Could you tell me a time you felt frustrated?

Frustration to me is linked to fulfilment, or the lack of. I quite often feel like I’m not doing enough, or that what I’m doing is not getting me anywhere. Back in school I had a clear plan set out, I had known what I was doing for a long time. Leave school with As, take a gap year teaching abroad, go to university  and eventually become a lawyer. I was determined that’s how life would work out, so when covid took over in the last few months of my school life I was in denial and refused to accept that life might not work out the way I’d planned.

I was determined to stick to my plan, so I kept faith and chose to be positive about the year ahead. I kept my deferred place at uni, hoping I could go to South Africa in jan 2021. For someone who has big ambitions and likes to reach their goals, working every day at a minimum wage job was one of the least fulfilling times of my life. 

Every passing day, I became more and more frustrated with everything, feeling trapped and helpless. When I found out there was no chance of leaving the country anytime soon, I was confused and so frustrated about how I managed to get myself into the position of doing the one thing I’d never ever wanted to do after school - stay at home. I have a tendency put a lot of pressure on myself, and the fact that everything was out of my control was probably the most frustrating part because I couldn’t fix it on my own.

I felt like I had nobody around me and I wanted the ground to swallow me up until it was all over. Every time I tried to make plans for the coming months, the world would put a stop to it. It was let down after let down, disappointment after disappointment and I was so exhausted that for a while I was a shell of nothing that would work on repeat, taking on any extra shifts and hours to give me something to focus on that wasn’t what was happening in my life. Out of anger and frustration I would not be able to sleep and I cried most nights. Everyone told me how it would get better and to think of the money I was making, but I saw it as a whole year of my life wasted. 

The most frustrating part is nobody else understood what I was going through. My friends were at uni, and although it was not the best first year, they still had somewhere to go and something to do. My sister was still doing school, my parents were still working and everyone was where they were meant to be, except from me. 

I spoke a lot to my granny who lived alone, and somehow she was the person who understood me most as we were both lonely and wanting something to do. I felt just as trapped as she was, and only her advice would put me back on track. I wish I could tell her where I was now and that things got better. 

I started my “gap year” journey when I was 16, applying to teach in Africa. I have recently turned 19.  Nearly 3 years of my life was spent on this, 1 of which I spent waiting around and working at McDonald’s and then as a care worker, neither of which was anything close to what I was meant to be doing. That was definitely my lowest point and overwhelmingly the most frustrating , but my frustration drove me to be more determined. I deferred my uni place again and fought hard to be able to do what I had planned for myself, and now that I am in Ghana it makes it 10x more worth it.  To me frustration resembled helplessness, but now it comes with resilience, and I know whatever frustrating challenges I’ll face again, I’ll get through it eventually. 

Could you tell me a time you felt depressed?

Depression grabbed me and dragged me under and I didn’t even know it up until recently. I have always been the most confident, bubbly, bouncy young woman until last year. I put others before myself, this ruined me. During Covid I put on a brave face but on the inside I was fading away. I didn’t know the impacts lockdown after lockdown, bad news after more bad news, was having on my mental health. I broke. It pushed me to breaking point and I was ready for being done with life forever. I left home in July, a selfish move to mentally and emotionally make myself better and to improve my mental health slowly building myself back to me again. It was hard but I regret nothing, I now wear a smile on my face everyday and remember who I am. Don’t ever feel alone, everyone has a back story and is more than likely going through a similar situation as you, so talk. A problem shared is a problem halved. It’s ok not to be ok, it’s ok to cry, it’s ok to feel upset. Don’t bottle it up, the hardest step is the first one. Ask for help. You’ve got this.

Could you tell me a time you felt uninspired?

Freshly graduated, charmingly naive and armed with wildly unrealistic expectations is probably how I would describe my foray into the working world. After spending a whole summer indulging in let’s say quite hedonistic pleasures I came back to London with a job, back in the family home and with the expectation that life would effortlessly slot into place. I’m always very honest about the fact that I adored my degree. I was consistently academically challenged, inspired and pushed. So it only felt right that any job I would work would also be consistently challenging, interesting and inspiring.

My first 6 months out of university were quite bluntly miserable. I found it really difficult to come to terms with the fact that I not only hated the job I had so quickly accepted because I was scared of being unemployed but that I was quite frankly bored out of my mind. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my career and after a pretty uncomfortable experience with a colleague things started to head down hill.

Slowly, I felt anxiety and apathy creep into parts of my life. Every grad scheme I applied for or masters I looked at started to feel overwhelming and unachievable. I felt trapped in the monotony of working life, quite literally counting the hours until I could leave. I felt anxious to see friends as I was so uninspired by what I was doing. I think the weirdest manifestation of this all was when I remember expressing a real fear to my sister that I’d run out of things to say to my friends if I saw them too regularly because I didn’t feel like I had exciting news or updates all the time. I’d like to say I’m quite good at checking in on my mental well-being but I couldn’t help but feel completely panicked about how low I was feeling. I coined it the “is this it??” feeling. I would think, is this what life is like now?

I decided to book into therapy sessions offered to staff at work and I kid you not it took me approximately 0.5 seconds to burst into tears upon sitting down. As a psychology student it’s very easy to advocate for mental health services and wellbeing and forget to follow the advice yourself. My sessions were immensely helpful in dissecting and coming to terms with my feelings. I had put such huge expectations on myself to immediately be certain of what would be my passion for the rest of my working life I felt like I had failed at the first hurdle. But importantly, I also realised that work didn’t need to be the only thing to bring me joy. No wonder I was uninspired, I completely neglected the other things and activities that used to bring me joy. 

One coping strategy I have when I’m feeling trapped is to plan to go travelling to very far away countries - yes, I know, quite literally running away from the problem. Therapy ended, excitingly I got a new job and also booked a trip to Bali (shock) because what could be more inspiring than a distraction trip away now the seeming source of my anxiety was gone! Sadly covid had other plans for me and Bali but it gave me the most unique opportunity. 6 months of completely free time. Lockdown encouraged me to finally give myself time to think about what it really was I wanted to do with my time rather than focusing on what I thought I should be doing with it. No applying for jobs, no revising for exams, completely free time. I took some online courses, got really into running and yoga and read a lot. It was the kickstart I needed to remind myself that this time, I  couldn’t use my usual distractions or blame a shit job, ultimately I needed to inspire myself, and that was pretty cool. 

I absolutely can’t say I’ve got it perfected now. I still regularly worry that I’m in the wrong career or that I should run away to travel the world or that my life isn’t exciting enough all the time. But I don’t get those “is this it” pangs nearly as much. You can be inspired by things that you do everyday, the people around you, or you might get your inspiration from something you’ve not even tried yet. How exciting is that! But if I could leave you with one small piece of advice it would be to remember that you’re doing life the way you want to do it and that’s also pretty inspiring in itself. 

Could you tell me a time when you felt in the wrong place?

Being challenged, engaged in nature and having some sort of feeling I am making the world a teeny bit better, are all things that bring me both joy and contentment. I have tried to make decisions throughout my life, to a greater or lesser extent, that are guided by these values, knowing that when I do I am at my happiest. So, when a recent job and a move to London made me realise I wasn’t having a great impact nor running around the hills knee deep in mud (!) I felt thoroughly in the wrong place, with sadness creeping in.

This feeling of being in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing started to gnaw away at me. Bitterness crept in, and I resented myself, the city and the job for it. Instead of seeing the wonderful green spaces in London for the joy they bring people, and the space they give wildlife, I would become sad at the litter in them or the lack of birds in the trees. Simultaneously, whilst I knew my new role would hopefully have an impact, it was very much focused on long term objectives with no current obvious outcomes. I felt guilty for feeling I wasn’t doing any ‘good’, not helping people in a tangible way. In what should have been an exciting start to a new career, became tinged with guilt, self-doubt and questioning. 

Feeling in the wrong place is hard, it brings you down and makes you feel trapped. I have always been so sure of what I wanted to do: my bucket list aged 10 simply said run the marathon des sables (hmm… unlikely) and help people love and access nature. Whilst I hope my plans have become more refined and realistic over the years, it is unsettling to find yourself feeling untrue to yourself. 

Sometimes, you really are in the wrong place and there is a need to address that, if possible, but sometimes, as I have started to learn, it is a case of finding new sources of joy and growing to adapt to change. Whilst I still seek big outdoor spaces and volunteering opportunities, I have also rediscovered my love of gigs, trying exciting cafes and seeing friends I haven’t seen for years. Better adaptation to change is a work in process and I know this feeling will inevitably come and go throughout life with new jobs, changes of place and new relationships. Yet, I’m also starting to value feeling in the wrong place; seeing it as an opportunity to find a different sense of worth.

Could you tell me about a time when you started again?

The world is a very different place post-outbreak. Social distancing, sanitisation, and isolation are prominent in ways we could never have planned. The way we interact, and the things we do on a regular basis might have changed in ways that might become permanent. We have all lost something from this pandemic. Loved ones, health, money, time. But while we can’t control what happens to us, we can control our reaction to what happens - and in doing so, we build our character. My story is no different. After living in Los Angeles, Lombok & Zermatt for over a decade, the virus brought me home to British shores. Although I have a British passport, I’ve been away for so long that coming home felt like a daunting task.

I’m originally from the Lake District, but when I returned home, I moved to North Devon for a new job. After finding a place to live and settling into work, my biggest challenge was learning to survive the cold, dark days in isolation. I didn’t want my once sunny and vibrant life to turn cold and stale with the weather. Where I once had a filled social calendar, I now had isolation. Where I once spent time at the beach or on the slopes, I had British green pastures and rain. I was determined to bring a sense of worth to my new life in Devon. Previously, I had learned to surf in Indonesia, and knew there were some beach breaks nearby, so I set out to find some surf buddies. On social media, I found the Saunton Surf Sisters, a local women’s surf group, and decided to join their first event.

I drove down the windy road towards Saunton beach, and parked near the sand dunes, before nervously dressing myself in a neoprene wetsuit for the first time. Compared to paddling out in my bikini in Indonesia, there was a lot more pre-surf admin involved than I was used to. I carried my 7ft Bic surfboard down the slipway to our meeting place and was greeted by several friendly young women around my age. I was immediately welcomed into the group and we quickly began chatting - about the weather, about our surfboards, about the fun things to do in Devon - as if we had been friends for a long time. We all made our way towards the sea as a big group, and I realised that my nerves had subsided, and in their place were bursts of excitement to try something new. I was proud of myself for putting myself out there, for making an effort to make the most of the cards I had been dealt.

With one foot in front of the other, we waded towards where the waves were breaking. The ice cold water splashed on my face as I looked towards the horizon and saw Lundy island. I remembered how much I loved to be in the sea last time I surfed. I remembered my friend Chenk shouting “look up!” As I learned to turn my board into breaking waves and ride back towards the beach. Sometimes when we learn to surf we focus too much on what we’re doing to take in what’s around us. Its only when we look up that we can successfully ride the wave and direct the board where we need to go. It’s only when we live in the moment that we can appreciate the gift of each moment.

The surf that day was small but fun. A perfect day to regain my confidence on the board and in myself that there is no harm in starting again. On a particularly powerful wave, I paddled to ambitiously catch it, missed and plunged below the surface, being carried underneath the wave’s power like a sock in a washing-machine. After what felt like a lifetime, I managed to come back up for air and felt a rush of gratitude for being able to breathe again.

From then on, I began filling my free time with wakeboarding, rock climbing, hiking, surfing and yoga. In Devon, I have made some of the raddest friends I’ve ever had. Joining the Saunton Surf Sisters gave me that opportunity to start again.

Could you tell me a time when you cared?

The last two years have been unprecedented, with the COVID-19 pandemic, school strikes for climate, Black Lives Matter movements, headlines of child hunger, racism and inequality, all of which highlight, there is a lot in this to world to care about.

During this time I have felt myself grappling with the concept of care. As someone who has always felt to be a positive, outgoing and quietly confident within themself, the emotions I have contended with have represented un-chartered waters to me. Anxiety, lonliness, hopelessness, stress and uncertainty. I found myself pondering how if my cup half full had turned half empty how others with pre-existing mental health strains were faring, those vulnerable, ill, worse off than me.

I put everything I had into caring for those in my life, checking in on my friends, calling the family who were far away and isolated, working as a residential child carer, studying inequality for my masters, becoming vegan, the list goes on. Caring about people became my whole life however I realised that taking on the responsibility of caring was making me weak. The worry of shouldering the children’s problems at work, the stress of impending university deadlines, the ache of missing distanced loved ones, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. Ticking everyone’s boxes except my own. My tiredness and anxiety was overwhelming, my ongoing health diagnosis deteriorated, I crashed the work car, and I found myself emotionally unstable.

The cumulative of which really drove home (pardon the pun) that I needed to care for myself first and foremost, that whilst I couldn’t stop the inate inclination to care, I had to look after myself in order to be any kind of support to those I cared about.

Fundamentally I feel that care comes full circle. Everyone has the capacity to do it, and everyone needs it. The mental health repurcussions of recent international events do not discriminate and everybody will be effected in ways they may not even understand yet, manifesting in a multiplicity of narratives, unique to each person. If you are reading this blog, take this as a little reminder to care, care for yourself, care for your family and your friends. Care for a stranger if the opportunity presents itself. A text, a smile, a gesture of kindness goes a long way, because the world can never have too much care.

Could you tell me a time you felt ecstasy?

An important emotion to me is ecstasy. Playing rugby with your mates is a fantastic feeling, when you win, it’s even better!

I can’t describe just how good it feels when you have battled with a tough opposition for 80 minutes and when that final whistle goes and you have won a game, it’s like a rush comes over me, maybe partly relief, but knowing the fact that all of that effort has culminated in a win is an ecstatic feeling.

I also feel ecstasy in flow. When I have completely lost myself in the moment and am fully engaged with the job at hand. I can feel flow as I’m carrying the ball in my hands, nothing in that moment is more important and I’m completely synced in with my motion. It’s in those moments I feel complete ecstasy.

That’s what keeps us coming back despite all the blood, sweat and tears shed playing rugby. It’s those moments.

Could you tell me a time you felt euphoria?

My euphoria is found, when the sun is putting his hat on or tucking himself back into bed. When there is no one else out on the roads or tracks and I am out for a long run or ride. It’s just me and the world. That’s where I find my euphoria.

My euphoria is found in that zone, where you have warmed up and you’re just in it. Getting stuck into that cadence, step by step, pedal stroke by pedal stroke. Its just you and the road, the fields, your bike or your trainers. You’re in the rhythm. Your mind clears because there is nothing else to distract you but your technique. Your focus is going where your energy is flowing and you find peace in movement. That’s my euphoria.

Everyone has their own, they all look different, sound different and could be hiding right round the corner. You’ll know when you find it, smiling endlessly into the wind, book, sweat or study. It could be in your weekly 5-a-side game with your old school mates or a cold dip in the sea. Some people have found there’s and are letting it rest, others are still searching. Go and find your euphoria. Don’t let it sleep!

I spoke those words into my voice note recorder on my iPhone, 60km into a sunny training ride in Oxfordshire. Feeling unbelievable. 

For the ones who have found theirs, we know are days we can’t even find our euphoria, in what usually brings it on so easily. Don’t beat yourself up on those days, it will return. 

For those of you who haven’t found it, keep smiling into everything you do, lean into what you love and enjoy. The insane feeling of what could be likened to runners high, absolutely does not have to be found in exercise! For some it’s on the side of a fishing lake or at the end of a day’s journal. 

Find it. Feel it. Love it.

Could you tell me a time when you felt lost?

I used to be as free as a paper boat, naive, drifting and lusting for life. If blown off course I would find a way to simply make it my new journey. Suddenly drawn back, thumped, forced and silenced by a tidal wave of grief. I am under water now, I’m foreign, it’s darker.

Before realising I needed to adapt to my new life. learn to breathe and use my body differently, try harder to move forward. There was a moment of numb serenity and if I wanted to I could disappear, ignore everything, forget everything, stop breathing.

Constantly searching for the old me. Analysing my new mind that I didn’t like, my thoughts were darker, less stimulated, angry and spent. Without realising up until now nearly 2 years later. For the most part I’ve felt lonely, blindly searching for the elements of life that used to make me happy. There they were, they’ve always been there. Open arms and infinite laughter. The faces of my happiness. My friends, family and Otis. They were the remedy.

Whether my people were underwater, ashore or half a shin dipped in their own lives of pain or happiness I quickly realised that this is life. I chose my people and they chose me, we don’t always have to explain our sorrowful mundane or analyse a way out. They stand without judgement and I will forever hold these people safe and close to my chest.

Today I have learnt the layers of my ocean and finally I can breathe under water. I spend most days happier, above the current with broken shells pieced together in my palms and pollen dust in my hair. Occasionally I will go for a dip, I’m in control. I don’t know where I’m going next but walking or swimming I will surrender.

Hey world, do you care what happens here? Do we matter to you? Do you see us? Do you?

A week after the Taliban takeover of the country, many Afghans are uncertain of what it will mean for their lives and their safety. Here, a young female student shares her fears about her future. The BBC is not identifying her to protect her safety.

"It is the seventh day since the country collapsed, the president escaped, and the Taliban, once again, came to power.

We are left behind...

Fear has taken over my whole being, and as the days pass, I can feel how hope fades away from within me. It gets replaced with frustration. All I can see is darkness, uncertainty, and a not so bright future.

I will be killed certainly. I have reasons to be...

This is how it feels when the ones you are afraid of occupy the country.

Imagine being on a long road, with no end, with hazy weather; alone.

I have witnessed so many hurdles in my life, many that no other girl would be able to tolerate. I could manage to overcome them, but this...

Hey world, do you care what happens here? Do we matter to you? Do you see us? Do you?

For those who are listening, for those who care, I am writing this. I am saying this.

We are suffering here, we are being left behind.

Living with fear is no less than death. It is worse.

If you are listening to us, help us. Help us survive, and once again believe in light and rise; stronger than before.

We want our country back. Want our people to live the way they want, the way they deserve.

Tell your countries to stop war - war is ugly, it has a dirty face, it has no winner. The heart is too tiny to bear war, to bear its consequences.

We are the fruit of war, some young girls drown in uncertainties, in fear, in doubts... looking for somebody to help us survive. Looking at our families and crying for being unable to do anything.

Looking at the sky and asking from him: do you see us, will you help us? Shall I have hope, that little hope!

Hey world, hey people living out there, lucky you! I envy the life you live.

Look at us. I was the one with so many big dreams, dreams of helping others and now I am seeking help.

This is war. Will I be able to ever say: We did it? We could make it? Will I?"

LINK - BBC Afghanistan Crisis

TIMES MAGAZINE “How to help people in Afghanistan”

CHOOSE LOVE

SAVE THE CHILDREN

RED CROSS

Could you tell me a time you felt disappointment?

Setting very high standards was once exclusively a positive thing to me, but now these somewhat unattainable standards are like a self prescribed drug in which I can’t stop consuming, even though they can push me into dark holes where escape becomes a vigorous mental battle.

In my industry, performance is everything, not performing to the ability I believe I can, can cause major self disappointment which applies a lot of mental strain. Dropping a ball for example, missing a tackle or not having the right answer for a question are all things that can occur daily for me, and I back myself 100% of the time to perform highly in each, but when I don’t it’s like a sharp dagger to the heart with only myself to blame.

Having recognised this self destroying act I proceed to do daily I’m starting to figure out ways to counter it and see more positives than negatives, the book “Grennlights” by Matthew McConaughey taught me to recognise these moments better but only pick the good shit out of them, I now call these green lights.

Could you tell me a time you felt unmoored?

I have always been on the move, physically, and internally. Growing up, I was a gymnast and a horseback rider, and loved to run. In college I picked up sailing, and traveled around the world taking sailing jobs. I don’t have to think very hard to understand where this need for constant momentum comes from- it is because I have an extremely active mind, which never stops, even when I sleep. Constantly, my head is flooded with thoughts, ideas for creative endeavours, hopes, dreams, plans and, let's face it- a lot of anxiety. While I am on the move, this is all well and good, but as soon as I complete my task, I find myself on the move again, but not necessarily in any particular direction. I never knew how to describe this feeling, so I began to identify it as “unmoored.” It is as if I am a tiny boat with no sails and nothing to anchor to, being tossed around by waves larger than itself. It’s compass is broken and spinning. It is near impossible to find a safe harbor again.

Anyone who has gone on a big adventure knows the confusion of returning home that follows. You have been away, growing, developing- you are not the same person as you were when you left. And then you come home to the same place, the same people, attempting to settle back into the routine that used to be suitable. I remember the first time I really felt this way. I lived on a large sailing ship, conducting oceanographic research, crewing the vessel, and spending every waking moment with the same 18 people for three months straight. The routine was exciting, everything we did had an important purpose, from checking the bilges to make sure we weren’t taking on water, to trimming the sails to maintain our heading. And then, all of a sudden, it was over. For three months, I hadn’t entered a building, any sort of structure at all, and then I was in the San Juan airport, waiting for my flight back home. I was acutely unmoored, as I watched every single one of my shipmates board their flights to their respective homes. I was completely and utterly alone, as my flight was hours after the last of my shipmates left. I remember the feeling that something was missing, as if I still needed to check the bilges or trim the sails, or just talk to one of my shipmates. My phone was less than interesting. Nothing seemed important any longer. I was as lost as lost could be. Upon my return, I remember feeling completely shell shocked, unsure of how to explain my experience to my family and friends. “How was it?” they would ask with a huge smile and a big hug. How wasn’t it? I would think to myself. It was everything. “It was great,” I would reply. But “great” didn’t seem to cover it. There was nothing to think about but keeping the boat afloat, at the end of the day. Because of how unique my experience was, I thought there was no way anyone else could understand what I was feeling. 

For months I felt this way, directionless, unmoored, my internal compass was spinning out of control. I felt like a soda can that had been all shaken up, but the lid was still on, filled with potential energy, but no way to convert it to kinetic energy. I had never felt more stuck, until I found my next adventure, my next direction. Here is the most important thing that I have learned from feeling like this: that there is always a way to find your next heading. Rely on your eyes, not the compass. We are natural navigators, and the correct direction is the way you are already going. And yes, sometimes we get lost in a squall of thoughts, with nowhere to turn for an outlet, but there is always something, some next big adventure that follows. Ride out the storm, and then life will follow.

Could you tell me a time you felt misunderstood?

A while back I was lying in an A and E dept of busy hospital having arrived by ambulance a few hours earlier. After a considerable amount of time spent with dedicated and caring NHS staff, I was discussing my situation with an experienced nurse practitioner. You know she said ‘you don’t look like someone with a chronic long-term illness’. It is meant as a kind thoughtful response which reflects a desire to make the recipient feel good about themselves. But it also frustrating, and I want to explain why. 

This happens a lot – folks who know a little about my health issues judge my physical and mental wellbeing from my appearance. I have renal failure and must undergo daily dialysis sessions. The focus of my life is to remain healthy enough to undergo a transplant operation, a stressful and time-consuming exercise. I do manage to control my weight and take care of my physical appearance, but this takes a toll on my mental state – I recognize that I can be prone to anger frustration and moodiness. My standard response to folks complementing me on my physical appearance is to smile politely; inwardly I’m screaming ‘I’m not okay’. 

Of course, the nurse understood my health condition, and given time (not available in an NHS A and E Department), I’m sure she would have been happy to sit, talk and listen. Other people in society don’t listen or miss the cues which encourage others to open up about their worries, frustrations and concerns. But its more complicated than that; we are conditioned by society not to complain. Society expects us to respond positively and in an upbeat way to those who ask us how we are in the morning. But we can’t be upbeat and optimistic all the time and family and friends need to try and pick up on cues, both verbal and physical which suggest that a person needs additional support and encouragement. 

Over the last 12 months I have had the encouragement of some friends and family which has been enormously beneficial. Others, for whatever reason have been less forthcoming. Part of this is due to their busy lives or taking the easy option of avoiding the challenge of knowing what the right thing to do and say is at a time of need. I’m nearly in my seventh decade of life and come from a generation which wasn’t, by-and-large encouraged communicate their emotions. It’s my perception that young people are, by and large better at communicating their feeling and looking out for others well-being. But this goes further and deeper – it doesn’t mean that every interaction requires a deep dive into a person’s inner most feelings but sometimes that friend might be crying out for the chance to say:- ‘I’m not okay’ and open up a discourse. If we are ready to listen, look for cues and offer a shoulder to cry on we may make will make that friends day! I have benefited from these experiences on occasion, and they lift the spirits, realising that someone cares about my wellbeing. 

In my professional life I was a manager in an international financial institution. Thinking back I now realise I was sometimes guilty of not being as empathetic as I should have been to the worries and concerns of staff. With the knowledge I’ve accumulated over the last few years I hope that I’m better equipped to help others in need of support when times are hard. I’ll certainly try.

Could you tell me a time you felt love?

I grew up in a society that conditioned me to believe I would fall “in love” when a charming prince rolled out of nowhere with a bouquet of flowers for me. I waited and waited for this fairytale like man to walk into my life. Little did I know that the love that I always looked for within a romantic relationship was always available to me, within me. The day I started to understand the concept of self love, my whole life changed and after months of working on it, one day it happened. I woke up and I was in this place, in this place where not only was I at peace with every single one of my flaws, but I had learn to love them for they made me the woman I had become. I hugged myself, comprehending that I was the only person who could truly see the real beauty and worth of the battle scars within me. I started to enjoy my own presence, and as selfish as it may sound, my happiness and peace became my priority. And as I continued spending time with myself, learning things about me I didn’t know before, not only did the love for myself grew, but so did my love for life.

Could you tell me a time you felt suicidal?

Trigger Warning // Suicide // Sexual Violence

Until a few months ago, I would have told you that I didn’t know what it felt like to be suicidal. Suicide existed in my mind as a very specific scenario. Not circumstances or the act itself, but the result - a tragic end to a desperate situation. So you’ll need to excuse my surprise when a few months ago, while recounting an experience to my therapist, she used the word suicidal in response. Upon hearing the word that conjures up imagery of such desperation, my brain immediately disagreed. As I recoiled from my defensive spring, I realised, she was right. I was suicidal, just not in the way one would typically imagine. 

Almost exactly a year ago, I started counselling with Rape Crisis Grampian. Amidst the loneliness and boredom of lockdown, I was left alone with my thoughts and feelings around my various traumatic experiences. A huge part of the reason I ended up in counselling with Rape Crisis is because I had previously been in an emotionally abusive relationship in which I was raped. 

I’ve always found its difficult to explain how it feels to be in an emotionally abusive relationship. The ways in which the abuser demeans can be so subtle that recounting isolated incidents can sound like nothing. But these incidents are not nothing. Over time these incidents form a pattern of behaviour which ultimately cause intense harm. 

Through the abuse, my reactions to seemingly minor incidents became more and more explosive. I would react defensively, determined to stick up for myself and gain some sense of control. In turn, this made it seem like I was causing the arguments. My self-esteem, perception of myself and the world had all been brought into question until I no longer knew who I was. I genuinely thought I was going crazy. That time in my life was dark, and lonely. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me while it was happening, so how could I possibly articulate it to anyone else? 

I thought my only way out of this relationship was to take my own life. At 23 years old, I had plans to end my life at 40. 

I’m 28 now. One year and three months away from being 30, and I can’t imagine taking my own life. My dream of owning a cafe became a reality, and in turn it has raised over £6,000 in income to artists in my local community in just one year. I’m in a loving, committed relationship with the most wonderful human and I’m closer to my friends than ever. Most importantly, my relationship with myself has dramatically improved. I’m finally seeing my self worth. I’m getting to a place where I can quickly recognise and respond to my emotions. I know who I am, and you know what, I like myself, finally. 

I can’t imagine wanting to end my life in just over 10 years. I have a lot more to experience and so much more to offer the world. I’m grateful for my life and all the people in it. I’m extremely grateful for the help that Rape Crisis Grampian have offered over the past year. 

I would urge anyone in a similar situation to please reach out and get the help that you deserve. Whether you’re still in an abusive relationship (or you think you might be), whether you’ve left an abusive relationship, or if you’ve been sexually assaulted or raped - please consider contacting any of these organisations:

rapecrisisscotland.org.uk victimsupport.scot galop.org.uk (LQBTQ+) womensaid.scot (specific aid for women) abusedmeninscotland.org (specific aid for men)

Could you tell me a time you felt calm?

When my anxiety comes knocking there is only one place I want to be and that’s in the water. Outside factors affecting my mental health are quickly washed away when I find myself swimming from the shallows out into the deep. 

The tingly feeling of the water around my body as my wetsuit fills up…the repeated arm movements of the stroke, all these things focus my mind on being in the water and nothing else. 

In recent years I have always had some swim events to train for, more recently I swam the length of Windermere so my training swims have been long and I probably didn’t appreciate just how much the water puts me in that calm state. With COVID and the opportunity to pack up and head for a swim being taken away it made me understand just how much the water means to me and my life. I’ve had no events to train for and so I have got a new appreciation for the water and the benefits to me, sometimes a dip is just what my mind needed. 

Finishing a swim its like all my worries have been left in the bottom of the water and I can focus on the things that really matter, I am in a much calmer place.

Could you tell me a time you felt at peace?

When everything feels too much I go to the coast. When curveballs catch me off guard. When my phone won’t stop pinging. When I’m completely burnt out and over-socialised and out of balance. 

When I need to reconnect I know that I’ll find solace in the sea. 

Whether the sun is blazing or the wind is howling. No matter if it’s hammering it down with rain or the waves are surging up the slipway, sometimes I’lll find myself in mood so bad that there’s only one thing that’ll cure it. 

I bundle my dog into the boot of the car, slinging in a swimsuit after her. Without turning on the radio I’ll drive to the farm lane that leads to my favourite swim spot in silence. The second the salty sea air licks my face I feel a sense of relief. Trade winds tease my hair. My dog sets off down the track without hesitation. 

As always the slip is deserted. I leave my clothes in a hasty bundle by my backpack and my bare feet carry me towards the water. The second my toes touch the surface my mind slows. I stop thinking of endless to-do lists, anxieties and arguments. I am entirely present. The only things that exist are me and the sea. 

Wading out I regain my sense of control. Taking the plunge is hard, but I know I’ll do it. I relish in my willpower. I feel brave. Time almost stops. I take a deep breath and smile slightly as I slide beneath the surface. 

It’s so quiet under the water. I open my eyes to the out-of-focus blue that greets me. I let the cold water swathe me. I look towards the light above, shining through from one world to another. And I feel at peace. 

My breath escapes in a stream of bubbles. I resurface. Back in the cold air, I still feel at peace.

Photography By @dgray76dc

Could you tell me a time you felt hopelessness?

As I kid, I am absolutely certain adults must have described me as a sensitive soul. I’ve been a worrier for as long as I can remember, and I literally think caring deeply about everyone and everything is imprinted in my DNA. 

When I was six, I accidentally headbutted my aunt’s cat - and I was inconsolable. I can still remember how I, after the headbutt, was sitting at the bottom of my aunt’s stairs, crying heavily while holding Lillebror (Swedish for little brother) in my lap. Because if my head was hurting (which it most certainly did), I could only imagine how sore Lillebror must have been. So I cried, and cried, and cried. 

As a grown up I still feel all the feelings, and I feel them hard - and that is exactly why it was so scary when I, one day, suddenly didn’t feel them anymore. It was in October, 2019, and I was sitting in the audience of a Paul Simon tribute show. The star of the show was Josh Turner, and he was accompanied by the beyond talented, UK-based, South African Cultural Gospel Choir. They were playing Paul Simon’s entire Graceland album, live – and if I had been myself, I would have been absolutely beside myself with joy. Because I love Paul Simon. But instead of joy, I felt nothing that day. I felt numb. 

I remember so vividly sitting next to my husband, and wondering if I’d ever be happy again. Would I ever laugh again? Would I ever get excited? Because at that point in time, I felt empty. Things that used to excite me, didn’t excite me anymore - and that scared me. Because I honestly questioned if this numbness would be a feeling I’d be stuck with for the rest of my life. And that, made me feel hopeless. 

When you encounter a negative feeling for the first time, it baffles you. It scares you, and it makes you worry. It makes you wonder if those happy feelings you once used to feel were even real, or if they simply were part of a pretty illusion. Negative thoughts are scary, but please know that they aren’t definite. They might visit your mind from time to time, but they will never define who you are. 

Since that October, I have realised that negative thoughts visit me when there’s something important I should look into, or reconsider. Back then, the hopelessness arose due to my, then, career. I had recently taken on a role that seemed and sounded flashy, but that simply wasn’t for me. Hence, my body and brain felt out of place – and the numbness set it. Something was wrong, and my body knew this long before I did. 

I’m not saying that all bad feelings are here to teach us something – because some days you just feel like shit, and that’s completely OK. But what I’m trying to say, however, is that it is important to remember that bad feelings won’t last forever. And when you do feel bad, remember to allow yourself to rest. Cut back on all the made up musts and haves, and focus on taking care of yourself. Because the most important thing of all is to always look after number one. And who’s number one? That’s right, it’s YOU. 

And for my hopelessness? I think it stayed for another week or two before it (thankfully) flew the nest. I stayed within the company for another six or so months, but decided to start my own freelance writing business when COVID hit. Today I’m writing two days a week, and working at the sweetest deli four days a week, while slowly building my business. Life changes, and so do you - so don’t let the bad chapters define who you are. Because you know what? Your life is a bloody good book, and good books always have satisfying endings.

Could you tell me a time when you felt unashamed?

I always used to find it strange that regardless of status, class, race or gender there has always been so much stigma and shame around mental health. Shame projected towards individuals who are actively practising mental self-care and shame projected onto individuals who struggle with mental illness. As someone who personally lives with mental illness, there is much that I learnt about mental health that I am daily unlearning as I grow in mental wellness. The learnings around mental health come in various phases from when one is born; as babies, our cognitive development is either celebrated or shamed based on what we can do by when. The abilities fitting the ‘normal’ timelines are celebrated and rewarded, anything outside of this normal is immediately shamed and ridiculed as being abnormal and not okay. 

In our adolescent stage; youths' ability to cope with their changing bodies, self-discovery and social engagement whilst doing well at school, being happy, and healthily communicating their emotions can be seen as physical expressions of mental wellness. Once again when a youth expresses anything outside or different from the above behaviours we easily write that young person off as being difficult, not taking life seriously or simply bad at decision making. Once again shame surfaces and instead of creating self spaces for healthy inclusion our society has been systematically built to exclude those who fall outside of social norms not just financially, racially but also emotionally. In adult life the expectation shifts and again we are introduced to more scales of measurement for our mental health, the shame never quite leaves throughout the various stages of life. Many adults struggle to even speak about their emotional and mental health struggles as social expectations once again remind them that anything outside of the said norm is unacceptable. 

At 21 I was diagnosed with depression and could never speak about it until I was in my late twenties. Mental illness and mental health are a challenging experience on their own but the added weight of shame is very difficult for anyone regardless of age to carry. I call the above, the mental health shame culture. As an optimist, I believe for every negative there is always a greater and more liberating positive. Instead of talking negatively about mental health or completely avoiding the conversation what if we curate a shameless positive culture surrounding mental health from birth until old age.

Unlearning shame is imperative for us to build a healthier society where people are not only medicated to support their well-being but also experience the possibility of healing spaces and healing communities. I have had the privilege of working at Waves for Change since 2018, a youth-focused mental health service non-profit in South Africa. Waves for Change is an example of a model which encapsulates various age groups, the power of creating a shameless mental health society and creating mental health positive communities where people are encouraged to be, to share, learn and thrive without shame or stigma. 

Working at Waves for Change I can say has been a destiny defining experience for my mental health. As being in this space has allowed me to learn about mental health through a new lens, a lens that holds no shame or stigma. I have learnt about safe spaces that even though we have grown up in a culture where mental health is unaddressed or shamed that we have the power to curate safe spaces for conversations about mental health. I have learnt to embrace neurodiversity and be open to learning how other people think. What I love about the Waves for Change model is that it is built on a values system called ‘Being Bananas’ - Respect, protect, communicate. I believe these three values are the golden thread that makes the difference in our human experience. As I mentioned in the beginning the mental health shame culture begins from birth and is unfortunately reinforced throughout our lives until we are old. 

I invite you dear reader to unlearn and relearn like I have by using the Bananas Culture; respect, protect and communicate. From birth to adulthood we have the opportunity to curate a shameless mental health narrative and reinforce the Bananas culture to replacing the mental health shame culture. 

We can all practise being Bananas; to feel free, embrace the beauty and shameless power of our mental health journey at every phase in life. Mental health is a systemic issue that needs to be deconstructed and rebuilt to encourage a positive understanding of mental health as a critical part of physical health. The Bananas culture is a critical building block in society as we deconstruct old harmful systems and rebuild healthy, inclusive and liberating systems. There is no shame in any part of the mental health spectrum just hope, inclusion and diversity. I remember a time when I felt unashamed it was when my mental health became my superpower it is when I began living by the Bananas culture.

Could you tell me a time you felt overwhelmed?

I regularly and always put a huge amount of expectation on myself with the different challenges I set myself day to day and even week to week. In the start of 2020, I was made redundant from a job which, to be frank I wasn't particularly enjoying and really wasn't too sure what way to turn or what actually to do. 2020 was a tough year for so many. Not just me with everything going on.

I love cycling. For me it's a huge escapism, a way to focus and train. A way to batter my body and truly test my limits. I used to work in Architecture and basically quit all of that about 6 years ago now as I could feel myself spiralling downwards negatively, in an incredibly volatile way. I needed to change my life to be able to survive.

After being made redundant, I knew I just wanted to find a way to ride my bike. To go and explore (which I was not so able to do) and try to inspire others to take on their own challenges for worthy causes. I managed to do some challenges thankfully which I'm so proud of how much they have raised for charity.

Being overwhelmed. It's something I struggle with often. Feeling like I'm in too deep, feeling like I'm continually judged for what I'm doing and trying to do. I'm not the most normal cyclist, I'm tall, have a bit of a tummy and struggle massively with my own self image and how others perceive me too.

Sometimes you just have to step back, take a breath and go for a little spin.