Write-Off Weeks

Last week was a struggle. Why? Because my anxiety and depression were worse than “usual” (which gets redefined regularly, depending on the variety and severity of symptoms I experience over a several weeks or so). That’s it. Nothing bad happened. I just felt worse.

A lot of people find this hard to accept: how can someone feel significantly worse for no apparent reason? I find it hard to accept, though experience teaches me again and again that it happens.

I have given up trying to analyse every fluctuation in my mood, because often there is no reason for changes in my symptoms. Even when I can pinpoint potential reasons, I can’t be certain whether they are causes or correlations — sometimes “reasons” are present but don’t affect my mental health. Winter, of course, presents its own litany of potential reasons — cold, wet, dark… Yet my mood isn’t always constant throughout winter.

I’m trying to be more compassionate towards myself and practice self-care, so I didn’t pressure myself as much as I have in the past. I gave myself permission to do whatever I could, even if that meant I did nothing. I focused on my priorities, but didn’t have the energy to fulfil all of them. In fact, the week was pretty much a write-off.

I feel guilty for neglecting my work, studies and volunteering, but part of me realises I could have done nothing more. Actually, I managed to go to all of my gym classes and walk the dog on my own, despite the heightened anxiety, which means the week was more of a success than it felt at the time. I tend to be strict when it comes to exercise, because it’s one of the main ways I manage my mental health. Skipping a session leads to more depression and anxiety; it also makes the next session much harder to do, creating a downward spiral.

I’m focusing on combining self-compassion with being strict about completing activities which help me to manage my mental health in the run up to Christmas. Christmas is difficult for me, but I also love it. I like the sense of togetherness and celebrating the days getting (gradually) lighter again. I like making time to watch films and bake. I love Brussels sprouts, cinnamon and tinsel. I enjoy buying presents and seeing colourful lights everywhere.

Yet some aspects of Christmas aren’t easy to deal with. I get frustrated when I make an effort and other people can’t be bothered, despite being far more able than me. It’s not a fun time to be single either, though at least I don’t have to deal with someone else’s family as well as my own! I shall be referring to my Christmas Survival Guide (and Part Two and Part Three) to help me through.

I have been feeling better since Friday, so I wonder if getting November out of the way has helped. November is the worst month of the year, in my opinion, so it’s always hard to cope. My plan is to concentrate on the things I like about this time of year and look forward to 2018.

I’m also in a reflective mood, brough on by the combination of the end of the year and my final counselling session on Friday. I have achieved a lot this year, but it hasn’t made a great deal of difference to my daily life. I’m still earning next to nothing and relying on working tax credits. I still have an enormous amount of debt. I’m still stuck living with my parents. I still have mental health problems which convince me I’m worthless and better off dead.

Yet trekking to Machu Picchu and being an integral part of a crowdfunding campaign which raised £15,070 for The Project have given me touchstones. I have achieved significant things this year and nobody can take them away from me — not even my mental illness. 

I may not have transformed my life, but I have completed a long-held life goal and made a difference. I have inspired at least one other person to chase her dreams — despite also struggling with mental illness. I may not feel confident a lot of the time, but I think my self-esteem has improved and I’m more willing to take on challenges.

I need to remind myself that while some weeks, or even months, will be write-offs, it doesn’t mean my life as a whole is a write-off.

Losing Spoons

The past couple of weeks have been difficult for me, mainly because I have been losing spoons.

The Spoon Theory is an analogy which helps explain how long term illnesses or conditions can deplete one’s limited energy. It was created by Christine Miserandino, who explains it here. I have previously written about my interpretation of Spoon Theory here and here. The basic concept is that everyone has a limited number of spoons, or units of energy, and when your spoons are limited by an illness or condition, you need to be very selective about how you spend them.

Spoons aren’t guaranteed.

The number of spoons available to you on any given day can vary — sometimes a lot. For example, on a good day I might have 25 spoons whereas I might have only 10 on a bad day. Most days, I average 15-20. The problem is, I don’t know how many spoons I will get in the future. This make planning problematic…

It’s a bit like getting paid a daily wage and never knowing how much you will receive. The amount sometimes bears a resemblance to your actions, i.e. the “work” you do, but there often seems to be no correlation. All you can do is invest, save and spend your spoons wisely — or rather, in what you hope is a wise way!

My current issue is that the number of spoons available to me, on average, have dropped over the past couple of weeks.

I partly expected this, because I attended two very important but anxiety-inducing social events a couple of weeks ago. As I have explained before, even when social occasions have been pleasant and enjoyable, it takes me a few days to recover.

However, the effect has been more dramatic than I anticipated. I think I may be fighting off a cold-type virus, as I have been tired and achy recently and sometimes my throat is scratchy. My mood has dipped too, as it is wont to do at this time of year, so my depression is absorbing more of my energy and motivation.

Accepting low spoon levels.

Having fewer spoons sucks, especially as I had been getting into a good routine with my writing, Open University course and volunteer work. Unfortunately, getting upset about the situation just uses up more spoons! It’s frustrating, because I feel like there should be a reason for losing spoons — perhaps I did something wrong or neglected some of the activities which give me more energy — but I can’t find one. It’s part and parcel of experiencing long term mental health problems.

The most annoying aspect of having few spoons to spend is being forced to narrow my priorities further than usual.

Having little energy means I have had to neglect very important parts of my life, because I need to prioritise my mental health first and foremost, followed by my work. I have no other option. I hate having to do it, but I can’t spend spoons which aren’t available to me.

It’s hard not to feel anxious about this state of affairs. I feel guilty for havig to cut back on my volunteer work and not seeing my friends very often. However, anxiety costs more spoons so I’m trying to avoid stressing out about the situation, since I have very little control over it (though that’s easier said than done!).

Moving through the mist.

All I can do is keep moving, even when my way is obscured. Giving in to frustration is detrimental — it won’t help myself or the people I think I’m letting down. I also try to remind myself that I’m not as depressed and anxious as I have been in the past: I may have fewer spoons, but at least I have spoons.

I will make an effort to acknowledge and appreciate what I am managing to do, though I wish I could do more. I submitted my first Open University assignment today, after neglecting it for the past few weeks. I wish I had been able to prepare it over a longer period of time, instead of writing it over the few days before it was due, but I’m glad I got it done.

I hope to get more spoons again soon, but I’m coping with the number I’m getting — which I suppose is good.

Self-Care: Simple and Complex

Self-care is a popular topic — and for good reason — but it tends to be oversimplified. 90% of the posts about self-care I see on social media don’t mention any of the issues involved. Lists of “100 acts of self-care”  make good clickbait and seem fun to share, but for many of us with mental health issues, they are intimidating and patronising.

All too often, self-care is promoted as a simple solution to mental health problems. The tasks advocated seem easy — to people whose mental health is relatively good — so we are told there is no excuse for not doing them. It’s rarely acknowledged that these “simple” tasks are almost impossible during bad episodes of mental illness.

There are exceptions to this glib approach to self-care, usually in social media posts and other materials produced by mental health organisations. The Blurt Foundation is particularly good at promoting self-care whilst addressing how difficult it can be and has a good self-care section on its website. However, many people and organisations have a lot to learn about how to present self-care in ways which are relevant to everybody.

Since it’s self-care week, I thought I would take the opportunity to discuss why self-care is more complex than it appears — especially for people, like me, who experience long term mental health issues.

 

There are different types of self-care — which vary in accessibility.

A major problem with any list of self-care activities is that a proportion of them will be difficult for many people to access or complete. When you see “20 easy ways to practice self-care” as a heading, bear in mind that none of them is easy for people experiencing mental illness and many will be impossible for people whose symptoms are moderate to severe. The ability to perform these tasks may also vary over the course of time — even from one hour to the next.

During the worst episodes of my mental illnesses, I was unable to do many of the “simple” self-care activities which people recommend most frequently: preparing a healthy meal, writing in my journal, seeing friends, going for a walk… In fact, the only act of self-care I was able to complete most days was getting out of bed. Usually because I needed to let the dog out.

You can try to practice self-care during relatively bad episodes of mental illness, but it’s important to select tasks which are appropriate for your current symptoms and situation. Getting dressed, taking a shower and making yourself a cup of tea are all acts of self-care which can make a difference to how you feel. They may seem ridiculously easy to someone who hasn’t experienced severe mental illness,but are very difficult when you are at your lowest ebb.

Tailoring your self-care plans to your current symptoms means they won’t always make sense to other people. For example, when my anxiety is bad but my depression is relatively good, I can do “difficult” tasks at home (cooking complex recipes, introspective exercises, running on the treadmill) but struggle to do anything outside, even a task which I have done many times before (walking the dog, going to the supermarket). You don’t need to explain yourself, but make sure you don’t judge yourself when other people express the assumptions and judgments they make about you. Mental illness isn’t logical.

Some of the activities depicted as self-care are so fraught with issues for people with mental health problems that they can leave you feeling worse. Anything which involves unfamiliar situations/environments/people, for example, is incredibly stressful for me. Getting a massage is not an act of self-care for me; it’s a situation which provokes anxiety when I think about the possibility! Going out for afternoon tea is a treat, but I don’t consider it self-care — allowing myself to be quiet and inactive for a few days afterwards to recover, however, is self-care.

Varying definitions of self-care are inevitable, especially when people have different mental health issues and different symptoms. For this reason, it’s important to define what self-care means for you. It’s also helpful to have different self-care strategies in place for different times/situations, depending on your mental health.

 

Sometimes self-care means not doing something.

Giving yourself permission to opt out of events and activities which could cause you distress and/or make your symptoms worse is a form of self-care. It’s a way of protecting yourself. Putting your needs first is not selfish — it’s necessary. Some people may accuse you of causing problems, but taking care of yourself is your main responsibility.

I feel guilty for refusing invitations, but I know the consequences if I go along with something which causes me more stress and anxiety than it’s worth. The people who really care about you will try to understand. They will see that you’re not being difficult for the sake of it and while they may be disappointed by your decision, they won’t hold it against you.

Another aspect of self-care is not getting caught up in other people’s emotions and judgments. If you explain the situation clearly and they take offence or accuse you of being selfish and manipulative, it’s their problem — not yours. Set boundaries in place and refuse to be drawn in. Stand firm on what’s right for you — it won’t be easy, but it’s easier than dealing with the consequences of not protecting yourself.

A note to anyone reading this who doesn’t understand why someone with mental health problems would refuse an invitation: events and activities which seem pleasurable to you can provoke a lot of anxiety and negative emotions. You may believe a party means only a few hours of discomfort for someone with anxiety, for example, but this is not the case. Instead, it means days (sometimes weeks) of anxiety beforehand, which may cause unpleasant symptoms like indigestion, diarrhoea and tension headaches. The “few hours of discomfort” actually feel like torture to someone with anxiety. When the part is over for you, it’s not over for someone with anxiety — they are left exhausted for at least a week and often ruminate on every little detail, worrying that people thought they were rude because they were too nervous to speak or that they embarrassed themselves in a million different ways. When someone with mental health problems refuses an invitation, please don’t try to guilt trip them into changing their minds — accept that they know what’s best for them and try to empathise.

A paradox in self-care is that sometimes not performing an act of self-care is self-care. This means recognising when a certain activity won’t deliver the benefits you hope, for example, forcing yourself to do a vigorous workout when you are already tired. Give yourself permission to do what you most need right now, even if that’s lying on the couch for a while.

 

 

Self-care doesn’t negate the need for help and support from others.

Self-care is not a substitute for mental health treatments and services, though it can form an important element of mental health management. It complements treatments like medication and talking therapies, which in turn can make it easier to practice self-care. While self-care is about taking care of yourself, it doesn’t mean you should struggle alone instead of getting help from other people.

Self-care is often presented as taking responsibility for yourself, but it’s seldom acknowledged that being able to take responsibility for yourself is a privileged position. You need to be well enough to practice self-care. Most people who experience mental illness need support from other people, in both personal and professional capacities — which should not be a source of shame.

Unfortunately, the language used in many social media posts, blogs and articles about self-care is careless. It implies that people who are unable to practice self-care are unworthy of help from other sources. Some people write about self-care as if it is “the answer” to our mental health crisis, which is untrue and potentially harmful.

Self-care is not a substitute for treatment or support. It’s a habit which we should all try to develop, whether or not we have experienced mental illness, without judging those who are unable to practice self-care. It can help us to achieve and maintain good mental health, but is not the only way to manage mental health.

 

Self-care needs to be practiced with self-compassion.

It’s not about creating a to-do list of tasks you “should” be doing, which often makes you feel worse. Don’t berate yourself for not being able to do certain tasks. Don’t feel guilty if a day, a week or a month passes without you being able to practice self-care. Do what you can, when you can.

Self-care starts with self-compassion and vice versa. When you believe you deserve compassion, you are motivated to practice self-care. When you practice self-care, you realise you deserve compassion.

Self-care is effective because it engenders self-compassion, leading to a positive spiral which changes how you feel about yourself. I realised this a few years ago, when I started making the effort to apply body lotion every week. My main motivation was getting rid of the dry skin on my knees, shins and elbows, but after several weeks I noticed it was beginning to change how I felt about myself and my body. It forced me to connect with my body, which I had always regarded with disgust, and taking time to do something for myself was powerful — it raised the possibility that myself and my body were worthy of time and effort.  A simple task shifted my mindset.

 

Self-care is not part of a reward/punishment system.

Self-care is not something you need to earn the right to practice: everyone deserves it. It’s not a reward for acting or feeling a certain way, or for doing something specific.  Conversely, it’s not a way of punishing yourself for not doing, thinking or feeling something different.

It’s about accepting yourself as you are, right now, and doing something to improve your mood, health or wellbeing. You don’t need to earn self-care or ask permission. You don’t need to tell anyone about it or keep it hidden. 

Neither is self-care a way to cancel out unhealthy or self-sabotaging behaviours. It’s not a column on a balance sheet, giving you permission to punish yourself as long as you counterbalance it with self-care. It’s not an excuse for not tackling unhealthy and harmful habits. It’s separate from your mental health issues and symptoms, although it influences your mental health in positive ways.

 

Check your self-care expectations.

Self-care is important and can have a big impact on your mental health and wellbeing, but it’s not a miracle cure. The effect is gradual and accumulates over time, especially as practicing self-care becomes a habit. It might make you feel better immediately, but it might not.

I find the best policy (for me) is to approach self-care with hope, but not expectation. I know there are possible benefits to any given act of self-care, but I don’t take them for granted. Most of the time, there are immediate benefits — often the satisfaction of completing a task! — but these are bonuses.

The long-term impact of self-care is also unpredictable and not guaranteed. Some of my self-care activities have produced positive results after months (or more) of seeming to have no impact; others have been effective after a short time. Many activities appear to be pointless until I stop doing them, at which point I notice my mood drops and other symptoms worsen.

I always find myself repeating that managing mental health involves a lot of trial and error, but it’s especially true for self-care. What works for you is often surprising. Something frivolous, like painting your nails, can have a bigger impact than it seems to merit. Other activities, like eating healthily, take so long to have an impact that it’s easy to get demotivated and give up. I think approaching self-care with the spirit of curiosity and experimentation is helpful.

The most powerful aspect of self-care is the act itself: by performing self-care you are telling yourself that you matter, you are valuable, you are worth the effort. And you are right!

Season of Mists

This picture sums up what mental illness feels like for me.

Mist behind gate

You can see nothing behind the gate, because it’s obscured by mist. If I tell you there is usually a picturesque view of trees, fields and a farmhouse, you have to either take my word for it or wait until the mist clears to see whether I’m right. For now, all you can see is the mist.

It’s the same when people tell me I can manage my mental health — or recover — enough to live the kind of life I want. To live my version of success, fulfilment and happiness. I can’t see past the mist, so I don’t know whether they are telling the truth.

It’s difficult to believe the mist will clear.

Even when I know what is behind the mist, i.e. my current life as I experience it when my mental health is relatively good, it’s hard to keep faith that the mist will clear. Or to believe, if it does clear, that the view will not have changed.

Part of me is always thinking “you can’t rely on anything” — every time I think I have something figured out, it has a tendency to fall apart. This isn’t always true, to be fair, but it has been true often enough in my experience that I tend to default to thinking everything will go wrong because that’s easier to deal with than the disappointment when I get my hopes up.

Long term mental illness wears you down that way. You think you can outrun it by working hard and using your coping strategies, but sometimes it catches you anyway and you lose stuff. Stuff like jobs, money, friends, self-esteem, confidence.

The mist is always ready to descend.

When things are going relatively well, you can’t fully relax or be optimistic because the mist is still hanging on the horizon. In a matter of minutes, it could creep up on you and obliterate the landscape.

With that in mind, I try to keep going in the right direction — even when I can’t see far ahead.

I use my compasses (life values like creativity, compassion and curiosity) and I hope that my next steps will become — and remain — clear.

Sometimes they do. Other times I’m wandering in the mist, lost, scared, alone and confused.

So when I talk about being scared of getting ill again, I’m not talking about the sniffles or feeling a bit subdued — I’m talking about the mist descending and obliterating everything in my life.

Mellow fruitfulness.

I keep reminding myself that according to Keats, autumn is not only the season of mists. There are blessings, which I try to seek out. I think I should think of my life in the same way: the mists may always be waiting to close in on me, but my life and experiences can still be fruitful.

 

Winterproofing

I tend to think of the clocks going back as a negative event: winter has always been a difficult time for me, bringing both physical illnesses and a decline in mental health. The past two winters have been particularly awful. Last winter, I was ill for nearly four months solid, with the flu, throat/chest infections and other viruses wreaking havoc. I couldn’t use the coping strategies I had put in place, as even the easiest took too much effort. My depression and anxiety got worse.

Sunrise

This year, I hope things will be different — but last winter has taught me that you can do almost everything “right” and still succumb to illness. 

There has been one benefit to the clocks going back that I haven’t appreciated/experienced in past years: the lighter mornings. Since I get up at 5am nowadays and take the dogs out around 6:10am, the change is obvious. We could walk up the lane again this morning, after being forced to take a different route (with streetlights) for the past few weeks. As you can see in the photo, the sunrise was glorious.

Prioritising Self-Care

While I can’t control everything, I am making sure I stick to my coping strategies and self-care activities. In particular, I am being strict about using my SAD lamp and exercising. I know it probably seems ridiculous to people who don’t understand how important these activities are in managing my mental health, but it’s necessary.

Sure, I feel like I’m being awkward when I tell my friends I can’t go out on the evenings I have gym classes, but I don’t want to risk damaging my mental health. My routine, combined with the physical exercise, helps me stay healthy. When I feel guilty for being so selfish, I remind myself that when I got ill last winter, I couldn’t socialise for weeks — being unavailable a few evenings a week is preferable to being unavailable throughout the winter months.

I’m also being stricter with strategies which I should implement more regularly/frequently than I do at present. Wanting to avoid a repeat of last winter is a great motivator! I’m trying to eat healthy meals, even if I eat junk as well, and making an effort to meditate. I know I could do better, but stressing out about not doing better is counterproductive…

Finding Pleasure in Winter

I have being trying to focus on my strengths and the positive aspects of my life recently, so I’m trying to take the same approach to winter. It can be difficult to appreciate the pleasurable side of the cold, wet and dark months, but it’s not impossible.

Winter creates the perfect atmosphere for reading ghost stories, which I enjoy. It’s also a good backdrop for hot chocolate, warm puddings and spicy curries. Brussels sprouts are in season, which I adore (seriously) and I can watch films or read without feeling I should be outside, enjoying the sunshine.

I like a lot of things about Christmas, too — though it can bring its own challenges. Seeing Christmas lights when walking the dogs, buying presents and listening to cheesy Christmas songs are all fun. It marks the winter solstice, so brings hope that spring will come. The days will get longer again and it feels like I’m progressing with the changing seasons — in theory, anyway! In the meantime, it’s back to ghost stories and hot chocolate.

Facing Down the Fear

I’m terrified of getting ill again. I dread feeling like I did last winter. However, worrying and getting stressed will only increase the likelihood of getting ill.

Instead, I’m attempting a more pragmatic approach. I will do everything I reasonably can to avoid getting ill (hence I got a flu shot last week, for the first time!), but I can’t beat myself up if I get ill. Whatever will be, will be.

It’s the same old story, really: there is no point in worrying about stuff which might or might not happen. Of course, knowledge and practice are different things — especially when you have anxiety…

I refuse to fixate on whether or not I will get ill. In fact, I accept that I probably will get a few viruses and colds. I accept that my depression will become more difficult to manage. But I can focus on what I’m able to do and put contingency plans in place.

Coping with winter is difficult, but I’m not completely powerless. I can choose to accept the possibility of illness while doing my best to keep it at bay. It’s my best chance of staying mentally and physically healthy.

The Hard Slog

I try to do something towards one of my goals every day. I split my big goals into small chunks, just as everyone advises and I try to hold myself accountable. But it’s bloody hard to stay motivated sometimes.

Winding lane

Having no clear pathway causes self-doubt.

With some goals, you don’t know what will work for you. You can predict what might work, based on how other people have achieved similar goals, but there is an inherent lack of certainty. This gives rise to self-doubt and a lack of confidence, which makes it difficult to keep focused.

It’s easier when there is a clear structure to follow, such as a course syllabus or training plan. You can try to create your own structure (which I do), but maintaining confidence in an untested plan is challenging.

 

Progress can be excruciatingly slow.

You may have a clear pathway to your goal, but when you are progressing so slowly it feels like you aren’t moving, it’s easy to give up. You think you should be moving faster. Other people are moving faster, you believe, so you are failing compared to them. You try to focus on yourself without comparing the inside of your life to the outside of other people’s, but it’s tough.

The only way to get through this feeling is to ensure you really want to achieve your goals. When you want something badly enough, you can bear more than you realise.

 

A lack of milestones and/or external success can be dispiriting.

I know you shouldn’t rely on external validation, but small successes are great confidence boosters and reassure you that you are on the right path. When it’s been a while since someone has acknowledged your progress, your motivation suffers. When it feels like ages since you last hit a milestone, it’s hard to keep going.

The answer, of course, is to concentrate on the intrinsic rewards of whatever you are doing to work towards your goals. Enjoy the process, the journey. The cynic in me thinks that would be easier if success was guaranteed, but experience tells me this is a good strategy. There are immediate benefits to activities like writing and exercise, for example, though they are steps towards a bigger goal.

 

Usually, the best option is to keep going.

If you are passionate about your goals, the idea of quitting is unbearable. The only option is to keep going. It’s hard work, you feel shit a lot of the time and you often convince yourself you will never achieve anything, but it’s better than giving up.

However, that doesn’t mean you should beat yourself up when you fall short of your hopes and expectations. Working towards a significant goal is worthwhile. It doesn’t matter if your progress is slow or if days pass without taking steps towards your goals. Just keep going.

Refighting Battles

One of the most frustrating and exhausting aspects of having a long term mental illness is you have to fight the same battles again and again. It’s not like a video game, where you pass a level and never have to retake it. Just because you manage to do something one day doesn’t mean you can cope with it the next.


Winding lane

It’s like Groundhog Day without a clear learning curve.

Symptoms of mental illness can fluctuate a lot. I know I mention this a lot, but it’s one of the core truths that people who haven’t experienced mental health problems find difficult to grasp. Even on a “good” day, you have to battle symptoms. They may not be as intense as they are on “bad” days, but they are still present.

Today, for instance, I went for a walk on my own (well, with my dog) for the first time in a while. I haven’t been walking him in the daytime during the summer because it has been either far too hot or raining. People who aren’t familiar with mental health issues might think I found this easy: it has only been a couple of months since I last went for a walk alone, I walk the route with my parents all the time and my mental health has been gradually improving since spring. I should have no problems, right?

Actually, I felt anxious. It took me several hours to work up to doing it and my mind generated a plethora of excuses and unnecessary worries. I felt better when I started walking, but I was still nervous. I kept thinking something bad might happen, that I would get hit by a car or fall over. I worried about meeting other people and feeling incredibly awkward if they tried to make conversation. I ruminated on whether it was too hot for the dog to be out, because the sun started shining despite the low-ish temperature. I was bombarded by symptoms of anxiety.

I shall reiterate: today is a good day. I enjoyed my walk and managed to break out of my negative thought patterns several times. I felt better for tackling the challenge. The point is, I may always have to cope with my symptoms. There may be a day in the future when I can leave the house without planning in advance and feeling anxious, but I’m not counting on it. I have to refight the battle every time I go out alone.

 

And there are many battles to refight.

Many of the things I do on a daily basis take effort. By writing this blog post, I am battling against anxiety and depression: my mind is filled with thoughts like “Why bother writing? It’ll be terrible no matter how hard you try” and “nobody is going to read it anyway”. I battle through because a). I enjoy blogging and writing about mental health, and b). I know there is a chance that my experiences may help other people to understand mental health problems or, if they are experiencing mental health issues themselves, to feel less alone.

I have to accept that these battles need to be refought over and over. It’s annoying and frustrating. It makes me sad and angry. It’s a real bitch. But the alternative is doing nothing.

Refighting battles is hard, but necessary. Many of the battles seem ridiculous, like motivating myself to eat proper meals instead of crisps, but I have to keep fighting. I know each battle takes me closer to achieving my goals and leading a better life, but it doesn’t feel like that when you are out on the battlefield.

 

Yet every battle you win makes you a little stronger.

I certainly don’t feel stronger every time I get through a mundane challenge, but getting through each battle gives me a little confidence. There are times when I get so distressed that even if I win the battle it doesn’t seem worth it, but these comprise a small percentage of my battles. The learning curve might not be clear, but it’s there — hidden under all the fluctuating symptoms. Every battle won imparts a lesson.

Today’s lesson is this: sometimes it feels pointless to refight the same battles because there is no clear indication of progress, but like a character in a video game, you are gaining experience points. I just hope I level up soon!

On/Off Course

The most frustrating thing about trying to achieve goals, especially when you have mental health problems, is the inevitable drifting off course. Life throws obstacles in your path and you have to work your way around them or wait until you can pass. When this happens, it’s difficult to know whether you are still heading in the right direction.

 

Off course

It’s easy to lose sight of the path.

When you are working towards long-term goals, the single steps in between now and reaching your goal seem insignificant. You know, on a logical level, that every step is important, but they don’t feel important when you are taking them. You feel like you’re constantly walking and getting nowhere.

It’s easier to stop walking.

This isn’t always a conscious decision: your path can get so littered with obstacles and distractions that you don’t know which way to turn. You start wondering whether all of these challenges mean you’re not meant to follow this path, that you should choose a different goal.

 

You need to look for compasses.

Just as you can look to the sun and landmarks to check your position when hiking, you need to look for signs you are on the right path when working towards your goal. Instead of using an actual compass, you have to use symbolic compasses like your values and passions to check your direction.

I know that sounds a little mystical and perhaps a bit woo-woo, but I refuse to apologise for having a hippie streak!

Knowing your compasses helps a lot. There are questionnaires you can take to determine your core values, but in my experience most people are aware of what they prioritise (or would like to prioritise) in their lives. My personal values include creativity and self-expression, having a strong sense of social responsibility and being compassionate. Manifestations of these core values have been present throughout my life, from writing stories based heavily on Enid Blyton books as a child and taking part in sponsored walks, to writing, blogging and volunteering for a mental health charity today.

Look at your own life and consider what has brought you the most happiness, satisfaction and meaning.

 

When you have found your compasses, you need to check them.

I find this difficult. I forget to check my compasses on a daily basis, allowing myself to get distracted by whatever life throws at me and being reactive instead of proactive. One of the ways counselling is helping me at the moment is by giving me the opportunity to stand back and check my compasses, reassuring me that I’m on the right path and travelling in the right direction.

I think I’m getting better though — I recognise the simple activities which calm me, bring me pleasure and allow me to take stock. Meditation, yoga, walking, running and journaling all fall into this category. I also know which activities bring the most value to my life, such as volunteering and blogging about mental health. The more I focus on these activities, the happier (and more confident) I feel about my life and my goals.

There are no maps for living (unless you create your own, but that’s a different blog post!), but there are compasses — we all have them and can use them to plot our course. What are your compasses?

Subdued

I have been feeling subdued and demotivated over the past week. There’s no particular reason; it’s just the nature of depression.

Subdued meerkat

But the nature of depression, even after 15+ years, is frustrating.

I’m sick of it. I know, on a logical level, that the low mood will pass at its own rate. I know I can do all I can to practice self-care and use coping strategies, which will help reduce the impact of my dip in mood. I know this is a challenge I have to deal with, perhaps for the rest of my life, and I just have to do my best to achieve my goals when the cloud lifts a little. Yet knowing all of this doesn’t make life easier.

I feel quite useless when my depression gets worse. I have no energy and can’t work towards my goals — certainly not as much as I can when I feel better.

 

The only option is acceptance.

I can’t change the fact that I struggle with mental illness. I can try to manage it as best I can, but my coping strategies and activities won’t always be enough. And that’s okay.

It has taken me a long time to start thinking of my mental health as an aspect of my overall health, rather than a reflection of my shortcomings. I know plenty of people still regard mental illness as weakness — and I know they are wrong, because it takes incredible strength to keep going when your symptoms prevent you from living life on your own terms.

So I will try not to be so harsh on myself as I carry on through this drop in mood. I will do what I can, when I can — and try not to stress about the slowness of my progress.

Living Option B

It’s inevitable that our plans go awry sooner or later, but for some of us the changes are so dramatic they throw our life off course.

Machu Picchu
My Option B looks like this. Sometimes.

This week, I read a book called Option B, which is co-written by Sheryl Sandberg. Sheryl is one of the world’s most prominent businesswomen and COO of Facebook. In 2015, her life was turned upside down when her husband, Dave, died suddenly at the age of 47. Option B is about how Sheryl learned to cope. Her cowriter, Adam Grant, is an author and academic with a PhD in organisational psychology. The book combines personal experience with psychological research and suggestions for how social and political changes could support people in difficult situations.

While bereavement is the book’s focal point, it addresses a range of issues and its lessons can be applied to a range of traumatic experiences. I found a lot of ideas to help me manage my mental health and the issues surrounding long term mental illness, but the main message I got from the book is: how do I kick the shit out of Option B?

The concept is simple: Option A would have been wonderful, but it’s not what happened. You are stuck with Option B, so how do you make the best of it?

For me, my Option A would have been a life unaffected by mental illness. Unlike many people, I never really lived this option for any period of time because my mental health problems began when I was a teenager. I have never held a job which wasn’t affected by my mental health. I have never lived independently. I have never met my friends in a pub without fighting anxiety. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself; I know it’s neither attractive nor helpful, but I wish I had gotten to live Option A.

But I got stuck with Option B: long term anxiety, depression and borderline personality disorder.

There are two broad options when you are living Option B. You can bemoan the fact that Option A is lost to you and waste your life wishing it were different. Or you can find ways to cope with Option B. Find moments of joy, even if lasting happiness seems impossible. Achieve goals, though simple tasks may seem impossible.

Strange as it sounds, I’m not sure I would have achieved many of my life goals if I weren’t stuck with Option B. I don’t think I would have done a Creative Writing MA or trekked to Machu Picchu. If life had been comfortable for me, I wouldn’t have found the motivation to stretch myself. If I had enjoyed the mundane success of a steady job and “normal” life, I doubt I would have found the courage to face failure in order to fulfil my biggest dreams.

Living Option B often means regarding things from a different perspective.

In the past, I have fallen into the habit of thinking “What can I do? I can’t even walk into a shop on my own.” I set myself up for failure and paralysed my progress by approaching the problem from a position of weakness. I answered my question with what seemed like the only choice: I can’t do anything. I struggle with normal things, let alone “proper” goals.

A more empowering perspective is to think “This is what I want to do – how could I do it?” This is how I try to approach my big goals, the dreams I really want to chase. It engages the part of your brain which wants to solve problems, because it presents a specific dilemma.

Disclaimer: being able to come up with options doesn’t mean any of them are easier. In fact, many are extremely difficult to follow – even when you know they are the best options. However, simply being aware of options is a huge step forward.

When you feel paralysed by anxiety (or any illness, situation or emotion), you are stuck in your current circumstances and can’t see a way out. Thinking about what you want and following potential paths to achieving your goals lets a little light in; it may not throw open a door straight in front of you, but it creates a chink of light which demarcates an exit. You can use that light to negotiate your way out, even if you have to overcome many obstacles to do so.

More Option Bs will keep cropping up.

Even when you are already living Option B, life can toss more shit your way. Problems can often cause other problems, such as long term illness resulting in debt because it limits your ability to earn. Sometimes your situation seems to be improving, then it takes a nosedive. None of this is inevitable, but it happens a lot.

Maintaining a positive attitude when living Option B is bloody difficult, but it makes your life a lot easier.

The book discusses ways to challenge thoughts which are personal, pervasive and permanent. This is based on the work of Martin Seligman, pioneer of positive psychology and a hero of mine. He discovered that people are less able to overcome adversity when they blame themselves (personal), believe everything in their lives will be negatively influenced (pervasive) and believe the results will last forever (permanent). It’s easy to get trapped into this way of thinking, even when you can acknowledge that it’s not helpful.

I’m guilty of being aware of these patterns of thinking, but not being consistent enough in challenging them. I know the theory, but struggle to apply it in practice. The problem with living Option B is that there is a huge source of adversity which does seem personal, pervasive and permanent. Mental illness, in particular, feels like it’s your fault/is punishing you personally, can affect all areas of your life and feels permanent when you have experienced it for many years. How can you challenge something so monolithic?

The answer appears to be: by chipping away at it. The obvious starting point is that nobody is to blame for their mental illness. Sure, maybe certain behaviours, thoughts and coping strategies contribute to the development and progression of mental illness, but nobody chooses it. We all do our best as we battle through and sometimes our ways of coping aren’t the best options, but seem to be the only or easiest options to which we have access at the time. Besides, sometimes people can do everything “right” and still become mentally ill.

We can chip away at pervasiveness and permanence by considering the fluctuations of mental illness. I have bad days, for sure, but I also have good days. My mental health also affects my life in different ways at different times: when my depression recedes, I often find more energy and motivation to exercise or work on my writing. When my anxiety improves, I can get out more, be more sociable and submit more of my work. Again, this chipping away might not seem like much progress, but it’s the chink of light which lets you know there is hope.

Acknowledging that you are living Option B can be refreshing.

It takes the pressure off. You realise comparing your Option B to other people’s Option A is futile. You aren’t constantly chasing after Option A, once you acknowledge that Option A is no longer available. Instead, you can focus on turning Option B into a happy, successful and fulfilling life.

I can’t turn back time and prevent my mental illness. I can’t magically transform myself into someone who managed to move out of her parents’ house in her early 20s and has held down a full time job for 10 years. But I can work on building a satisfying career which will hopefully enable me to earn a living one day. I can strive to achieve my goals and find moments of joy amongst the pain and despair of mental illness. I can learn coping strategies and manage my mental illness so that it causes me less pain and despair. I can chase my dreams and try to inspire other people to see the hope in their lives.

And that, my friends, is what I think the book means when it mentions kicking the shit out of Option B!