1066 All Stars

New weight – 11st 4lbs

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* A disappointing weigh-in.

After regularly weighing in at around 11st, even dipping as low as 10st 12lbs, 11st 4lbs represents my first real increase in some time.

* I had been trying not to weigh in throughout September. During my August holiday, I had become concerned by my obsession with weighing in almost daily and so thought I would benefit from going ‘cold turkey.’ But this threw up new challenges.

Quite early on, I would allow myself a treat on the basis that, without a weigh in, I would not be answerable to the scales. There were no consequences to my actions. Towards the end, guilt started to build as to what I had eaten and I became anxious about what my weight would be.

At this point I had a decision to make. I could either stubbornly see out the month, sticking rigidly to the fabricated timescale I had made for myself. Or, I could consider 20+ days a reasonable break and check in, providing some closure and alleviating the anxiety.

* It is interesting to note the thinking errors at play in this weigh in. 11st 4lbs is 4lbs above what I would consider a best case weigh in and 2lbs above what I consider a decent result.

Yet these considerations were abandoned. As soon as I saw the result, I engaged in black and white thinking, catastrophising and discounting of positives.

Some balance then. Yes, I am heavier than I would like. But then I have eaten more and done less this month. There is no mystery involved, no circumstances conspiring against me. Plus of course I know where I have been and can therefore get there again.

* This also brings me nicely back round to the point of this blog, tying in healthy eating to mental health. As a society, we often use labels to describe ourselves and others but they are both harmful and inaccurate.

Take depression for instance. I do not describe myself as being depressed. I suffer from depression. It is a subtle difference but an important one. The first suggests an unalterable state, beyond my control. The second accepts that things may be a certain way at that moment in time but that does not define who you are as a person.

And so it is with my weight. I am not inherently, unalterably fat. But I am overweight. Which in turn implies that I have a target in mind and can (and will) actively work my way towards it.

* I must now battle a sense of impatience. I feel overweight and so there is a desperation to get a couple of pounds off immediately. But balance is the key here. It know that adherence to my daily plan results in the weight I want to achieve.

* There is also a sense of embarrassment. I have, to an extent, allowed this weight plan to define me for the last year. I have been proud of the weight lost and the transformation in my approach to food. Now this is tinged with a sense of failure. Nonsense of course, this is simply a step back and a reminder of the need to maintain a healthy, balanced lifestyle.

Food Log

I have found maintaining a food diary to be an excellent way of taking accountability for my food intake. You don’t have to share it publicly like I do but for anyone trying to lose weight, I highly recommend writing everything down.

Breakfast – Toasted oat flakes, tea

Nibbles – Apple, 2x cereal biscuits, 1x cheese string

Lunch – Sandwich & 3x snack-a-jacks

Dinner – Salad with frankfurter sausages

Dessert – Tea

Exercise – 45 - 60 mins walking

Millie & Molly are two little monkeys who love to play in the jungle.

Today, they are off to the lagoon, where daddy says they have a special surprise waiting.

‘What is it?’ cried Millie.

‘Please tell us!’ begged Molly

But daddy just smiled and told them to wait.

Finally, after impatiently swinging through the trees, they reached the lagoon.

‘Surprise!’ said daddy monkey.

It was a swing, set up between two trees.

‘Wow!’ said Millie.

‘Amazing!’ said Molly.

‘Now remember,’ said daddy monkey, ‘this is for both of you so you must take take…’

But before he could finish, Millie and Molly rushed forward to the swing.

‘Me first,’ said Millie, pushing her sister out of the way.

‘No, me,’ said Molly, pushing back.

They each grabbed one side of the swing and tried to pull it away from the other.

‘It’s my turn!’ screamed Millie.

‘No, mine!’ exclaimed Molly.

And as they tugged and pulled, daddy monkey saw what was about to happen. He just started to say, ‘Girls, be careful, it’s going to…’ when suddenly the ropes broke away from the trees, the seat snapped in two and the two little monkeys fell to the ground with a thump.

Millie sat looking at her broken piece of seat. Then, she turned and said angrily to her sister, ‘Look what you did Molly. You broke it!’

Molly jumped up and shot back, ‘No you broke it!’

‘No you,’ said one. ‘No you,’ said the other.

Finally, daddy monkey had heard enough. ‘You both broke it because you wouldn’t share. Now you are both going to miss out.’

‘But, but, but…’ stammered Millie.

‘Can you fix it?’ asked Molly.

‘No,’ said daddy monkey firmly. ‘Not until you two can learn to play nicely together and share.’

And with that, Mille and Molly climbed up into the trees and swung off in opposite directions.

Later that evening, back at the lagoon, Millie jumped out of the trees. She had found more rope and ran over to where the swing had been. What was she up to?

She was just about to tie the rope to the trees when Molly appeared. She was holding a short plank of wood. What was she up to?

‘What are you doing?’ Millie said.

‘I came to fix the swing,’ said Molly.

‘You can’t, I’ve come to fix the swing,’ said Millie.

‘No me,’ said Molly.

‘Me!’ said one. ‘No me!’ said the other, until finally they both stopped. They looked at the broken swing and then at each other.

‘I’m sorry I broke the swing,’ said Millie.

‘Me too,’ said Molly. ‘Let’s fix it together.’

And so together, they tied the rope back around the trees and around the plank of wood until finally they had it set up just right.

‘You go first,’ said Millie.

‘No you go first,’ said Molly.

‘You!’ said Millie.

‘No you!’ said Molly.

And then they both stopped and started laughing at how silly they had been.

‘I will push you first, and then you can push me,’ said Millie.

‘Okay,’ said Molly and jumped onto the swing. ‘Whee!’

‘Your turn now,’ said Molly, jumping off the swing to push her sister.

‘Whee!’ squealed Mille with delight. ‘Sharing is fun.’

* When I first started blog writing, I made a conscious decision to write unfiltered. However I felt, good, bad or indifferent, that is what would end up on the page. It was a way of exploring my truest, inner most thoughts and feelings, to get them out, examine them and understand them.

Looking back at some of these posts, I am almost tempted to be embarrassed. The strength of feeling on display is occasionally uncomfortable. But they are an important record of where I was at that moment in time in my ongoing recovery from mental illness.

* Against that backdrop, last week I wrote two blog entries, one in my parenting series and one standalone piece. For the first time, I have since gone back and deleted them without retaining any record of the text.

Why? What has changed?

In principle, nothing. I still intend to write honestly and to share my blogs with others in the hope that being open with my experience of mental illness will give someone else who is struggling some comfort that they are not alone and that what they are going through is normal.

Most of my blog writing is underpinned by a desire to understand and change course. These entries though strayed from that concept. They were written whilst in a low mood based on a specific set of triggers. Instead of using the blogs as a means to challenge these thoughts, I dwelt on them, the blogs becoming a negative feeding frenzy. They did nothing to address the underlying symptoms, there was no balance or critical reasoning, only the guilt at having written them prompting me to challenge the thoughts and behaviours that led me to write them in the first place.

I retain some semblance of guilt in deleting them though, almost as if I am hiding the feelings of the moment. But that is preferable to the ongoing anxiety of knowing they remain published.

* This weekend brought a family day at Chessington. I was reminded earlier in the week that a similar trip the year before brought with it feelings of anxiety as I struggled with not knowing where to go, who to see, what to do.

There were no such advance feelings this year, instead I looked forward to it as a day of activity with the kids. However calmness soon gave way to anxiety and regret.

We left the house far later than planned, immediately putting me mentally on the back foot. We were able to collect free drinks bottles from the restaurant but that was on the opposite side of the park from the car park. I therefore made the decision that we would not go on any rides until drinks were collected, thinking we would tick that box and then have the day free.

Instead, I became agitated as the kids dragged their feet, wanting to stop, look and take everything in. With an hour gone, we had collected our drinks but achieved little else. I began to feel like the day would be a failure.

It is a microcosm of the types of pressures that swirl round my head on a daily basis. Judgement mixed with procrastination causing me anxiety. When I recognised the feelings and actually stopped to observe life in the moment, I saw that the kids were enjoying themselves pottering around. They had no agenda, they would take each event as it came. I was projecting my own thoughts and expectations onto them, trying to enforce what I thought they should be doing for fun.

I leave the day with a semblance of regret but also with a sense of achievement at having identified and corrected a behaviour as well as a determination that next time I shall embrace mindfulness and simply live in the moment.

* This weekend also marks the 2 year anniversary of my redundancy. I was aware of the impending date but other than that it did not intrude on my thoughts. 12 years in the same job was a significant part in the story of my life but it very much feels like a chapter that has ended.

* Just over a year ago I self published the first of three books. I was immensely proud of myself at the time but looking back, I have a sense of acute embarrassment. Who really wants to read my blogs, let alone pay for them? It seems like a folly in many ways.

Of course if someone wants to pay for it, that is their choice. I haven’t coerced them, they have presumably read the blurb and thought it sounded interesting. But the thought persists all the same.

The Monkeys Went In Two By Two...

It is a strange mixture of feelings sending your children off to school.

On one hand, they are embarking on a wonderful new adventure. They will make friends, learn about the world, discover themselves and their interests. It is exciting and in many ways the best time of their lives.

On the other, they are my little babies and they are growing up far too fast.

Unlike with nursery, it feels the right time for them to go. They are not little for their age and so don't look out of place. They will benefit from the more controlled, disciplined environment and the chance to split off and make their own friends.

Walking them to school this morning though, I was filled with anxiety, to the point that their excited chattering was grating on my nerves because I couldn't focus on my own procrastinating. But what made me nervous? When I stop to examine it, I realise that I was recycling my own thoughts and feelings and projecting these experiences onto them.

One of my great hopes for my children is that they are not shy. I am not an extreme case by any stretch of the imagination but shyness has served to repeatedly undermine me. From a reluctance to join the school football team, to making friends, to university, to girls, to pursuing my dreams or starting anew. It has held me back, the shyness developing into fear, the fear into anxiety and the anxiety leading, eventually, to depression.

I see elements of my character in my girls, understandably of course. But I must be wary of projecting onto them for I risk living their lives for them, in my attempts to protect them from fear and risk, denying them the very opportunities and experiences they will need to overcome such feelings.

They are at the beginning of their own journey. There will be detours, wrong turns and bumps in the road. But that is all part of life.

It is what makes it worth living.

Weight - 11st 2lbs

* After 2 weeks off work, a satisfying weigh in at just 2lbs above what I have come to consider my 'natural' weight.

* Being on holiday threw up an interesting internal dialogue. On one hand, I was conscious that I was on holiday and was therefore 'allowed' to relax my strict regime. On the other, I had an underlying anxiety that my weight would spiral out of control. The net result was that I would eat some occasional treat but then fastidiously weigh myself everyday, looking for signs of over indulgence with which to harangue myself.

* By the end of the second week I had started to let go. My daily weigh ins had demonstrated that, barring a complete collapse of my eating and exercise regime, I can maintain my weight at its current level. the last few days of my break therefore saw me indulge in pizza, coke and crisps with any thought of a weigh in pushed firmly to the back of my mind.

* Being on holiday is of course A Good Thing, however it does present a certain pressure, at least to the anxious mind, to 'perform.' I am on holiday, I am with my family, there is no work. What's not to be happy about?

* This sense of duty to be happy, created within my own mind, inevitably led to anxiety. It is a fall back on the should and the must statements which can so often trap us, forgetting the lessons of mindfulness and to simply exist in the moment, accepting what is. As a result, I was often agitated, the kids causing me to lose my temper which in turn helped to peddle the depression cycle of anger, rumination and regret.

* This ultimately manifested in a period of very low mood on Thursday and Friday, the reasons for which are fairly complex.

Being a parent is great. kids bring such a unique joy and have undoubtedly enriched our lives. They also bring stress, tiredness and anxiety to the point that you sometimes wish you were anywhere but at home.

These statements are not contradictory, they are simply a fact of life as a parent. It is equal parts joy and frustration, but you wouldn't swap it for the world.

Towards the end of the week, the frustration had started to outweigh the joy. I became conscious that my holiday was drawing to a close and it would soon be time to return to work. Whilst we had packed in a fair amount of family activities, I did not feel I had actually had a break. In a way, I had swapped one type of work for another. Where was my break? Where was my down time?

It built a sense of resentment; towards the kids, towards the wife, who understandably needed her own time away from the brood. I felt I deserved some recognition and a break but would instead have to keep going. The old cliché of, 'You'll be glad to get back to work for a rest!' began to rang painfully true.

I could feel myself slipping into a depressive cycle and would not emerge until late Friday / early Saturday, at which point bitterness and resentment gave way to regret, self recrimination and guilt. This was magnified by the knowledge that the kids would be away for 4 days from Sunday meaning that, whilst I would be at work, I would have a clear break from my family responsibilities. You know, just like I wanted. But instead of feeling happy, I felt shame at my deflated mood and my inability to find consistent happiness.

* Lots to consider then. I will not make the mistake of rushing to a conclusion. There are behaviours here that I need to examine and understand, which is the only way to ensure they are not repeated.

Life, after all, is a journey.

Who are you calling a dummy?

One of the difficulties of parenting is that everyone has an opinion and more people than you would like are happy to share it with you.

Advice can be helpful of course, but when it strays from ‘this is what I did, you might find it useful’ to ‘unless you do this you are wrong’ it can not only leave you feeling confused but also make you feel inadequate.

Some parents will tell you that using a dummy is the tool of the devil. ‘Why would you need one of those?’ they might say. ‘Why our sweet little Rosalina never needed a pacifier.’

Well good for little Rosalina but for the rest of us, especially parents of twins, we’ll take whatever help we can get, ta.

Using dummies is a personal choice based on your circumstances. We initially resisted but after the first couple of weeks of atrociously disrupted sleep, we tried them and they had an instant impact. Suddenly the girls would happily go to sleep and, just as crucially, could be resettled when they woke. And when our son was born, we didn’t hesitate, using dummies from the outset.

We went into dummy use with a clear mindset though. Both of us as parents were uncomfortable with the image of a child of talking age having a dummy and so broadly set a target that once they were capable of understanding, it was time for the dummies to go away with the dummy fairy. Plus we generally restricted them to night time use only. Surprisingly, it worked too, the girls happily giving them up with no discernible impact on their sleep.

With the arrival of our son, things were slightly different. The basic rules remain the same and, at 14 months we are drawing ever nearer to the inevitable handover date. But right from the start, he has been more dummy reliant.

Perhaps this is not unexpected though. As with so many other parental responsibilities, it was different with the girls. Yes they were twins and so we always had two but their development ran parallel. With our son, the girls are independent and have demands of their own which makes it far more difficult to concentrate solely on Aiden’s needs.

This is undoubtedly exacerbated by my anxiety issues. When the girls demand my time and when Aiden is crying, it becomes far easier to give him a dummy to quiet him, rather than attempting (and likely failing) to manage everything all at once. His daytime use far exceeds that of the girls and I sense that he will find it harder to give it up too.

I try and resist the urge to judge myself. Mindfulness reminds us to live in the present moment without judgement. In those moments, what is the best course of action; to resist the dummy and steadfastly plough on in martyrdom whilst my tether slowly reaches its end? Or be kind to myself, give myself room to breathe and space to adjust? And besides, predictions of doom and gloom at the dummy sacrifice are just that; predictions. I do not know how he will react and looking ahead with a negative mindset is an unfounded (and unhealthy) projection.

And, hey, these things are called pacifiers for a reason.

Life Moves Pretty Fast

I remember when I started at secondary school our head of year told us to cherish these years as they would soon be gone. With the arrogance of youth we laughed this off as the ramblings of a deluded old fool only to find ourselves looking back 7 years later, on the cusp of University, wondering where our childhood had gone.

These thoughts come back to me as I think on my time as a parent. The development of a child is marked by milestones; from the first tooth, to the first tentative steps, the first garbled word to the first day at nursery.

The trouble is that as exciting as some of these moments are, in between is the daily grind. On more occasions than I care to admit, I have found myself wishing that the next milestone would come along to ease the burden of the day. If only they could talk I would know what they want. If only they were big enough they could push each other on the swing. If only they were at nursery I could get some chores done around the house.

But then the milestones come and I am reduced to that same 18 year old, staring at my A-Level results and realising that school is over. Where has the time gone?

These thoughts are natural. Surely all of us as parents have wished for time to pass and all of us had those pangs of regret when we realise that it has.

But twins and anxiety bring a different level of regret. It is difficult for me to filter out how much of my issues are due to having twins versus having anxiety but twins by their very nature double the stress at every turn.

I find myself wishing away not milestones but rather daily life as I often find myself feeling completely overwhelmed by their demands. It may be a difficult concept to convey to other parents, especially those who have children with siblings and may not understand what is so different. But with a standard sibling relationship, one child is always older therefore the demands are subtly different. With twins, they want the same things at the same time all the time. Add their baby brother into the mix and it is a recipe for anxiety flavoured disaster.

As a result, I often find myself clock watching, waiting for their bed time when I can finally get some peace and quiet before the chaos starts again the next day. I am not motivated by my work yet I find the weekends incredibly difficult, unable to find a balance between my own need for rest and recuperation versus their needs from me as a father.

Suddenly they are four and I find myself wondering where I was during their childhood. Was I the father that they needed during these formative years? Or was I too preoccupied by my own mental health issues or the game I wanted to play or the football I was trying to watch? I wonder if I did my best.

The inevitable result is a cycle of guilt and resentment that will inevitably pedal its way to a depressive episode.

Mindfulness is perhaps the key. A large portion of my anxiety is caused by dreams of what if or reminiscences of what has gone. But these things cannot be influenced or changed, the only reality is the here and now. Long term happiness and contentment comes from finding this acceptance.

I am still looking.

Mental illness has blighted a significant proportion of my life. Depression and anxiety, whether or not I knew it at the time, robbed me of my confidence, made me feel inadequate and drove me to the brink of submission.

Looking back now, as I continue my journey on the road of recovery, there are parts of myself that are almost unrecognisable from who I was.

But I want to let you into a guilty little secret, the ‘unspeakable truth’ of this piece. Are you ready?

I didn’t want to get better.

There. Look, I’m going to say it again.

I didn’t want to get better.

What an outrageous thing to say! How could I not want to get better? Doesn’t this simply reinforce the image that those suffering from depression are good for nothing layabouts?

But it isn’t as straight forward as that. You see this reluctance to get better was all a part of the illness.

Depression reinforces all the negative thoughts you have of yourself. I felt stupid, inferior, fat and ugly. And so these things must be true. I projected these thoughts onto other people, which in turn caused me to withdraw from them. It wasn’t like they would miss the company of this stupid, inferior, fat, ugly guy anyway, right?

And so in the deep, dark corner of the mental jail I had created for myself, I was all alone. Except for depression, always there to keep me company.

After a while I became used to it, being depressed became reassuringly familiar. This was just who I was.

Even when I entered therapy, I didn’t want to believe what I was told. I was broken beyond repair, fundamentally incapable of being happy. I had to be. I needed to be.

Only I wasn’t. It took a long time but gradually I reached the point of acceptance that I was not a fixed state. I was ill and I could get better. I could change.

The path of recovery could not have been walked without the expertise and support of professional therapists. 1 in 4 people in the UK suffer from mental illness and yet still we are reluctant to talk about it.

Why? If you hurt your leg or had a problem with your liver you wouldn’t think yourself weak. You would see a doctor. Why is the mind so different? Why do we consider physical health to be more important than mental health? It doesn’t make any sense.

You are not weak, you are not broken and you are not alone. But you can get better.

The first step is to help yourself. Friends and family will support the best they can but if you want to make a full, sustainable recovery, you may need professional help. So talk to someone; the GP, a counsellor, a therapist. Understand your illness, get a proper diagnosis. We’ll still be here when you get back. Life isn’t going anywhere.

And forget those thoughts of being selfish or wallowing or that you should ‘just get on with it.’ Should someone with a broken leg stop being such a wimp and just walk it off? Of course not. The leg needs time to heal. So does the mind. It is not selfish it is self-care. In a way the selfish thing is not dealing with it, instead leaving others to pick up the pieces. Only you can set you free.

So do something amazing today, be kind to yourself.

It is time to start looking after the most important person in your life.

You.

Current weight – 11st 1lb

Thoughts

* My weight appears to have stabilised at or around 11st. I have succumbed to temptation to weigh myself more frequently, sometimes daily, which records fluctuations between 11st to 11st 2lbs but never under and never over.

* It is tempting to be frustrated but I think it is time to be realistic. My goal was always to get to 10st 6lbs but my lowest so far has been 10st 12 lbs. I am coming round to the thought that 11st is pretty much my natural weight and driving myself down further would require regular gym work or swimming perhaps, neither of which fit conveniently into my current work / life / home balance.

* I posted a picture of myself recently on Facebook, showing the results of my plan and how I look at 11st. It was a shame in hindsight that I didn’t take a picture at the outset for a ‘before and after’ comparison, but then I never truly expected to be at this point.

The picture drew some ‘likes’ and some nice comments but, honestly, I would rather people read and share this post. In many ways this covers everything I want to say about mental illness, the attitude of those who don’t understand and my own struggles on the road to recovery.

* I was very conscious this last week that my mood appeared to have significantly lowered at the weekend versus during the week work. It is incredibly disappointing when you find that your two days of ‘freedom’ are blighted by anxiety, irritability and tiredness, only for these symptoms to seemingly lift magically when back in the office, a location I quite clearly do not want to be in. Sunday in particular, striding round Sainsbury’s, brought a momentary overwhelming sense of sadness. Part of me just wanted to sit on the floor and wish the world away.

Why? I think the reasons are nuanced. Firstly, there is a pressure to ‘perform’ at the weekend, driven by those old devils the ‘must’, ‘should’ and ‘have to’ statements. I ‘must’ achieve certain chores. I ‘should’ be relaxed and enjoy time with my children. I ‘have to’ put my desires on the backburner and put their needs first.

Secondly, there is a touch of Stockholm Syndrome. Despite my negativity towards it, work provides a structure and routine that we become accustomed to. It is almost as if without it, I lose a safety net and convince myself that I don’t have the capacity to define my own role outside the one that is fashioned for me.

Thirdly, there is an underlying sense of resentment that, despite being ‘free’ from the shackles of work, I am anything but. One job is replaced by another as I trade in being a Senior Analyst for being a Father.

And fourthly perhaps a growing frustration with my ‘chosen’ vocation. Work is a means to an end but as my recovery journey continues, I am exploring more areas of interest, the latest being writing videogame reviews. It is a nice hobby that gives me something pleasant to focus on but this leisure time passion brings sharply into focus that I find work unfulfilling. I don’t want to spend the next 30-odd years detesting what I do for the majority of my life. I want work to be enjoyable and something that I take pride and satisfaction in.

So what is the answer? Mindfulness of course, an acceptance of what is in that moment, without judgement. But you cannot just decide to mindful, much like you cannot simply decide not to be depressed. It is a skill to be practiced and learnt.

What does mental illness look like to you?

Someone who sits in bed all day, unable to face the world?

A person who goes around crying all the time and is never happy?

Or perhaps even a nutter who shouldn’t be alone with children?

The reality is far less interesting. For you see, mental illness looks like…me.

Or your brother, sister, mum, dad, uncle, friend, cousin. Even your son or daughter. Maybe even you.

1 in 4 people in the UK suffer from some form of mental illness. That’s an incredible number isn’t it? But despite what the newspapers, television programmes or social media might lead us to think, we’re not all nutters and weirdos. Most of us are normal people going about our business.

Let me ask you a question. Before I opened up about it, did you know that I suffered from depression? What about anxiety?

And here’s another question. Do you know that I still do? Or did you think I was all cured now?

How many of you have stopped to ask? How many of you even know what depression and anxiety are?

Depression is not being in a state of permanent sadness. Sufferers do not walk around constantly on the edge of tears. Most of us are not bed ridden or house bound recluses. Depression doesn’t care if you are happy or sad. As a matter of fact, depression is in some ways the complete absence of emotion. Life loses meaning, there is no joy to be found, no matter how we may be blessed. We exist because we have to but we do not live. Not really.

But mental illness isn’t a real illness, is it? It’s all just in the head. It’s not like having cancer or breaking a bone. That’s real, I can see that, it’s physical.

Well let’s put that myth to bed.

Mental illness is real and believe it or not, it is physical as well as mental. Quite apart from the complex chemical imbalances that cause depression in many sufferers, symptoms include the very real physical properties of loss of energy, poor concentration, changes to diet and changes to behaviour. Sufferers may withdraw from life, isolate themselves.

But even without these physical manifestations, the mental anguish is difficult enough. Imagine being told every day that you’re no good, that you’re stupid, that you’re ugly, that you’re fat, that you’re a failure, that you get everything wrong, that everyone hates you, that you don’t deserve happiness, that you can never change.

Now imagine that this voice is your own.

That is what it feels like to live with depression and anxiety.

But if it’s all in the head, just stop thinking that way, right? Just forget about it, don’t take things so seriously, pull your socks up, get on with it, think how lucky you are!

Oh if it were that easy. Depression is not feeling down because your favourite programme just finished or because they didn’t have any beans at the supermarket. Depression is a persistent, pervasive lowering of mood. It can come quickly, perhaps triggered by a specific event, or come on gradually.

And anxiety is not worrying that you’ve run out of milk or that it might rain at the weekend. Anxiety is a state of hyper stimulation, locked in a constant state of readiness for an event that will never come, expecting the worst.

Stress is not the enemy. Stress is a friend that gives us the impetus to move forward. But anxiety and depression hit when the stress becomes too much for too long. Like a kettle constantly at boiling point but never able to shut off. Or the elastic band, so pliable until you pull too hard for too long and it snaps in two.

Mental illness destroys lives. Sometimes it even ends them.

I am lucky. I had the opportunity to undergo therapy. I spent three months in a mental hospital, surrounded by patients with a broad spectrum of illness; from depression to OCD, bi-polar to self-harming.

In some ways my mental illness cost me my job. At least it didn’t cost me my life.

But two years on, I am far from cured. I am wracked by anxiety on a daily basis. Depression remains an uninvited guest, constantly banging on the door to come back in. Sometimes I let him, it becomes too difficult to say no. But it’s even harder to get him to leave.

I decided to be open about my illness because I wanted to change and to show others that mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. But many others are fighting their own private battles or suffering in silence.

Together we can end the stigma around mental illness.

Mental illness is not mental weakness.

Before being made redundant, I was utterly miserable.

Therapy helped me to understand some of the underlying thoughts and behaviours that had fed my depression but on a more practical, daily level, my work / life balance had disappeared.

Work become a daily endurance test but I thought I understood some of the issues. I was spread too thin; I took on too much; I didn't have enough staff; I wasn't fully trained; I had a vague job title; there was little support.

But all that changed. In my current role, I have a clearly defined job title; I have limited responsibility; we have a full compliment of team members; I have areas of defined speciality.

And I am...not happy.

Why? For a long time I put this down to a hangover from my redundancy, and there remains a grain of truth in this thought. I identified a feeling of loss associated with the ending of a long term relationship, exacerbated by the fact that I wasn't the one who ended it. I missed the status, the familiarity and even some of the responsibility that used to drag me down.

But there is more. I wasn't just unhappy at work, I was unhappy at home. In fact I would often find that I was happier at work, weekends becoming a slog to grind my way through, full of bitter self recrimination at my own parenting skills, or lack thereof.

Slowly though, the truth began to emerge. My old job had taken over my life. Much as I claimed to hate it, I would often work late in the office or bring work home. Now, I am out the door at 5pm and back at home before 6. I have more time than ever to spend with my family. My priorities have changed.

And therein lies the problem. Work had come to define me almost exclusively. My self worth had become tied up in how much I earned, what my job title was, the level of respect from my peers. With the transition out of therapy and back to work, I had the opportunity to redefine myself. My worth would not be judged by others but by myself.

Only I couldn't. I continued to look for validation from others but in it's absence found no substitute. I struggled to redefine my life goals and targets.

I had become a family man but didn't know how to be one. But this should not come as a surprise. As I learned to my cost, being given a title does not instantly make you that role. I had been designated an analyst, a team leader and a manager amongst others but that did not make me these things. I had to learn. I had to try and fail and try again.

And so it is as a parent. By definition I must now take the role of a family man. 

But first I must learn how.