out just to forget for at least a few hours the rolling thoughts and the unexplainable possibilities that I created. In hindsight, it was stupid and hindered dealing with the anxiety and worry.

Then came Covid-19, a virus that made people both ill and concerned in equal measures. It amplified the stress, like turning up the volume on one of those vintage 1950s-style radios. The pandemic meant that I had to go return to Edinburgh, a place I had escaped from largely for five years, which was a weird moment in itself to live with my parents and cat. As I got older, given I had finished my master's, I was contemplating bigger “life events” such as first jobs and proper flats. The virus now had thrown all of my life into debate.

The pandemic swept aside my idea of a first job as the market crashed, and I couldn’t get driving lessons to pass my test, so that came to an abrupt stop. Added to that, I was terrified of the virus for the first two months, and there was no defined end to it all, which I hated the most.

Overall, a great combination for someone known to worry. With the abundance of time, there was no real reason for me not to investigate methods of dealing with my problems.

In order to cope with long days doing absolutely nothing, I would run across Edinburgh using different routes depending on my mood on that day. The running reduced the stress as all I thought about was the pain in my legs and the music booming in my ears. I have written before that the achievement at the end of a run is something that I enjoy.

I have managed to find ways of coping over time with the copious amounts of anxiety and worry that I generate. I have made a conscious effort to go to the gym and get running around south London. I have decreased my time on social media. I do certain activities that I know mitigate it, like cooking, reading and gaming on the PS5. Alongside these goings-on, I do most of the boring things that work, such as eating healthier, getting to bed before 2 am, and not drinking booze as much as I used to.

I will have to live with the knowledge that I worry a lot, but I have now established habits to lessen its impact.

Could you tell me a time you felt fear?

Where do I start?

The feeling of fear is subjective, everybody has a different version of what being scared feels like to them. I used to experience anxiety in many forms; pre dance show jitters, crying in the early hours of the morning because I couldn’t sleep, being scared to leave the house, scared because I had to get on public transport to visit somewhere new or deal with the fear of potentially crashing the car, scared of eating because I knew if I ate that my stomach would feel funny and then I’d be anxious about needing the toilet in public, scared to go to sleep in an old building because of the increased possibility of a spider crawling over my face in the night, scared because I managed to convince myself that people were talking about me behind my back, even though they couldn’t have cared less about what outfit I chose to wear. Fear, fear, fear. Fear is everywhere when you look for it and can effect people very differently.

The worst sort of fear for me, is being scared of myself. Knowing my body's capability, to completely catastrophise any moment into a life or death situation. My first panic attack happened two years ago, and then everything I thought I knew about fear changed forever.

What does a panic attack feel like?

To be very blunt, it feels like you are dying. It is probably the closest humans will come to experiencing the feeling of dying (without actually dying of course). I know what this feels like, because my first attack resulted in me being rushed into A&E with a suspected heart attack, or stroke, or whatever else my mind had catastrophised the panic symptoms to be. To an extent my mind had made this up, it had told me I was in a threatful situation and triggered a fight or flight response in my body, even though I was okay. However, the shaking, the muscle spasms, the heart palpitations, my chest pains, the numbness in my body, the cold sweats, blue lips and dry mouth, were all in fact not made up, they were very real, and the result of this automatic response. This attack was of course the worst, because it was my first, and it topped everything I thought I already knew about panic, and for a brief moment my life did flash before my eyes. To experience the mental and physical feeling of dying, without actually dying, is something you cannot shake off easily. It had traumatised me to the point that my body remained in a state of fight or flight for months. For almost a year, I was afraid every day when I woke up, left the house, spoke to somebody, or felt any physical change within my body. The fear of my body experiecing this panic again had sent me into a dark spriral. To be awake and to be present was draining, it was the mentally and physically tiring, all I wanted to do was sleep. It is very hard to explain what it feels like, to live with panic disorder, and until you experience a panic attack yourself, you can only try to comprehend. I suppose it’s like trying to understand grief, without ever losing somebody, or trying to imagine living with a terminal illness without ever being poorly.

What causes a panic attack?

Anything, literally anything. It could be an external stimulus, like a bear running towards you, or your boss telling you you’re fired. It could be a thought in your head — ‘’everybody is looking at me and laughing’’. It could be a physiological change in your body, for example your heart quickening, or you body temperature rising. The trigger is different for everybody and can be conscious or subconscious.

How did I get rid of panic disorder?

I gratefully received 3 rounds of different psychological treatments, for trauma and anxiety, all of which helped but never really got rid of that deeper feeling of fear. I was desperate for anything to help me, I reached out to people abroad to explore holistic therapies, I tried reflexology, meditation, acupuncture, crystal healing, all of which helped, but again didn’t solve my physical symptoms. There is not one singular thing that can just cure your body from panic, if there was, nobody would suffer with it. It is an automatic response in our body that is used to protect us from harm, without it, we would not live. Rather than trying to beat it, I learned to live with it, until finally I became okay with it being there. That’s the thing with fear — once you stop being afraid of it, it tends to goes away. One day I read a book, that explained the science behind panic attacks, and what happens to our body on a biological level, and something in me changed. Having this knowledge, is what gave me the confidence to stand up to the fear, and just let it be there, without resenting it. The more you try and resist the feelings of panic, the longer and more sever they will become, that is a biological fact. By simply allowing the feelings of fear to wash over you, with no judgment towards them, they will come and go in less than 10 minutes. Panic attacks are not dangerous, the horrible anxiety symptoms are not dangerous, anxiety symptoms will not cause a heart attack, you will not die or be harmed by a panic attack. The sooner you learn this, the sooner you can start to live with them.

I would highly recommended that if you, or somebody you know has experienced a panic attack, to read Dr Harry Barry’s book — Anxiety and Panic. Its a good place to start, to understand your body and the symptoms you are experiencing, and it is also good to understand somebody else experiencing them too.

Mental health is not always visible and you are never on your own with it. Feeling anxious, depressed, scared and happy are all natural emotions, and to be given the gift of living, is to have the opportunity to feel every single one of these emotions. Our experiences and emotions shape us and bring a sense of gratitude into our lives. Always reach out for support, becuase it is in our nature to help, sometimes we just forget to help oursleves.

Be kind always.

Could you tell me a time where you experienced setbacks?

Anyone that knows me knows that my anxiety is something I have struggled with for years. Having spent the final years of high school dealing with frequent panic attacks and the embarrassment that I thought came alongside struggling mentally, I spent my Wednesday mornings in therapy and spent every night writing down my thoughts and practicing my coping mechanisms.

By the time I left school I was equipped with the skills to deal with a panic attack on my own and had gotten a real handle on my mental health. I moved to university that September and managed to get through my first year without any real spikes in my anxiety. I think partly because I was determined not to carry this into the next stage of my life, and also because I simply didn’t have the time in the chaotic bubble of first year.

Whilst I maintained a stable relationship with my anxiety throughout the pandemic, (something I am incredibly grateful for) when I moved back to university and began online classes I noticed a shift in my mental health. I shortly slipped into my old tendencies and in an attempt to gain control of something, I turned to running. I would leave the flat and run distances up to half marathons in an attempt to feel stability from the buzz in my anxious brain however, unsurprisingly, running such distances every few days was not sustainable, and after a Covid-19 isolation period, I didn’t go back to it. Still to this day I haven’t run anywhere near those distances – not because I couldn’t train and get back to it, but because I’m scared to become so reliant on something again.

With my coping mechanism no longer being used I fell into a routine of constant anxiety. I’d wake up with a racing heart and I’d go to sleep in floods of tears, unable to get a grasp of my mental health. Exploring the option of medication is something that many people had brought up to me over the years and instantly they were met with rejection because I couldn’t imagine myself ‘surrendering’ and admitting I wasn’t capable to deal with my mental health myself. However, in the summer after second year I decided completely on my own that my life was worth more than what was happening to me daily, and I had a conversation with my GP. Having began a course of anti-depressants I was beyond scared to tell those closest to me for fear of judgement yet, as always, I was met with supportive responses.

Over the course of the next year and a half I continued to take my medication – frequently upping the dosage (with GP approval) when needed, and I can honestly say that it has changed my life, to the point where I cannot imagine how I would have gotten through third year without it. I think personally, the stigma around anti-depressants was as much self-inflicted as it was influenced by society, and I urge anyone thinking about medication as a form of help to speak to their GP and remain open-minded about the idea.

When I speak of setbacks I mean mentally. I can name key periods of my life where I feel I went backwards in my progress. One of which being in second year prior to starting medication, and the second being recently in fourth year. Having spent the majority of first semester noticing an increase in my anxiety and feeling as if nothing was helping, I began to go home regularly. Whilst I wasn’t experiencing typical anxiety symptoms such as a racing heart or panic attacks because of my medication, my skin began flaring up around my face, and whilst it was clearly a symptom of my anxiety, it made me more nervous and stressed and consequently, I spent more weekends at home.

I moved home for Christmas in the first week of December and I spent the majority of the month either in the house, with my parents or with my best friend. I didn’t leave the house by myself until the first week of January, and even the idea of seeing people such as my Grandparents sent me spiralling at one point.

Throughout this time I was still taking my medication daily but wasn’t able to help myself in any other way. However, with the encouragement of my parents at the start of January I began slowly implementing exercise back into my life alongside other coping mechanisms which are typically staples for me, and I have (very slowly) begun feeling more capable to handle my mental health once more.

Whilst I may view some periods as setbacks, they also come with large lessons to be learned. This time I have began to find my love for exercise once more and can appreciate the positive effects it does have on my mental health – when done so in a sensible way. Whereas, in second year when I experienced a setback, I learned not to be afraid of medication, and of the benefits it can have when you’re struggling. Slowly, I’m coming to realise that for some people, mental health struggles will come and go over time and that’s ok, it doesn’t go away entirely.

I think it’s important to remember if you’re struggling at all mentally, it does get easier (even if it gets harder again!), there’s always someone going through it too and most importantly, there is someone that is able and wants to listen to you – even if you think this isn’t the case.

Could you tell me a time you felt hopeless?

The passions I used to have had been cremated from my mind and the ashes scattered without my permission. An abundance of anxiety plagued me whilst still feeling completely empty. I had lost all the ability to love, to be grateful, thankful, and empathetic. Instead, these values that had been nurtured in me for eighteen years were suddenly replaced with anger, frustration, and a sense of deep sadness and an inability to function like a ‘normal person’.

It takes a while to understand depression, perhaps longer than it lasts most of the time. After school, I naively took a gap year with no real plan to travel, no career path and no desire to grow up any time soon. It was a recipe for disaster and that’s exactly what it created. I had no routine and it proved to be destructive.

It’s hard to describe to those who have never experienced depression what it feels like. However, to those that have, there’s no easier task. For months, I was physically incapable of getting out of bed. Not an exaggerated laziness but a genuine pursuit of Everest faced me every morning. If I had a shower and ate three meals on the same day, I would consider it a resounding success. Thoughts would plague my mind in a way that would terrify anyone else around me. I was comfortable with them. This was what I knew now, this was my mind, this was my life and there was no way out of it. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. I saw no joy in anything and wondered how it was possible that others could. The functioning of my brain had completely changed and I watched it happen right on top of me.

I can vividly remember countless times of physically gripping my head at night, trying to tear out whatever mess was going on up there. My eyes ran out of tears in the end and my body was slowly shutting itself down as fast as it could. I’d look in the mirror to discover a face of embarrassment and hopelessness looking back at me, wondering how I had come to this. I was really desperate.

The only people keeping me going at this point, my parents, asked me one evening what was going on, this was far beyond a grumpy teenager now. This was an opportunity for me to let out a physical cry for help. I had gone beyond the ability to help myself anymore so please could someone else? The next morning I find myself face to face with a GP being asked a multiplicity of intrudingly personal questions such as whether I feel suicidal. It’s almost impossible to admit to anyone that you have had suicidal thoughts even if you know that they’re trying to help you. It’s physically irrational to admit that level of weakness to another human. Alas, I forced a nod and feel the last droplet of my pride sink to the tips my toes.

Depression creates this odd brain chemistry where you lose all logic and rationale. I was convinced that I needed to do certain things when they made no sense at all. One night I was adamant that I needed to go to my golf course in the pitch black and hit golf balls into one hole. So that’s what I did. I must’ve hit about fifty shots in the pitch black dark, rain soaking me through. I lay on the grass for a while having found no enjoyment or resentment from hitting the balls. I felt nothing. Yet I still wept to myself and begged the world to explain itself to me.

I lost interest in everything, the idea of playing the sports I loved was out the window. The God that I’ve been raised to believe that loves me is obviously not there now, or at least he wasn’t answering me. And the idea of attending social events put unspeakable anxiety into my mind.

There’s no magic pill or inspiring phrase that can drag someone out from the pit of sadness that depression throws you into. It’s a long process, and for me, felt a somewhat subconscious one.

A pandemic came around whilst I was at my lowest. I’ve read many accounts of people expressing how isolation caused them deep loneliness and solitude that ultimately led to mental health problems. I feel guilty to say, isolation became a great friend of mine. It was the loneliness and solitude that I needed at that time. I could go outside and run for miles, with a very small chance of seeing anyone. No social events occurred that required me to charge up my body battery for a week after. And every day gave me a chance to self reflect, journal, exercise, and let my body and mind recover from the stress that it had been through in the months before. My family moved house to the countryside, another opportunity of solitude and peace.

Slowly I began to rebuild my mind. I forced myself to do the things I used to love even if I didn’t find the same enjoyment. Gradually, I began to fall back in love with them. I applied for university, to get myself a fresh start and allow myself to have a plan set in place for at least the next four years. I ran more, what I found to be a form of meditation in the end, running was my happy place. I started journaling, finding my passion back for writing, this proved invaluable to understanding my own thoughts at the time.

I look back now, reflecting upon what I experienced, with nothing but pride and gratitude. Experiencing mental health problems equips you well for life. It helps you to understand the world around you. I can feel other people’s sadness, happiness, anger; I can empathise with them. I can see the beauty in day to day life, I am thankful every day, for life’s little pleasures. The things that I lost, I will never take for granted again. Playing golf with my Dad, and with my friends in the most beautiful parts of Scotland brings me intense euphoria like it never used to. Being able to get out of bed early, see my friends and spend the whole day out of the house without an anxiety attack makes me immensely proud. And being able to listen, be there, and feel comfortable to say the right things to the people around me who are struggling with their mental health makes me incredibly appreciative.

Three years on I am in the happiest place I have ever been. I am two and a half years deep into my degree, my relationship with God is stronger than ever, I’m surrounded with great friends that I never thought I would have, and most of all, I’m looking forward to my future. The future that I thought I may never have.

Could you tell me about a time you felt depressed and alone?

The majority of the time, moving from a small city to “the big smoke” is glorified - everyone always looks like they are living their best life, having the most amazing time, beginning their career and meeting lots of new people. However, people often leave out how lonely it can feel being in a big city, knowing few people and not actually enjoying your new job. 

Unfortunately, I ended up in the latter position. I moved down to London a month prior to Covid, which led to the decline in opportunity for much social life. At first this wasn’t too much of an issue, whilst my work team was small, I loved my job and felt extremely grateful for the opportunities it provided. I was fortunate in finding flatmates which were very welcoming, and introduced me to their friends who were all very like minded people. 

However, a year and a half later, I achieved a promotion. Whilst, again, on paper this looks like a positive achievement, it meant I worked in a different area of policy, with a new team. I was promised more responsibility in a fast paced role, but in reality I had very little to do each day, and very little contact with my team. I don’t know about anyone else, but I thrive off progressing, learning and having purpose. Not having much work every day left me feeling quite worthless; I felt like I wasn’t achieving, or growing as a person and as a professional, and it was really impacting my everyday life. On top of this, I had also moved flats at the same time, and was still working from home. I had a Skype call with my team around 2-3 times a week, for half an hour, and the rest of the communication was via email. I also never saw my new flat mates as they worked in the office, and had extremely little interaction with other people during Monday-Friday working hours. I began to feel very isolated, anxious and depressed. 

My personal life was not thriving either, having not been able to meet people in London via work my social network was small. I entered a relationship around the same time I moved flat, and began the new job - looking back now I can see this is a lot of change at once which would be overwhelming even if it was all going well. Sadly, my relationship quickly became quite toxic, and did not help my mental health. My partner at the time was not consistent, often gas lit me and I never knew where I stood. This added to the anxiety and feeling more alone than if I was actually single. I also felt conflicted even living in London away from my parents, as my mother was suffering with a terminal brain tumour. I felt like I should have been making the most of my time with her, and making memories, but instead I was sitting in my room Monday-Friday with little work and little interaction with anyone. Whilst she wanted me to do this for my career and independence, it wasn’t quite working out. I had no one who could understand what I was going through and able to talk about how I was feeling. 

All of the above led to me feeling extremely, extremely low. I had been in this situation for around 8 months - every week at work I would ask for more responsibility and more work load, which I was promised, but every week it did not happen. I asked to see my partner once during a week night to try break up my isolation, however this did not suit their position at the time and again, I just felt more and more alone. I did not feel comfortable in my new flat and as I became depressed, I didn’t feel up to attending the little social events I had organised. Also, every time I left the flat for shopping, a walk, or to go to the gym, I endured some form of harassment in the street which did not make me want to leave the flat either. 

Depression caused me to become so fatigued and lethargic, struggling to sleep at night and napping during the day. I found every day tasks extremely hard, and whilst I wanted to see people I couldn’t face getting out of bed. I felt stuck and like nothing would be able to change - work wasn’t listening and I was stuck in a contract in my flat. I ended up having panic attacks whenever I went out with my partner, or in bed alone at night when my mind was wandering. There were times where I considered what it would be like if I just went somewhere alone in the middle of the night and didn’t return. It was a vicious cycle, as the more depressed I got, the more angry I would get at myself for getting into this position and not being able to show up for my mother. 

I ended up seeking help, I sought free counselling services and contacted my GP. My GP recommended that I took time off work for my mental health and start Sertraline (antidepressants). The first 6 weeks of taking Sertraline were the hardest of my life. One of the side effects was suicidal thoughts, and I had to often fight these off. However, 3 months into them I began to see the positive effects. I was more receptive and had more energy to put my effort into making changes. 

I eventually quit my job, moved out of my flat, lived at home with my parents to help my father take care of my mother and be around her to make up for lost time, and began a social job at a restaurant. Whilst quitting a corporate job, moving home and working in a restaurant may appear on the surface as a setback, it completely changed my mental health for the better. I was interacting with people on a daily basis, making new friends, spending time with family, and that was the most important thing for me. I got my thrive to work back, I was able to help make my mothers day by randomly buying her flowers or giving her a big cuddle, and I met some people that helped show me there are so many happy days ahead of me. 

Making these changes also helped me show up better with my friends from University and home, who have been amazing helping me through this time and recently through the passing of my mother. If I hadn’t made these changes when I did, I believe I would not have been able to handle the situation of my mother passing as I am. Whilst grieving a loss is hard, and there are some difficult days, I want to make her proud by living my life to the fullest. I’m now looking to work abroad next year, travelling and making every day count. There will be the void of not being able to share these memories with her, but as my wonderful friends remind me, she’ll be watching me every step of the way. 

To anyone who is in a similar position, my best bit of advice is to seek help. There is no shame in asking for it, and it will only help you make those changes that you need in order to get better. You only get to live once, and we all deserve to be able to live it to the fullest.