Lockdown has got me thinking. And writing. Properly, for the first time in years. I’ll admit, I’ve been vaguely aware I haven’t put energy into expanding my emotional mind for a while. But I didn’t really know. It was only ever in my peripheral vision.
It wasn’t until the wild stimulation of my typical day was removed that I realized it – no hectic commute, no interruptions, no parties, no general London hubbub. Stylist described it as ‘lockdown hangover’ which I really resonated with. Alcohol is uninvolved in this sort of hangover, it’s the sudden fatigue experienced following loss of the constant stimulation that comes with fast paced city life.
And so, I’ve been collecting my thoughts for several weeks. They didn’t need prompting. They’ve unfolded on the stage of my mind in enthralling detail, labyrinth like, with hundreds of plot lines crossing and pushing to be performed.
One of those plots dances around my personal history, how I’ve grown up and the steps I’ve learned so far. I’d like reflect on some of that choreography here, poignant because at the time of writing it was mental health week and that’s the theme of this post.
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Before the curtains open, a qualification. This is not an emotional story of my past, it’s a short, factual outline followed by some related observations. It ladders up to 5 beliefs I now Iive by.
Let’s briefly rewind to summer 2002. I was diagnosed with a mental illness just before my 11th birthday and spent a decade in its grip to varying degrees. To be completely honest, I can’t remember happiness as a teenager. That's not to say I never experienced it, but it's not in any resounding memory. It’s not surprising that I found an outlet in literature and art during my GCSEs and sixth form; absorbed in the stream of consciousness of Virginia Woolfe I could write about it for pages and pages, because I really experienced the emotions I read about. Looking through my old school books I even found an extended essay I wrote aged 17 about the pursuit of happiness, desperately but unsuccessfully searching for a way to bottle it. What. A. Cliché.
Now, I feel empowered to say I’ve been in recovery for nearly 8 years, and counting. My history does not define me, but it’s taught me a lot. It’s hard to explain. In some ways I can’t comprehend some of the things I did and felt all those years ago. Other things are inextricable parts of my personality, like my relentless determination and perfectionism; traits that can be either immensely constructive or powerfully destructive.
The oddest realisation is that I can see now my life was effectively on hold for the period I was unwell. When I say life, really I mean experiences. My emotional development continued, but my exposure to 'normal' teenage milestones was stalled. I literally have gaps in my memory for some of it. But it suddenly feels eerily familiar because that’s our current state. Paused.
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Before I go into my personal learnings, I’d like to recount a perspective from Bella Mackie, author ofJog On, that resonated with me. I recently listened to Bella talk about mental health on an oldepisode of the High Low, reflecting on her book, which tells of how finding running led to an escape from clinical anxiety and depression. The thing that really stuck with me was her candid passion about the distinction between mental health and wellness. Both are terms that are already losing meaning in a culture desperately trying to normalise what should already be accepted; but that we have ironically made unacceptable through long projected ideals and impossible goals.
Let me explain. Mental illness is debilitating. For example, I know I am no longer mentally ill because I can manage my emotions and my life, live happily and deal with difficult feelings when they arise. Sometimes it gets too much when I’m tired, but that’s just human. Being truly mentally ill renders that impossible. Logic and reason are not within reach. Decisions are out of your control. You do things you don’t want to do, you don’t do things you do what to do, and a lot of the time you just don’t know, so you do nothing.
On the other hand, wellness is a trend. It’s practicing healthy self-talk, listening, taking care of yourself physically and mentally, eating well, going for walks, taking a bath, the list goes on. It’s influencers posting about how they’ve had a hard day so they’re going to do a 10 min live meditation for us all to join in with. It's positive quotes contained in Tweets and perfect Instagram squares. I say that ironically despite the fact it is genuinely great. It just cannot and should not be muddled with real, debilitating emotions that come with mental illness. Everything is a sliding scale and I’ll always be an advocate for self-love, but sometimes that isn’t enough and people need more help than that. Bella, thanks for voicing that.
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Still with me? Don’t worry, this is the final chapter: what I’ve learnt. These 5 points all stem from my personal experiences but I believe they're true for most people, not just me. I’d love to know what you think.
1. I am not special
This is possibly the most important and provocative thing I’ve learned. I don’t mean that in a self-deprecating way, I just mean that it’s completely irrelevant now. Lots of people have difficult periods in their lives and overcome them. I am simply one of those people. As Sally Rooneywould say, it’s normal.
2. I am not damaged
Slash weird, slash different. In the same way no-one is for being unwell. The main reason I’ve never been open about it before is because I don’t want mental illness to be part of how I am judged. I am a different person to who I was all those years ago, yet my capacity as a friend and colleague is actually improved by the experiences I’ve had. I'm more self aware, I'm more perceptive, I'm more caring. In fact, sometimes I have a sense that I've aged beyond my years (then I get horribly drunk and snap back to reality).
All in all, I believe I’m far enough on to be able to acknowledge I'm in recovery without it having a negative impact on how people see me. In fact, I also believe being 'in recovery' is a permanent state for anyone managing past mental illness. Writing about it is both terrifyingly vulnerable and powerfully liberating.
3. You can create your identity
While some personality traits will always stay, I believe that if you decide to reinvent yourself, you can. I spent my entire senior school career known for being ill which I loathed. I decided when I went to University I would create an entirely new identity for myself. So I did.
I’ll never forget the day I started at Durham and Dad told me shaking in my room that he and my Mum were going to leave, and that I was going to walk into the common room with a huge smile on my face and ask lots of people, lots of questions. I was terrified of having nothing to talk about from my life, it having been largely a tale of hospitals and studying. Dad told me I needed to convince myself ‘that’ wasn’t me, and act hard to come across differently. He said soon I would become the person I projected, as new friends reacted to it.
As Siannise would say, it was 100% true. Not only do I count some of my now greatest friends among those I met that day, but also people STILL tell me proactively that they remember me as the smiliest, bubbliest person in that common room on day one. It's something I'm still proud of, and which proves to me this belief is true. Thanks Dad, it's one of the most powerful things you've taught me.
4. You can retrain your emotional brain
Related to no. 3, but broader than your identity. I never believed that I would really enjoy being outgoing, dancing, parties, even just talking to people. All I did was practise. When I started I felt very out of sync, challenging myself constantly. Forcing myself out of my room, rehearsing small talk, dreading parties. Now, I’m stuck in isolation craving contact with any friend who’ll listen. Get me to a party.
The way I react emotionally now, compared to the same situations a decade ago is completely unrecognisable. And since then I’ve studied Psychology and know that’s reflected in the biology of our brain. Neural connections are learned, and because of that we can effectively rewire it. Human cognition really is mind blowing.
5. True motivation unlocks anything
This one is the hardest to put into words because it sounds heartbreakingly simple, but it’s so hard to actually do. Let’s start with the simple explanation: I believe that if you want to do something, really, you’ll do it. If you don’t, you probably won’t. Surprise surprise, that's another thing from Dad which made more sense than what doctors told me for years.
To make any significant change in your life you have to make a decision. I decided that I wanted to recover, so I did. But before I decided that, I wasted a decade not deciding to recover. I stayed ill. I didn't even realise the power of it. Obviously there are more complexities to individual experiences but at the core I wholeheartedly believe that if you want to do something and you actively decide to pursue it, you can. That’s how I roll now, and so far it’s working out.
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Coming back to the start of this post, lockdown really has got me thinking. Life’s on pause right now and I feel incredibly glad to be experiencing that from the fortunate position I am in - safe, well and with the ability to reflect. Like I said, although many parts of me have evolved there are some parts of me that will never change. I feel newly strong, and consistently determined. And I'm so excited for the next Act.
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