I'm Still Breathing...Have No Fear

I don't know what it's like in other countries, but in England when you're in hospital, waiting, without knowing quite what will happen, is the majority of how you spend your day. If you're an outpatient you check in and are on a list somewhere. If you know who your surgeon or consultant is you might be lucky and catch a glimpse of this lesser-spotted member of the medical species, but that's no guarantee they'll be seeing you. Checking into hospital last night I knew I wouldn't see my doctor till he next day.

I did know that I'd be checked in by a doctor, a nurse, a pharmacist and an anaesthetist, all asking the same questions and variously putting in a cannula, giving me a gown, reminding me about nil by mouth etc. At this point I'm not in pain so there's no rush. It's when I start to expect the surgery to happen and there are often claims that what I've been told is different to their understanding: "Your surgeon said you'd be next. But we have you down as number three." 

Short of calling my surgeon's secretary or making better friends with surgery schedulers or A&E I've no clue as to how to resolve this and concentrate in the main in just staying put and as calm as I can, trying not to believe too hard that it will happen - to avoid disappointment - and trying not to believe too hard that it will - at any minute - lest I am caught unprepared. An unsent text to Mat, not finishing this post (in case it's the last one). Not done.

I'm in hospital again. This time, not for anything to do with depression or mental health, but because it appears that the quite miraculous job that my surgeon Mr Laban did to save me and my back a year and a few months ago has worked a treat, and the screws in my spine have done their job and that my back is now healed enough for the screws to be taken out.

So here I am, in a small room where I can see south London outside of my bedroom window, waiting, just as I said, for my drip to be hung, for my surgical stockings to be brought and put on my legs to make them look as unattractive as possible whilst hopefully preventing clotting and DVT, and any hope of bein featured in Stylist magazine.

I had an amusing baptism of fire to the hospital on arrival last night around 8 PM, when being introduced to my private room (I am here as a private patient this time in the hope that it means that the procedure will go ahead on that date part, rather than the risk of being sent home possibly more than once which would negatively affect my mental health by increasing my anxiety about what is already a simple-but-dangerous operation). I found when I went to go to the toilet that it was already occupied... By a suddenly mortified nurse or orderly who, on being discovered, could not even look me in the face but eyes to the floor shuffled, stooped, at pace, out of my room and back into the anonymity of the hospital corridor. Something tells me that nurses are not meant to do this sort of thing!

A super-stylish surgical stocking tantalisingly emerged

Being here is a sign of the future, a sign that perhaps, after all the difficulties caused by the accident, this is the last step to putting it all behind me, then moving forwards, hopefully literally, since of course this operation is not without its risks.

(Image credit: theemotionmachine.com)

I do want the future to come, even on my darkest days I believe in the future. I believe that good things are going to come to and from me and others, the people that I care about so much. It's progress from the days that I can still remember, although perhaps not as clearly as when I am experiencing those days, when I feel that everything is hopeless, because I am hopeless, broken, useless, no good to anyone. Thankfully today is not one of those days.

Yesterday I had the most fantastic day off from work, spending the entire day at Maudsley Learning (@maudslearn) in Denmark Hill to speak several times during their #whymentalhealthmattets about my personal experiences of depression and mental health problems and my beliefs and perspective on the things that have helped me continue to work, and continued to make progress in my career, despite the fact that my depression became so severe in 2014 and still continues to bother me much more than I thought it might after such a lot of therapy and medication. I was moved by how many people (many from HR, recognising that this is a relatively new area but a wide-reaching one) have made the effort to attend from their various companies. Of course, I believe that everyone should be taking an interest in this because mental health and physical health are indivisible and whatever health needs are we should have support from our organisations.

It's so rewarding to speak openly about what my experiences of depression, support, stigma, progress and life have been when it follows with people telling me either something of their own story or telling me that my story has helped them to understand a little bit more about these conditions the people are still so afraid to talk about or think that they might have themselves – even mild stress.

Why Mental Health Matters Conference 2016

We still have such a long way to go to understand these mysterious health conditions relating to our minds. Sometimes I do feel like a bit of a science experiment, knowing that I've been on six different types of antidepressants and I've had counselling many times. I suppose that just makes me a work in progress, which is what we all are. I'm not done, I'm still learning, learning to walk, learning to fall, learning to do things well, and learning to fail and fail better as Samuel Beckett said.

I've just seen the anaesthetist, so all being well I'll be off to surgery soon to have the screws taken out of my back. (I had spinal fusion surgery in October 14 after a minor fall caused a major fracture issue.) There were many complications in the last surgery, but I have to be optimistic that that won't be the case this time. The future, I'm hoping, is something that I'll have a chance to be a part of, and hopefully a part of as a well person without further physical complications (I'm sort of signed up and resigned to my continuing mental health management, so it would just be nice to know that despite the accident I'm okay to one extent!). 

(image credit: Pinterest)

However, at this time is one always reflects on the fact that something could go wrong and that I might lose the privilege of speaking out and saying something to the world that is just mine, as I have now in this blog for the last five years. For that reason then I'm posting this, so that all being well I will be writing a follow-up post soon. I'm very afraid, but trying not to be, telling myself not to be afraid, telling my husband and mum the same thing. Telling myself I'm still breathing. Whatever happens I really believe that we need to take care of each other and take care of ourselves.

Let's keep talking, shall we? Talking leads to openness which leads to us all being less afraid, which leads to more openness, and to the start of understanding. I'll see you soon for another conversation. Love to you all. Xxx

"Redefining Resilience": Launching my Campaign to Redefine what Resilience Means and End Mental Health Stigma

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My campaign to Redefine Resilience - Launched Today!

Resilience is in fashion: organisations are talking about the need for employees to build resilience to succeed and enable them to progress in their careers. “Resilience is that ineffable quality that allows some people to be knocked down by life and come back stronger than ever.” [PsychologyToday]. I recently wrote a blog post for @brizzlelass on #Resilience. 

Read my guest post here

Because I do not meet that description of resilience above, or the dictionary definition of it. I don’t agree with it. I am not ‘stronger than ever’. But I am here.

In the past year I’ve continued to suffer from acute depression (I’ve been hospitalised and continue to have day patient care and take a whole fistful of medication), broken my back, elbow and had countless days when I wished I would not wake up the next day. But I do.

I am now launching a campaign of my own: Redefining Resilience – where I will speak to as many schools, businesses and charities in the UK (and beyond) as I can to tell my story and offer a different perspective of what ‘resilience’ means. I have had depression and anxiety for twenty+ years. I have been bullied at work, I have been taken out of projects at work for admitting to depression and stress. I have been told to lie about being stressed to colleagues as a point of performance feedback. And I am still ill with depression and anxiety today despite treatment. But I am still ambitious, still working, and I still will not give up living.

I have spent the last year campaigning to end the stigma associated with mental illness by writing a blog about my day to day experiences living with depression, anxiety and borderline PTSD. I campaign for Mind, Time to Change. I have written for the press and appeared on television talking about my experiences and raising awareness.

I am also a full time city professional – a management consultant manager specialising in helping organisations transform their businesses in various ways. I manage teams, work with clients and contribute to the success of the company I work for (KPMG). At the same time I advocate mental health support through being a managing member of our Be Mindful network which promotes and supports a mentally healthy workplace because everyone has mental health.

I am listed on Brummell Magazine’s 2015 list of Inspirational City Women who are Champions of Diversity, and I am one of five women (including Woman’s Hour Power Lister Nimco Ali) to be shortlisted for the Women of The Future 2015 Community Spirits award.

Do you work at a school, university or organisation who would like to hear my story of what resilience means for me - what my resilience story is?

I would love to have the chance to share my story with your school, business, group and help to redefine resilience. We don’t all bounce back. But we do keep fighting as much as we can. We know that young people are self harming and suffering with mental illness now more than ever. We know that suicide is the highest cause of death in young men aged 20-34. Mental illness is a killer. I want to raise awareness of this condition and tell anyone who has survived another day: you are resilient. you are not a failure. You are winning by surviving. 

Please contact me using the contact form at the bottom of this blog or at my new email address: redefiningresilienceforall@gmail.com I can't wait to get more conversations started about what resilience really means for all of us to help improve our health, our children's health, our colleagues' health. Because everyone has mental health just as everyone has physical health.

Guest Post: Juggling - the Fine Line Between Working & Mental Health

I am so pleased to welcome +Claire Robinson-Ayres (BrizzleLass)  to my blog for the first ever guest post! 

http://brizzlelass.co.uk/

Claire writes about her experiences working alongside life-long mental illness, with an eventual diagnosis of bipolar. When I read this I am reminded of how strong, resourceful and creative many sufferers of mental illness are. Even though her health makes working extremely hard, Claire still holds on to her ambition and drive. Thank you Claire, for this inspiring story. +BrizzleLass Blog 

I first started showing signs of problems with my mental health as a young child, when I was diagnosed with depression and emotional instability at just nine years old. Being part of the mental health system was nothing new to me, and if anything it made me all the more determined to be 'normal' and to show everyone I could be successful and I did, to the detriment of my mental health.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 25, by which time I had forged a career in marketing within professional services, most prominently in the legal sector. I worked hard at my career while juggling my illness for several years. In the end I left professional services as it was far too stressful and worked part time in online marketing; but even that wasn't enough to stop my illness taking over, especially when a mystery physical problem appeared which took a few years for doctors to diagnose and resolve.

I was forced out of my job in 2013

After being forced out of my job in 2013 I decided to set up as self-employed and start managing my workload more effectively. I had some great contacts from my 15 years of experience. I started contacting people, and the work slowly started coming in. I managed to get enough work to keep me busy 2-3 days a week, which was just what I had hoped for.

I had a great rapport with my clients and they appreciated having someone who understood social media algorithms and could put together plans to utilise their marketing budgets effectively. I spent my time writing social media posts, blogs, rewriting blog content, sorting out SEO, and generally doing the kind of marketing I really enjoy. I made my clients happy, made them money and all was good.

Then hypomania started, I went from working 2-3 days a week to working 18-20 hours a day, seven days a week. Now for a start I didn't have near enough work for this, but I managed to do it anyway, I would sit at my kitchen table, bent over my laptop working like my life depended on it, I would just be typing away, correcting things, rewriting posts, pages, changing spreadsheets, reformatting invoices. You name it I found it to do. 

This spectacular demonstration of hypomanic obsession went on for four months, at which time I crashed into the deepest depression I've ever been in. In my entire life, through all the depressions I've ever known nothing has been like this. In the space of a week my business folded and I was bankrupt.

As if that wasn't bad enough I tried to take my life for the first of six times that year, I was at the beginning of what was to become the year from hell and it was only April! Later I joked that at least I lined my breakdown up with the financial year for HMRC!

I went from always being the person who worked, and found a way through to having no job, no business, no savings, no money. For the first time in my life I had to turn to DWP; it was the most humiliating process of my life (and bankruptcy was very humiliating)! I've been on these benefits just over a year now and to this day I hate them, I feel sad that my life reached a point where I became that sick. 

I work really hard with the team that helps with my mental health care, and I have a clear goal of being able to work again in the future. But I also need to reach a point where I am stable. This is something I have never been and it is an issue my mental health team are helping me deal with. Between medication and therapy we will get there.

I'm not good at doing the 'sick' thing though. I can't just fill my days with nothingness. I'm a born worker-bee. So I started blogging again. I now write about mental health, I'm trying to be an advocate, to speak out and encourage others to. The more people speak of their experiences honestly the less 'hidden' it will be.

I also review books: reading gives my mind peace; it calms the 'voices' I hear and regardless of whether I'm depressed or manic I get some time out. Writing is also very therapeutic to me so finding different ways to write has helped immensely.

"I also review books: reading gives my mind peace"

I have a daily to-do list, which contains all the daily basics for when I'm depressed and struggle to even get out of bed, so an achievement will be ticking off things such as: shower, eat breakfast, make lunch, clean teeth, go outside. On more normal days, the idea is to do more interesting things on the list like writing, or walking, making sure housework is done. When I'm hypomanic I need to make sure I don't go overboard and so must do no more than is on that list. For example, I have a tendency to go out for a short walk and come home 5 hours later so I will set a timer and that will tell me to turn and go home regardless of how much I want to continue!

My life hasn't quite turned out how I planned: I thought I would be a company director by now. But that wasn't meant to be. Instead I've discovered I'm immensely creative. Words come to me when I start writing and I'm using that gift to raise awareness. I will go back to work but what I will do exactly I don't know.

I do know that I won't let Bipolar beat me!

Please do come and follow me at my blog BrizzleLass.co.uk, on Twitter @BrizzleLass, or on Facebook see BrizzleLass Blog.

Short Post - Shortlisted for Women of the Future Award 2015

It is such an honour to be shortlisted for a Women of the Future award - thank you

I'm surprised, delighted and somewhat speechless and overwhelmed to announce that I've been shortlisted for a Women of the Future award in the category for Community Spirits. Congratulations to all the other women who are shortlisted with me and for the amazing work that they do.

You can read the full nomination listings here

This comes a few days after it was announced that I am also now named as 1/30 Inspirational City Women Champions of Diversity by Brummell magazine.

You can read all the 30 listed women's profiles here

Being recognised by both of these organisations / publications is a tremendous honour. A year ago I still wasn't being fully open about my mental health because I was terribly afraid of the stigma I might receive from others, as I had experienced in the past. I still see that stigma and experience it both personally and through the accounts others share with me. But now I talk about it. I won't accept it. I speak out and up and will keep speaking until this stops.

I support @mindcharity and @timetochange 

as a media volunteer, a campaigner, a runner and more.

Please read more about the work of these two amazing charities here: 

Mind and Time to Change

This stigma has to end. Mental illness is a killer and not being able to talk about it makes it worse. If you can start a conversation in your work place, your family, with your friends or with someone on the bus where we talk about being more accepting, understanding and kind to each other, whatever our differences are, whatever illness or disability we may have, we can make this conversation part of a bigger national and international discussion where we can highlight the dreadful stigma around mental illness and  - together - end it once and for all. I represent a person who is living with a mental illness but I am living with it. I am not a psycho, a nutter, a mental case, a head case. I am not a #headclutcher. I have an illness and I need respect for that. And then I need respect to get on with my life as I choose to. And one of the things I choose is to speak up for others suffering with mental illness (and stigma) who do not feel they want to or are able to speak for themselves.

Read more here about @Rethink_ and this statistic

I hope you will join me and have a conversation about this today, tomorrow, or someday soon. #MentalHealthMatters. We all have it, and we need to look after it. Our own and others'.

Thank you for supporting my blog where I will continue to share my story and perspectives on what mental illness is really like. And thank you to @womenoffuture and @BrummellMag for recognising me. I am overwhelmed, delighted and inspired. I hope it will help to bring more people into the conversations we need to have about #MentalIllness and the actions we need to take to change how we care for mentally ill people - the millions within our country struggling and surviving (or not surviving) - better.

Thank you.

2014: Depression - an illness. Everybody else is doing it, so why can't we?

This is a post about mental health. I hurt myself badly this year through depression. And then I broke myself physically. Another post about that to follow. And it all started with a stubbed toe.

This year we did some major renovations to our flat. When I say 'we' I mean 'I' of course. My husband's idea of a renovation is changing a broken light bulb. or taking down the Christmas tree (in April). (I can confirm that April is, in fact, well after twelfth night, and thus you superstitious types might want to clutch your lucky(? for whom?) rabbit's foot as you continue to read.)

Flat à la Manhattan, and piano (just seen)

I decided to bring a touch of Manhattan to our London home, so with the help of our DIY Tzar Tris, I drilled and took off the plaster from our hall wall, exposing beautiful multi-coloured bricks beneath. I repainted the hall, living room and toilet walls, and framed and hung many pictures, photographs and mirrors to offset the stark white setting I had created. I varnished and stained tables and chairs, bought cushion covers and rearranged furniture. And then, transformation almost complete, one happy Sunday near the end of June, for no reason at all, I moved our piano - as if purposefully - into my left little toe.

Firstly, of course: "OWWWWWWW!"

Definitely NOT walking into the centre

But secondly, necessarily, Google for NHS advice and thirdly a trip to our oh-so-appropriately named 'walk-in' centre for a toe check up - was it broken? Was there anything that could be done, other than grimace and hobble? Apparently not much. Strapped up - my little toe to its bigger next door brother, that was it. However, dear reader, little toes are still very large in the area of pain, and a right royal pain it was - not only literally, but through the subsequent sartorial limitations. I'm talking about SHOES. The mothership of fashion in my view. SHOES. I-COULD-NO-LONGER-WEAR-ANYTHING-BUT- UGGS. Like, total disaster, babe. Tyra dissed them in season 3 of ANTM. Ugh [sic], What to do, yeah?

Uggs? Nooooo!

Luckily I found a pair of plimsolls - coincidentally these were Uggs too  - but shoes not boots - that I could wince - less - around in and off I went. 6 week recovery. Not really an illness at all. Simples.

Unfortunately life didn't quite work like that.

In my previous post I talked about loneliness and moving back from New York. Such was my loneliness and feeling of isolation and lack of support that I began to suffer a severe episode of depression, which started early 2013 and continued well into February this year. During the worst of this time I spent all the time I could in bed, or watching television catatonically.When I wasn't crying from loneliness or just plain sadness, that is. I worked though the struggle to do so was immense, every day a new battle to just survive it. I found social situations exhausting and stressful, and sleeping became fitful at best. Fortunately I found help - a (UK) doctor who prescribed medication and cognitive behavioural therapy to treat the symptoms, while I managed the move back home to the UK. And gradually I felt better and able to go out into the world again: I mostly slept through the night, I saw friends, I exercised.

The road to recovery

At the time of the toe incident, and while still being treated with medication for depression, I was working for a client and having an increasingly hard time. My job means going into tricky situations, this no exception, but the difference here was that two of the people at the place I was working - third party people (i.e. not from my company or the company I was consulting for) - had taken such violent affront to me that life at work became very tough.

Let me just talk about my job for a second. It is to advise. It is to think through solutions and share them, and ask for input. It is to join a team and work with them towards a better company - better outcomes, people, changes. It is to get things done. That is my job. And finally, let's consider that I am not a 21 year old wet-behind-the-ears graduate with the sounds of a sticky-floored nightclub ringing in my ears. I am nearing veteran status as a consultant, I work bloody hard and I know what I'm talking about - or when I don't I say so, or keep schtum.

Making stuff happen. That's what I do.

These two women decided a week and (in one case) a day after meeting me that they did not like me or want me around. Fine. We all meet people we wouldn't socialise with outside of work, but with whom we need to get on with. And, for goodness sake, I cost a lot of money - so it would be foolish not to use me.

Still, perhaps they were fools. Within a single day I was demoted in my role to fill the most junior status imaginable; I was also seated in a building 10 miles from where they worked. Only two others from our twenty-plus sized team worked in this building, and were often elsewhere, leaving me alone, in the Midlands, even though it cost £500+ a week to get me there on the train, let alone hotel costs. I was physically and deliberately isolated from them. If I worked at home I was criticised for not being ' visible': interesting how you can be more physically visible working 10 miles away than 100 - I haven't been able to understand how that works.

Eventually they seemed to understand that I could in fact do more for my money, and I worked on a single piece of deep research. Alone. No guidance - I wasn't granted the pleasure of answers to my phone calls or emails. Fine - not the way I wanted it but I did it. But again, I was isolated. I was disinvited from meetings; I was criticised in the office, or only spoken to to disinvite me from yet another meeting or to comment on my appearance: "I couldn't get one leg in that."

Not the most fun project ever

I'm afraid that now I will stoop to that level of personal comments - which I feel are unprofessional - to help you imagine these two vicious persons I am grateful no longer to be acquainted with. For this I turn to Roald Dahl, who perfectly describes one of this pair (who were both female - I imagine still are) in James and the Giant Peach: "(Aunt Sponge) was enormously fat and very short. She had small piggy eyes, a sunken mouth, and one of those white flabby faces that looked exactly as though it had been boiled." Copy this but make the other woman tanned with massive false eyelashes - not, unfortunately, massive enough to complement her chubby cheeks and grotesque exterior, and you have the pair. If doughnut scoffing were an olympic sport, I'd fancy these for the GBR gold and silver.

Sponge and Sponge 2 (No Spiker.)

Shunned by silence on the few occasions I was in the office by these two 'colleagues'; whispered about; isolated and spoken to only rarely, I of course shared this with my superiors, but the fact was this: I was being bullied. When I asked for help I was advised it was 'inappropriate to show stress'; another person said it was 'as much my fault for not bringing it up sooner.' And another has admitted to me since that I could have equally been criticised for requesting to stay and fight it out or admitting defeat and requesting to leave. I felt trapped.

Bullying. Evil. Always has been. Always will be.

As a child, I was bullied at 5, at 10 and at 14, very badly. I thought I was over it. Clearly not. My depression - which had been under good control, no longer needing CBT, seeped back little by little. I found it hard to go to work, knowing an empty office would await me, and little likelihood of much work-related interaction. Knowing I would have to try to speak to those two women who refused to interact with me.

Unfortunately this could only be maintained so long

It got worse and worse. Isolation grows like weeds around an empty gravel patch and suffocates the other life that could potentially live there. I left to walk for lunch and would bite my lip to try to stop the tears coming - every day, and clock watch the minutes to take me home and to bed. I suddenly found it hard to socialise again. Running became a trial, as if someone were constantly pushing at my head. Going out was exhausting. I was becoming catatonic again.

Finally I could barely hold myself together through the day - though I had taken not a single day off - it was becoming harder and harder to start the day at all. I didn't want to go to work. I didn't want to live.

I refer again to the description of myself at work. I am someone whose job it is to get things done, and that is what I did. I made an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist - yes, my doctor is a psychiatrist. I asked my GP to refer me to him (as I had been privately paying for him before) to apply for medical insurance and finally, I asked and agreed with my psychiatrist to admit me to hospital. I could not go on any longer.

Here comes the rub. Mental health as an illness. I was absolutely terrified of anyone at work knowing the truth; I feared stigmatisation after the feedback to not demonstrate stress at work. And I feared it because before I had been shunned after (once - ONCE) crying at work. The next day I was rolled off a difficult project at the end of my term, rather than extended. I wasn't consulted. And I felt sub-human because of it.

I got better, though. Two weeks in hospital and a lot of day patient care and I felt ready to try life out again. The doctors and staff who treated me were amazing. Thank you to my friends whom I emailed to tell of this at the time. You have been incredibly supportive and amazing. You visited me in hospital and brought me wisdom and love - and even though I can't love myself in this state I re-read your emails and keep trying to accept myself just a little bit more.

Today is World Mental Health day and I am coming out. I am someone who has depression. I take medication and get help for it. And I can work and operate as a normal person with that help - and hopefully, soon, as in the past, without it. Please don't patronise me by treating me differently because of this. Please don't make decisions for me. If I had broken my leg, you wouldn't start treating me differently at work. You would sympathise but you wouldn't stigmatise. So please don't. I have an illness and it is being treated. If I need help I'll get it. I don't want it to define me and I don't want to be 'the one with depression'. I'm as funny, intelligent, driven, annoying, ridiculous etc. as I always was - as I was 1 minute ago before you knew. Please think about that.

But workers, everywhere, and mostly, leaders, and future leaders. Please recognise mental health for what it is. Something that is challenging, difficult and takes time to heal, but does not and should not preclude suffers from being just like you. Look around. Maybe there is a leader among you who is excelling in spite of it. And don't send flowers for just physical illnesses. Mental illnesses are just as serious and real.

Depression is the curse of the strong, so it's more than likely that in our country where 1 in 4 people have a mental health problem, you know many people who might be suffering - perhaps in silence. Let's end the stigma together. I am standing up. Please stand with me - and my friends.We are all standing close to you now.