Tis the season to be...whatever you wish. Make your Christmas happy. Your way.

En route to a Christmas Party, with a smile. See, I'm not all Scrooge.

I've been a bit miserable about the Christmas season recently, I've realised, mostly because I do find lots of things about this time of year very hard and getting through it is a challenge. It's not easy being depressed and feeling like you have to go out and about whilst miserable in the presence of everyone else being jolly. However, although it's true that I'm hardly a saintly Tiny Tim about the whole affair, nor am I a curmudgeonly Scrooge pulling down his nightgown and ignoring the fact that the stairs sound as if they're in the midst of a marathon steel band session.

Tiny Tim teaches us all a lesson about accepting people and seeing the good in them

Actually there are lots of things I love about Christmas, especially now that we've got into the ironic spirit (pun intended) of the thing properly. Sincerity is strictly reserved for good will to all men: the part about loving one another and "God (or the higher power of your choice) bless us every one" is the only part I really get on board with from that perspective. In my view Christmas is what you want to make of it. And in my view that's spending time with ones I love. And irony. And food.

This would be fine, except clearly this woman is taking the whole thing DEADLY SERIOUSLY

When I lived in America I spent a memorable Halloween in Southfield, Michigan, where I was working at the time. I was amazed as I went to my beloved (and much missed) local Chipotle to see cars pulling up as usual, but emerging from them not the casually dressed office workers I usually saw in line ahead of me, but instead, a pirate, a teddy bear and some sort of fairy princess. Yes, Halloween in America is a Whole Other Proposition. We've all seen the films of adorable little darlings parading the streets in their cute miniature spaceman or cowboy outfits, a sort of Toy Story Comes To Life parody; but adults? I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

Home Alone Lives in Ironic Christmas Jumpers. LOVE

Of course, this is a country which loves its candy, so I don't know why I was as surprised as all that, but I was quite shocked by the lengths to which people would go to dress up and embrace the 'holiday' which carries such little weight in the UK and elsewhere. We find sincerity of this type quite the challenge in the UK. But last Friday in Britain, we had a holiday we as a nation can all, just about, with all our 'I'd like to but really it's terribly embarrassing and I couldn't possibly' reserve, get on board with: Christmas Jumper Day. Or, as I like to think of it, dress-like-your-mum-and-dad-would-have-in-the-seventies,-except-without-a-hint-of-irony day. I have to admit that this title does not quite have the same ring to it.

Lampooning. Irony. Except that in reality families like these really exist in a suburb near you

I spent Christmas in the USA with a great friend in 2003. As we went to buy our Christmas feast we marvelled at the lack of irony of the earnest shoppers all around us in their not quite ridiculous enough 'seasonal sweaters'. I'm talking about the single coloured-jobby with the white patterned reindeer dancing across the front. Or with big stars covering bigger bellies. Surely these people realised that they looked like extras from Home Alone? Apparently not. And Britain being Britain, we couldn't possibly engage in a jolly jape like Christmas jumper day without it being obvious that we're doing the whole thing for a proper giggle, and aren't taking ourselves seriously in the slightest.

Pigs in blankets. Nomnomnomnomnom.

So, back to what I love about Christmas. Food, obviously. And specific types of food at specific times. These have become a tradition with me. Crazy meatballs for Christmas eve dinner, slow cooked pork meatballs with cranberry sauce, brown sugar and sauerkraut mixed up and made into a sttick sauce, baked in the oven while my husband races around the nearest high streets frantically panic buying despite the fact that he's probably already bought better presents than I have anyway; Smoked salmon and (lumpfish, I'm not a millionaire!) caviar on tiny blinis with sour cream and a deliciously cold glass of Champagne to start Christmas day. Some sort of meat for Christmas dinner - I'm not at fussy about this actually, as long as it's not turkey, but with stuffing, port and cranberry-sauce braised red cabbage and as many little sausages with bacon as can be bought in a single trip to Marks and Spencer. And probably pommes Dauphinoise. Cream + potatoes = winning formula.

Mulled wine. Christmas dessert and hot water bottle in one

We sometimes go to a local pub for a Christmas drink on the day. This is one of my favourite times to go out in public, as I love to watch other people enjoying their day and one another's company. This seems like a special way to mark the day, and the neutral ground helps. The weekend before Christmas, my extended family and I come together for a Christmas feast and sharing of silly presents and jokes. Everyone dresses up and we enjoy a catch up and seeing the younger members of the family having fun on the day.

As mentioned in a comment in my previous blog, I don't hold that you have to spend Christmas with your family to be happy. In fact for many that would be a recipe for unhappiness, where resentments long-harboured, traditions which are upheld in the absence of any civil tongues, or where presents are shared with expectations of larger and more expensive offerings to make up for any real warmth or love in the room. That is a traditional Christmas for many, and I don't like it one bit.

One's onesie

My latest Christmas love is the onesie. Ah, the onesie, unattractive in most ways, but warm, snug and comfortable to wear. This is my perfect Christmas outfit. I also love the fact that I don't have to leave the house. I used to wear a variety of Christmas jumpers and pyjamas (and probably a hat too) that Mat will proclaim adorable despite the fact that I wouldn't even be allowed on Jeremy Kyle in such an ensemble. Now I can climb into my onesie and I'm done for the day. Just add woolly socks and my Ugg boots and I'm ready for the Christmas film marathon, sitting in front of our real Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights and white card stars, shimmering with their gold and silver glitter in the soft lights.

 The films are probably worth a blog post to themselves, so I'll think about that over the next few days. In the meantime I'll take my Christmas radio times, bought once a year, and start circling my Christmas viewing timetable. Home Alone will definitely be on at some point, I bet.

Will it Be Lonely This Christmas? Ho Ho Ho or Hu- Hu- Humbug?

“It’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees, they’re putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace. I wish I had a river I could skate away on.” Joni Mitchell knew a thing or two about Christmas in my view. Although she goes on to sing about lost love in her song ”River” and her own failings, the mention of reindeer and singing are just as important for many people who find this time of year less than easy to get through, for whatever reason.

You don’t find “River” featured on many editions of The Best Christmas Album In the World, Ever. It’s not exactly uplifting and although the beginning of the song pays homage to Jingle Bells there’s no other evidence of jingling, bells, tinsel or untold joy, so I suppose even I have to be admit this song would be a tough sell to record executives targeting the Office Christmas Party market.

Shots, Santa, Snogging, More Shots. Now that's what I call Christmas (at the office)

Yes, River is rather unique as a Christmas song, and in one more that I can think of: it tells the truth about Christmas. There are people putting up decorations, but there are also people struggling to get through December and the holiday season.

One in four people are suffering from a mental illness right now. Which one is it?

This year, mental health charity Mind is targeting loneliness as the theme of its Christmas appeal. It makes the point that loneliness takes many forms, but the key point of all is this: you do not have to be alone to feel lonely at Christmas. Someone who has recently lost someone or has had a change of circumstances might feel lonely; but perhaps someone, or many ‘someones’, are at one of those office parties feeling like the most isolated person in the world, despite the laughing, raucous crowds around them.

 

For the last few years Christmas has needed to come earlier for many, I have felt. As soon as Halloween is out of the way Christmas lights, advent calendars, chocolate of course, and booze, booze, booze foretells the coming not of a child or a miracle, but the pressure to consumer more, earlier, for longer.

Poorer, more pressurised, but pretty. Pretty dangerous to think spending can make us happy.

The recession has left us poorer and more pressurised. Christmas advertisements proclaim omnipresent happiness mandatory for all, and party on party is presented in ever increasing displays of glamour and splendour. Viewers may not be dashing through the snow, but through Black Friday and Cyber Monday. Yes, even though we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in the UK we’re grasping its commerciality by both reins.

Our ability to live up to the commercial expectations we might put on ourselves dwindles with the rate of inflation year on year. However, with money such an unfashionable topic of polite conversation, I’m guessing that none of the parties being created in real life to mimic the fiction of advertising include discussions of money troubles. Hardly talk of a Christmas Carol, more like Hard Times. And what we have to hide through all of this, and pretend through makes us all lonely.

A Christmas Carol. Hard Times for Some.

My hope is that Christmas will not lead us to want to skate away but to experience Christmas realistically, or in whatever way not to make us poorer or sadder than we would anyway be. So, no jingle bells perhaps; no skating. I’d settle for a silent night.

Darkness Visible, and the Black Dog: the Advent of Winter

Deer and darkness.

I've fallen out of sync with my usual blogging flow of posting something on Friday night, thinking that people can read it at leisure on a Saturday before they get up if - like me - they grope for their iphone/tablet first thing and wake up slowly with the news and a view of the world from bed before lauching (or lurching) from bed into real life: dressing gown, front room, kitchen, Rice Krispies...contemplation of other activities...quite possibly leading to a return to bed.

The reason for this - my being at odds with my self-determined schedule - is, I think, the time of year. I have never been very happy in the darker months. The incipient dullness and bleakness which approaches in October becomes darker and danker still in November, and today on the 1st December it has reached a state of osmosis with the world outside.

The black dog. It can be stronger than me in the darker months.

Even when it is dry the air is close to dampness. Old houses feel particularly heavy with the moisture each brick contains. In New York the iciness is cold and dry, and one's skin sucks in moisture or makeup in an attempt to build any kind of barrier against that unrelenting chill; in the UK the dampness is what persists, and icy blasts not so much a worry as the continual feeling that any minute now a cold, or, worse, flu, will strike us down to a diet of Lemsip, vitamin C, echinacea and Night Nurse, with a little soup and toast tossed in for sustenance.

And in addition to the above, if, like me, you are living with depression (to a greater or lesser degree, mine being relatively well and my mood good at present) things are often harder.

I have a black dog. He lives with me and we know one another well.

When I was 28 I fell down on a freezing and damp January night and put out my hands to catch myself on the cold concrete ground. Many years later my left wrist, which bore the brunt of the impact, aches in the cold and I start to sympathise for aged aunts from my early childhood, who would blow over their tea, clutched with reddened, wrinkled, swollen-knuckled hands and tell my mother eagerly about their rheumatism, their bunions, corns and arthritis while I sat on my assigned chair, tried not to move at all and consumed my one allocated biscuit. I am continually amused at those elderly conversations where these unsavoury topics were considered just the thing for polite company, even though the elderly aunts were the first ones to point out faults in others for conversational exclusion zones and faux pas.

I am split in two at this time of year. Part of me loves the dank coldness, particularly in the park. I am listening to the wonderful Martin Jarvis reading David Copperfield - unabridged. Martin Jarvis's sonorous voice with its amazing ability to voice each character with a different personality brings to life so much of this tale, and the fact that it is inhabited in a world of candlelight, unspoiled countryside scenes and the same sorts of bricks and buildings that would hold in that moisture seem the perfect companion for my walks, particularly when I am squishing through a muddy field in the late afternoon mist, sharing my space only with the odd scampering squirrel or the deer, their pelts darkened with the rain and lateness of the year.

Deer. They even manage to play rugby! I do well to get outside.

This year I cannot run because of my back and arm, which are much recovered but still aching (and aching more in the damp and the cold). Therefore I try to get out into the daylight to assist in the rehabilitation process but also to turn my face in the daylight and try to absorb every vitamin benefit it proffers. I have a daylight lamp for emergency use, when my spirits threaten to drop down in line with the fading light, but for now I am trying to get my only exercise and my only daylight together, walking during those few hours.

Injuries: A Pain In The Neck, No. Arm

The other part of me wants to stay in with the door firmly closed to visitors. Although I love the park and the mist and the melancholic landscapes, I look out from my bed onto the outside world and see grey. I see the sky as white as clay and it repels me. I wrestle between bed or walk. And this is not just a fight between positive exercise or needed rest, it is also a tug of war in my mind between feeling justified in eating all the good things that come at this time of year, or not. Mince pies, with their pastry cases so innocent looking, but capable of giving a sharp and thorough tummy ache by their inability to be digested; chocolates of all kinds, and, most delectable of all, the Christmas snacks and accompaniments, my interest in which is directly proportional to the percentage of pig in their recipes.

This is in fact, cauliflower cheese. With bacon and black pudding. #doingthingsproperly.

Today, bed is winning at present. It is so grey, so damp-looking outside, and I have another interview to do - on loneliness - this afternoon. It is appropriate, that subject. This is the time of year when I can most relate to that subject after sad, solitary weekends in New York walking in the frozen park and comparing myself in all of my obsessive loneliness to every group or couple. But at home with my husband not far away I am not lonely at all, so the pain in my arm can be coped with, the greyness all round tolerated very well. And the biscuits consumed in moderate proportion. For now.

Read I Had A Black Dog or read more about it here.

It's the Economist's Crisis of Depression Summit, Stupid. Let's talk; Then Let's Act.

BBC Breakfast Feature on Depression in the Workplace 25th November 2014

Yesterday I appeared on television and spoke on the radio about my experiences with depression; two television pieces were broadcast, one on BBC One (Breakfast) and the other on Al Jazeera. Luckily the two for TV were recorded last week and on Monday. I say luckily because a spot which I reckon was about the size of Mars and just as red appeared out of nowhere on Monday night. By Tuesday morning had I gone out into traffic cars may have been confused on my high street and would have stopped at will - my own personal temporary traffic light right there on my forehead. Thank goodness a face for radio was all that was required. And today when I ventured out I made liberal use of the concealer options in my makeup bag. I wouldn't want to scare children. Halloween's over after all, and it's almost time to put up Christmas trees and all things sparkly. Not time to see massive zits on people who are really FAR TOO OLD to be getting them!

The pieces covered the Economist's Global Crisis of Depression Summit, which was held yesterday to discuss the £77 billion cost of depression to the work place. My contribution was one of a patient - someone who can speak to her own experiences and talk about the support measures I'm aware of. Many others gave expert opinions, from an economic, political, and medical / scientific standpoint. I truly believe this is such an important topic to discuss.

Depression in the Spotlight

This issue is personally linked to me and I'm personal invested in it as a sufferer, but when I think of the difference between my first understanding of mental illness, developed in my early twenties when I first suffered with depression, and now, I'm glad for the progress that has been made, but very much not content with the extent of the progress made.

I'm not a scientist but know a few, and know that where the brain is concerned complexity takes on an entirely new meaning. Research to cure depression and develop drugs with better effects and fewer side effects will continue to take many years. I've been on five different kinds of anti-depressants, and am only able to survive and sleep properly helped by my fantastic GP and a cocktail of other drugs which counteract the crippling side effects.

However, I also know what it's like to deal with change, because change is something I've experienced - we all have - and managing change is what I do for a living. This is where I feel angry. Work place stress is massively high, and yet there is still no parity of esteem. It's great that we're talking about it, but that's just a start.

BBC London 94.9 25th November 2014

02:13:00 - 02:19:00

Why has it taken us so long even to get to this point? And I think that we're at breaking point with these figures. A good friend from school I haven't spoken to for nearly two decades messaged me yesterday to say she had felt a similar feeling of dread waking up at four in the morning. She said, "writing the above made me cry on the train." I've been there. I've not wanted to go into work and have had to make up an excuse to delay my arrival while I try to stop the tears that are ruining my makeup and my perfectly applied facade of healthiness.

Me unmasked and masked. Because you would never see anything on the lower tier.

I now do feel supported at work, but that doesn't mean that I won't get ill, and doesn't mean that everyone at work will understand (or everyone outside of work, for that matter). I hope that doing a good job at work will supersede any depressive episodes which may or may not come in the future. But I am lucky. I've read too many messages and statements by others saying, "Don't tell your work that you have depression / mental illness. Ever." "I told my work about my condition and my boss understood, but my colleagues didn't and eventually I had to leave."

Talking about the 4am dread of depression.

Today I'm really tired and a bit low. It comes and goes, and I have tried to rest to get through it. Not interesting, but true. Therefore this angry blog post is also going to be a shorter one than usual. I will defer to my televised and radio-recorded self to say what I feel about my own experiences. And when I go to sleep tonight, ahead of the American festival Thanksgiving,

Preparing for Al Jazeera Interview, Monday Night. Pre-spot!

I wish buying tolerance for depression was a special black Friday deal. I wish that were true. I will be thankful that 99% of people around me support me and what I am doing, and pray that we can all become a bit more forgiving and tolerant of this ubiquitous illness, so that next year we can be thankful for improvements for those people I know and those I don't who are living with mental illness in secret for fear that they will be stigmatised. I want to see that change so that people can speak out just to say that something is wrong - even if they can't articulate it as clearly as they would like. Secrecy and shame are poison, and have to stop.

Auntie Comes Round for Tea and Conversation...about My Experiences with Stress and Depression

Almost certain to be true in my case.

It's Friday night as I write this and I have to say it's been a strange day. I've made my second trip into the office since my accident - by taxi as I cannot use public transport.  This time, though, required me to be in the office for 9 am rather than sauntering casually into the place at 12, so I had rather a rude awakening for me, the worker-at-home and walking wounded.

Champagne soaked floozie? Never. Well, not a floozie. I have (some) dignity.

Today I have been filmed by the BBC - twice - for their BBC Breakfast show on BBC One. Once, to be in my office (and office garb), and a second time at home in my usual attire. [I asked them if a reindeer onesie was okay but apparently that's been done before. Darn it.]. This I was told by the producer I spoke to yesterday. The funny thing about TV (news) is that you have to believe it's not really going to happen. I can't remember how or where I picked up this notion, but it is absolutely true. If you ever wonder what a PR does for his / her company, look no further than spending hours on the phone trying to convince this or that paper, TV show or website to feature their cause, their celebrity, their largest cabbage in the Cotswolds. Whatever. As I said I don't know how I got to know this - I can hardly believe it to have come from my brief flirtation with student journalism, but I have now an innate sense of disbelief that any programme or feature I'm involved with will actually, well, happen.

Cute...scary...cute...scary...?

Still, after a 'possibly but probably not' email from Mind on Wednesday, that turned into a 'definitely' on Thursday afternoon with filming to take place the next day: the other thing to note is how fast these things are arranged. As you know I've been fairly vocal here and on TV / with Mind about my commitment to supporting mental illness advocacy, so now Mind has me on its books, as it were, as a case study they can roll out. "Jessica, yes, she's mad as a bag of snakes," is something that they are extremely unlikely to say when asked if they have someone to feature on this or that show, or in an article on whatever. On the other hand, I do have a string of mental illness symptoms to my name. Stress, tick, depression, yes, anxiety, oh definitely, loneliness (causing one or more of the former) for sure. On these grounds it does make me rather easy to ping to mind when wanting a willing spokesperson. And after all, I haven't invested in Botox stocks for nothing, you know.

Lovely Leah. I made her a cup of tea and she drank it. Win.

The beautiful and petite (ugh, I must remember this is a blog, not a personal ad) Leah Boleto is my interviewer. And fabulous, super nice Pete is our camera man. A compact but great team for the interview. We do a couple of shots at the office. One is of me typing with an incredibly close shot of my fingers as I submit the exciting message that is my weekly time sheet. I probably did it wrong because all I could think about was the fact that I hadn't painted my nails and in the words of Arsenio Hall in Coming to America, "I am badly in need of a manicure." You said it Arsenio.

"I am badly in need of a manicure."

At home, we do straight conversation style interview, with me talking to Leah and Pete filming, with just me in shot. We seem to talk for a long time so I certainly hope they got something to go on!

(Incidentally, friends and close blog reading amigos, let me be clear about what is required if someone comes to film at your house: cleaning and tidying. Neither of these are daily on my to do list, so it was with something reminiscent of a spinally injured, broken elbowed whirling dervish that I swept around the front room with help from the lovely Mat to make sure that we had vacuumed the rug and arranged the cushions properly. At the very least. And taken the recycling out. Let's just say that I felt I really deserved my dinner and glass of wine last night after whipping round. But I did my exercise for the day, sponsored by co-dydramol and Gabapentin. Why thank you.)

Leah and me, after filming. Jessica = relief

Leah was sensitive in asking whether it was difficult to talk about my past experiences. Reflecting on this, it gets easier the more that I do it, and honestly, it's not like a therapy session, so I don't end up crying all over her (I'm delighted to say, and I'm sure she's pretty pleased about that too!). I was saying to Mat this week that I don't want to become a broken record where depression is concerned. I do have other stuff going on. I'm most of the way through watching Lie To Me and contemplating The Good Wife and Scandal as the next box set-cum-Netflix-must-watch.

Bed bound and Netflix-addict. Thank you Tim Roth.

The difference in talking this time was that this was a recorded interview, rather than live. It was also a lot longer, so that my words can be chopped up into bite-sized segments describing my life experiences. I wonder how it will come out. I'm guessing about 20-30 seconds of content, so will be amazed if anything more is featured. That's TV, folks. They also took some footage of me 'doing something normal' for potential use in the segment.

Pete - awesome. Me - trying to look relaxed = not really relaxed!

Luckily the suggestion of me making tea was ditched in favour of me reading a book. I did make them tea - the poor two had travelled all the way from east London to Teddington and it took them nearly three hours. Perhaps a neat Scotch would have been more appropriate! But I don't drink it, or coffee. (I know, English, you're ENGLISH. Must drink tea...but I'm sorry to say that I'm letting the nation down, one de-caffeinated diet coke and orange squash, or glass of Veuve, at a time.)

 So we opted for me reading a book. I couldn't undertake this exercise in our personal gargantuan library without choosing my very favourite book, Possession, by A.S. Byatt. This is worth a blog in itself, or a book, or more, but suffice to say that I felt almost relaxed (almost) with a camera being poked in my face as I turned the page on cue and made sure I quickly moved on from a page where the (surely pre-watershed embargoed) word 'penis' appeared!

Time for a relaxing read. Just me and my camera crew.

 After all that time to get over here it was all worth it in terms of the tidying and cleaning. Everyone who sent me a get well card - look out for your cards in the background, and thanks again! You know what my favourite book is now, you can tell I need a manicure (possibly, if they use that shot) and I got to meet two great professionals - presenter and film expert - in the process. It just goes to say that depression can lead you to new and positive things. I really hope that the end product - to be broadcast on Tuesday 25th November to coincide with the Economist's "Global Crisis of Depression" conference. I believe we have to keep talking about this. But for now, I'll take a rest and wish you all a very healthy weekend. Get some rest and get out there if it's not raining...take care, most of all.

Camera lighting is very cool. Just saying.

Nothing Munch To Worry About: The Serious Cost of Mental illness

Whether he's hearing a scream, or screaming, there's definitely something to scream about

I feel bad about my own worrying. I mean, what do I have to worry about compared to most? Not only do I not have Ebola, but I'm not involved with the Band Aid umpteenth revival.

This week, in creative writing class, we had to write about something which interested us (no prizes for guessing what I chose), and then write a piece about it, using facts we found through research. Below is my offering. I think it's more Comment is Free than me, in terms of style, but I do believe that worrying too much is dangerous. Even if I am a first class worrier. And I'm going to try hard not to worry about that.

"It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.

"So it is."

"And freezing."

"Is it?"

"Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately."

Worries are something few of us can say we’ve never experienced from time to time. In the past few years, worries have come easily to us Brits more than ever before as uncertainty abounds: the economic situation is insecure; we have – at best – a shaky government. 

At work, redundancies have been common and the future seems less sure than ever, which leads to money worries with little or no job security or secure future for ourselves and our families.

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew! - Sing it, Hamlet

Those retired from work are, for the first time in many cases, seeing their children in a worse economic situation than they were in themselves as young adults. Things are tough whether you’re eighteen or eighty, but no less so than for the working population, who are juggling national and personal challenges with one very full pair of hands. Knowing this, it can’t be a surprise that this might have affected how many worries the average person experiences, and only a step farther to understand that ongoing worries might lead to illness and absence from work.

In the UK, 1 in 4 people suffer from mental illnesses, myself one of those “ones in four”. Recently, the World Health Organisation has reported that four of the ten leading causes of disability in the US and other developed countries are mental disorders, and estimate that, by 2020, major depressive illness will be the leading cause of disability in the world for women and children[i]. 

Before this year, I had never taken time off work related to depression, despite having suffered from it at different points of my life during the last twenty or so years; when I did take time off work, I sometimes related my illness to other causes or sometimes I worked through my illness despite the debilitating nature of the condition on my sense of well-being. In this I exemplify another statistic: that university-educated professionals are less likely to take time off work when depressed, and, if they do, are reluctant to tell their employer the reason why[ii].

Talking to my friends and family members, it is amazing that the statistic is only one in four. Almost everyone I have spoken to has experienced some period of their life where worry has turned to stress or worse. But I never knew about their illnesses / worries before; and they never knew about mine. We were all keeping one big secret from one another.

Employers are required to support any employee returning to work after a period of illness, and to make what are called ‘reasonable adjustments’ during this time. In the light of our secrecy this is hard to fathom. Personally I just don’t know what a reasonable adjustment should be – maybe don’t mark me down as a failure at my job if my eyes tear up in the office one day? Treat me as totally normal is probably the best thing I can think of.

These reasonable adjustments, though, and more direct action to help workers suffering with some kind of mental illness, are imperative for employers to take action on. In Europe, depression is said to cost workplaces £77 billion annually, with the greatest economic loss coming through absenteeism and lost productivity, according to a recent report by the London School of Economics and Political Science (LSE), and King’s College London[iii]. 

Many employers have publicly taken steps to pledge their commitment to addressing mental health, through signing the Time to Change pledge to end the mental health stigma and by founding the City of London Mental Health Alliance. This is a start – and only a start – to helping employees know that the companies for whom they work want to support them (and this makes sense. It's not as if doctors have an instant cure; partly why there's so much mystery around mental health).

Further, employers are starting to focus on mental health as a priority topic among the other ‘inclusion and diversity’ focuses, and many like my own employer, have set targets to address mental health awareness and support within their own organisations.

None of this stops me worrying – well – a little, but no more, nor enables me to ditch the medication and the therapy for depression in one fell swoop. However, knowing the statistics tells me my employer has as much to be worried about as I do. It must act to resolve its own, similar worries about an insecure future and potential financial loss. It makes economic sense to do so. Organisations and their employees have to work together to keep going amid the uncertainties that we all continue to face. It remains to be seen which organisations (and employees) will embrace the challenge and come through it stronger.

Seriously, though, we need to worry less!

[i] http://www.nami.org/template.cfm?section=about_mental_illness National Alliance for Mental illness

[ii] http://www.lse.ac.uk/newsAndMedia/news/archives/2014/03/WorkplaceDepression.aspx

[iii] http://www.lse.ac.uk/newsAndMedia/news/archives/2014/03/WorkplaceDepression.aspx