Introducing the Twelve Days of Christmas for Mental Health, in Official Launch Event for #RedefiningResilience Campaign

Launch Party this Thursday at 1of1 Designs, Teddington

It's my last week of work before Christmas and I definitely need some rest over the holiday. I'm crawling to the finish line!

 Christmas for me is wonderful, magical, musical, full of light, punctuated by laughter and probably includes Far Too Much Food. It can also be overwhelming, lonely, sad, dark, cold and frightening if my mental health is poor.

To try to explain this, I've created the "Twelve Days of Christmas" for mental health. Starting tomorrow, I'll be creating a short video diary each day up until (and including) Christmas Day to talk a little about what I'm doing and how I'm feeling in relation to my mental health. My depression and anxiety are usually quite up and down at this time of year, so whatever happens in the next twelve days, I'll speak honestly about how I'm feeling and hopefully help to shed light on what mental health problems can be like at Christmas, from my personal perspective.

Please watch the 'trailer' below to find out more

Redefining Resilience Campaign...The Twelve Days of Christmas 

(for me, living with mental health problems)

This is also in the week that my campaign Redefining Resilience has its launch party, in aid of Mind. Please come along to the launch event if you can, which is THIS THURSDAY in Teddington at 1of1 Designs from 5-9pm. (Poster above.)

Everything's Going to be Alright... Feel-Good Ideas for Finding Happiness Against the Odds

The funeral I attended yesterday was terribly sad, but also managed to be a wonderful celebration of Lucy's life, which I am lucky to have attended, and so very lucky to have known her.

Aside from the odd set back which I still have to - very actively - work through, I am working hard to take care of my mental health and recover, challenging negative thoughts, mind reading, worrying, ruminating, making assumptions with no evidence, and lots more. I've been recovering for a year and a half now, and taking responsibility for my wellness (while asking for support from others) is really important. Luckily I am a lot better - I am one of the lucky ones - and while I'll still be managing it for a long time, I'm at least having a good patch at the moment with the new medication, the therapy continuing and more...

What was clear yesterday from the discussions at the funeral was how important and enriching the people and activities that we fill our lives with. Even though Lucy is no longer with us, we heard stories of her infinite kindness, zest for singing, language learning, walking and doing it all supporting herself and others while pursuing ambitious academic endeavours.

It started me thinking about the things that help me to feel a bit better - whether I'm well and want to keep my health good, am struggling and need a boost, or am down right ill and need something to make me feel a bit better. Small things can help. Here are mine...

Music really makes me come alive. When I'm sad it can help me sit with my sadness, and uplifting tunes can make me smile when nothing else does. I can't understand a life without music!

The perfect feel good tracks. Not all my desert island discs,
but lovely tunes that uplift me through the dark moments.
Click here for the playlist on YouTube

Feel-Good Songs:

1)      Let the River Run

2)      Firework - Katy Perry

3)      Titanium - David Guetta featuring Sia

4)      Flashlight - Pitch Perfect Various Artists

5)      That Lady - Isley Brothers

6)      Ugly - Sugababes

7)      Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles

8)      Hoppipolla - Sigur Ros

9)      One day like this - Elbow

10)   Starting Today - Natalie Imbruglia

11)   In Demand - Texas

12)   Belfast - Orbital

13)   You Get What You Give - The Free Radicals

14)   Rhythm of the Night - Corona

15)   Shine - Tracy Bonham

(I should also add that a health rendition of Let It Go works WONDERS for my spirits!)

You even get subtitles! WIN!

As I've said before, enjoying good food and drink is both good for my health - the juices I drink to combat my anxiety feelings, the fish I eat a lot of to boost my bone density and eat some good fats, without empty carbs... and then there are the delicious empty cards, the sugar, the deliciously fatty burgers and friends and the warming, aromatic yummy dumplings. And as for Marks and Spencers' 'nom snacks'...bacon and cheese snacks. I salute you.

Feel Good Foods
The foods that are 'good' for me, and the foods that are gooood for me. 

So, I'm well fed. Yep. so I'm a happy camper with a mixture of the delicious and nutritious. There may be slightly more of the goood stuff around Christmas. I can neither confirm nor deny that there are about twenty packets of Marks and Spencers' bacon-wrapped-cheese morsels of delissiousness. That's a fair way to being contended. 

So next up is the clothing that makes me feel warm and fuzzy, which you'll be unsurprised to see from the photo montage contain a fair few warm and fuzzy items of clothing.

Snug, snug, snug, snug, snug.

Here are some of the places where you can get your hands on these snugly items:

From top left:

1. T-Shirt - VioletFlamingo

2. Maroon cords - Gap

3. Ear muffs - asoya.com

4. Gloves - Dents

5. Penguin jim jams - cyberjammies.co.uk

6. Christmas onesies - ebay.com

7. Hats - wheretoget.it

8. SNUG socks - surfdome.co.uk

9. Scarf - AndOtherStories

10. Coat - wardrobeoxygen.com

Imagine wearing all of these, because Mat won't let me have the heating on, and you'll have a pretty accurate picture of what I'm wearing most of the time...at home. I wear some at work, but even I feel that 'bring your whole self to work' might not stretch to a reindeer onesie. But you never know!

Right, I'm dressed in every snug thing, I've got positive tunes on, and I've eaten about 67 bacon and cheese snacks. What's next? 

Beauty. Okay, at this point I realise I may lose a few male readers. But bear with me because a few of these tips are good for everyone I think. The reason I decided to write about this is because my body physically manifests my mental health problems, and I think that's something that not everyone understands.For example, I have a psoriasis flare up on my scalp at the moment. Psoriasis is genetic and only occurs from time to time in my case, but it's not very nice, so I've been trying to treat it with specific medication. In addition to the juicing (which helps) and the medication for it, I then want to try to make the rest of my body feel better and try to keep my skin looking as okay as possible. 

It's not exactly rocket science to understand that when you feel crap on the inside, looking good on the outside can help massively helpful - or on the flipside, not looking great is miserable. 

Beauty products to protect, perfect, comfort, soothe...

Here are my favourite beauty products for feeling good (and preventing minor injuries!)

From top left:

1. Primer (Laura Mercier) - on top of a richer moisturiser for the winter, this helps keep my makeup from escaping in the winter chills.

2. Touche Éclat (Yves Saint Laurent) - to provide for all our highlighting needs in the winter when we've had not enough sleep and too much work. This has made me look a lot more human a fair few times.

3. Facial Fuel (Kiehl's). This one's designed for men, but it's a light, soothing and slightly astringent moisturiser that is great for after a shave, but I love it summer and winter under day makeup. It's great.

4. Vaseline (Vaseline) - good for cracked lips, for dry skin, for dry hands, for moisturising really dry skin (even on my face) I really appreciate this. (Plus, as a runner, vaseline is my saviour when I'm trying to avoid chafing!)

5. Poême (Lancôme) - my favourite perfume. The perfume that, when I wear it, people actually say I smell nice...so clearly I'm going to wear it forever. Please don't stop making in Lancôme!

6. Facial Cleanser (Kiehl's) - takes all my makeup off. Is smooth. Is creamy but light. Love this product.

7. Compeed - if you're going to a party or in new shoes, or like me want to do a long distant run, investing in some high quality blister protection helps massively.

8. Party Feet (Dr. Scholl) - not just for Christmas. These inserts for the soles of your shoes and heels protect rubbing, blisters, and enable me to actually wear heels for more than 10 minutes.

9. Nail varnish (Chanel) - I'm a recent Chanel convert but I do believe these colours are beautiful. Obviously you have to stink out the room / train carriage / office when you put it on, but nice nails are a nice touch. (I just need to work on the 'not-needing-the-loo-as-soon-as-I-put-it-on' problem.)

10. Finally...drum roll...Beauty Flash Balm (Clarins) - this is a miracle product. It peps up your skin, keeps your makeup on and even if you wake up with a hangover the next day, your skin will look fresh as a daisy.

So now I'm primped and pampered, warm in my pyjamas, well fed and relaxing because of the music... just a couple of other things that can help.

Uplifting Reads to Relax to and Rest with

Some of the books that I love, that have helped me feel better and that have helped me to 'feel' something when depression numbs my senses.

Feel Good Fiction and Fact
1. The Rosie Project - Graeme Simsion
2. Possession - A.S. Byatt
3. Behind the Scenes at the Museum - Kate Atkinson
4. Four Letters of Love - Niall Williams
5. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens (and others)
6. The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint - David Udall
7. The White Tiger - Aravind Adiga
8. The Velveteen Rabbit - Margery Williams
9. Stones into Schools - Greg Mortenson
10. Watermelon, The Brightest Star in the Sky, Rachel's Holiday, Sushi for Beginners...basically novels by Marian Keyes
11. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
12. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

And finally here are some things that are important about all else but don't fit into a neat category!

Other Feel Good Factors

1. Holding hands. I want to hold hands with my husband for as long as I can. And I want to hug my friends. I've learned how powerful hugs and hand holding are. They remind me that someone is there, looking out for me, and that I'm looking out for them - that we're in this life together.

2. Love. "Love is the answer." Saying "I love you" to the people I love matters, and hearing it from them matters too. I'm learning about balanced relationships - learning that for every question I'm asked, I get to ask one back, and for every loving gesture I make, I might get one in return, if I'm lucky.

3. Sofa time. Those DFS no interest adverts annoy me intensely, but the importance of comfort at home is key. I can snuggle up on the sofa, in my onesie, with my face moisturised, my woolly socks on, my dumplings and plum sauce, my uplifting music playing and a good book. Ahh

4. Sleep - can't miss this out. See last week's post.

5. ParkRun and running. Keeps my health up. Gets me out. Helps me to eat burgers.

6. Writing. A way I can express how I'm feeling and feel better through being creative with words.

7. Winter walks - hopefully with snow, but cold clear days where the weather is so beautiful is a wonderful way to spend the day.

8. Small animals - back to hugs and fun and life. Jelly cat animals are special friends.

And last but not least...love and commitment to ending the stigma around mental health.

Have a great weekend. Take care. x

08:12 to Cardiff Central

The train moves forward. 

Today is the funeral.

The train stops. Changes direction. Moves again.

Past the canal boats we ride.

Beside the bare branches, spiking towards us, facing the wind.

Today is the funeral.

The sky marbled with veins of grey.

The houses unlit.

Cars stationary in their lots.

Factory machines thrumming into life.

Today we are going to the funeral.

The train stops again. 

Disused carriages are dark and rusted. 

Silver birches try to strengthen roots in shallow ground.

Black Tarmac is stained with salt and remnants of the rain.

And we travel on to the funeral.

The train engine keens in the cold air.

Empty playgrounds.

Disused concrete slabs.

Cooling towers and motionless diggers.

A hint of sun, Not cold enough for snow.

And on we ride towards the funeral.

Cows complacently chewing the cud. 

On.

Past a sky full of starlings.

Past empty nests.

On we go. To the funeral.

We will arrive from our different places to be together. 

We will remember. Cry. Laugh. Remember.

And there will be other trains. Other days.

But today we are going. To the funeral. 

A Change is No Good Without a Rest: Seeking Balance Through Sleep.

It's been a few weeks since I wrote, I know. I've started two or three posts but haven't been able to follow through and finish one, largely because I've had to prioritise work over everything else because I've been on business in India. More on that in the (finished) future posts.

The fact is, that I had to address serious 'balance' challenges in my life to keep going.

I was supporting the launch of a completely new process, including creating a suite of documents to be used, sessions explaining the process to Indian colleagues so they could deliver it, and making improvements to the materials as they were tried and tested in different ways so that the whole process could be run successfully

And it did run successfully. I should probably add, though, that creating new ways of doing things in big companies is not a small thing.

It's hard for me to explain adequately what my work comprises, because 'management consultant' is a meaningless title unless (and even, sometimes, when) the company you work for has decided to change something and they've asked in consultants to help them with it, whatever it is.

I admit that it's hard to explain what I do, but the easiest way to explain it is that it's about helping people (sometimes a few people, sometimes hundreds of thousands) go through a change that is being made by the organisation that they work for.

For example, imagine if in your company the head of technology decided it was time to upgrade to a newer version of a system. The old one is out of date and has lots of glitches and bugs. It doesn't really allow the business to keep up with the world of 2015. The people you work with, including you, have used it for the last twenty years. You don't particularly want to change because your job is pretty straightforward the way that it is.

Here's where I come in. It's my job to work with others - hopefully a team made up of people from your work and colleagues from mine to help make the change happen. Together we figure out how we need to make everyone understand why the change is happening (in whatever way works best - information sessions, emails, webinars, videos and so on). We also take a look at training requirements and figure out what training is needed to make the new system understandable and a success.

Gradually you move the employees - the people going through this change - through the 'change curve' from not even being aware that something is happening, to the point where everyone has been through the training, has started to use the new system and eventually it's as if nothing ever changed.

Helping people change inspires me with hope that the world can be positive and worthwhile. I hope I use the skills I've learned as a teacher and in business when I speak up about mental health, when I write about it, in my campaign, so that people do change their negative attitudes to mental health. Also, I should note, I hate change. I'm terrible at going through changes myself, and this makes me a sympathetic and empathetic ally when it comes to supporting changes. I 'feel your pain'.

What comes alongside this, though, is that even the decision makers from the business have to reconfigure themselves to accept and adapt to the change. So change affects everyone. Everyone has to understand what the change (whatever it is) really means so that everyone can play their part and explain why it is needed help others 'get it' as well.

Anyway, the upshot of all the above is that I spent the last month trying to make a change happen starting on the inside of a part of my business and then using all the documents in the process in anger.

We did it, working all together in our different roles. However, a success like this comes at a cost: work life balance; anything like it.. I got up at 5 most days to get in two-three hours of work before taking a taxi to the office from the hotel, where after another nine or so hours I'd come home and keep working for at least another couple of hours before or after dinner (or during) and then crashing down for a sleep. I chose it. I wanted to do this. But if Mrs. Robinson taught me anything during Economics GCSE lessons, it was that everything you choose has an 'opportunity cost'. You have to give up something else for every choice you make. I had to give up something.

I don't advocate working like this. I decided to do it because it was a challenge I wanted to see through, and I don't see why I shouldn't accept challenges like these if I want to even if I have depression. However, I have to focus on keeping me healthy outside of work, and nothing else. It's a little bit like training for an athletic event. You put everything into your physical exertion, and you have to make sure that you are eating and sleeping appropriately to be successful.

Work - Eat - Sleep. That's it.

The French say it best

This is the only way that I could operate to have a chance of carrying on. No mental health advocacy, no preparing for the launch of my campaign next week, no blogging, not much reading, no TV or film-watching. Just a few hours out for dinner with my colleagues once in a while.

I couldn't and wouldn't compromise on sleep. At the weekends or any other day when my work schedule permitted, I slept early and long, going to bed at seven or eight and waking at seven. Without nightmares (which are a different challenge) sleep totally rejuvenates me. Decent sleep matters so much. It's sleep I notice going wrong when I'm ill - and I do have to take medication to sleep, because my depression interrupts my sleep (and so do my anti-depressants, ha).

So sleep,

Macbeth knew a thing or two about insomnia.

And murder, but that's another story.

Sleep made it possible for me to get through the time away and its intensity.

It was worth focusing on sleep to see the process through.  I made it through the 15 hour days and at the weekends without flagging too much (although I admit that I had to down a few diet cokes on Friday and Saturday last week to keep going...and now I'm handling some 'interesting' caffeine withdrawal symptoms).

I drank all but one of these. Ouch!

I'm now back and back to normal. Normal working hours again, a nightly long sleep and back to blogging, reading, watching and finally speaking up about mental health. I'm still wearing a little makeup to cover up the tiredness.

I may possibly look like a poor impression of Joan Cusack in Working Girl...in drag...but other than that, I'm fine.

Or maybe, if I'm being honest, I look a little bit more like this...

Yeah. This is definitely me right now. 

Tomorrow is my friend Lucy's funeral so I'll continue to reflect on loss and what life means. What is worth living for. I have one answer: mental health advocacy, so that people have a chance at gaining confidence to be themselves, getting help, finding respect for themselves and requiring it of others. Next week is a big week for me and mental health. Thursday is the launch event for my campaign Redefining Resilience,

I'm also launching the Twelve days of Christmas: a video diary per day which you can look at on the campaign Facebook page if you so wish.

 I find Christmas wonderful and difficult in equal measure, so the video diaries will document the different ways I'm feeling and what I'm doing (or trying to do) to take care during that time.

Music helps, friends help...love and kindness help. Whatever you're doing, I hope you are finding balance somewhere, and I hope that you and your loved ones are taking care. Till soon. x

I Love Lucy. A post on Tragic Loss, Suicide, Depression, Bullying, and Hope

Trigger warning: this blog contains information about suicide and bullying. Please take care while you are reading this.

Image: Banksy

On Sunday my friend Lucy (whom I knew from my stay in hospital starting last year) tragiically lost her battle with depression and ended her life. Lucy was brilliant, bright, funny and beautiful. She had attended Cambridge, like me (although I attended Oxford which Lucy would argue was inferior!), been ambitious in her academic aspirations and had recently returned to Sweden - a country she loved - to resume her studies towards becoming a doctor.

And now she is no longer here. I will never meet her and share a joke with her about the therapy groups we attended together at hospital.We won't discuss ice cream flavours over lunch. We won't watch terrible television together. She won't listen to music any more, sing anymore. Her singing is at an end. Her voice will never be heard again. And although I do love to write, I cannot find any words to describe what that sadness feels like to me.

What I do know, is, that there is not enough help for those of us who are struggling with depression and our mental health. Today in the UK, 17 people will die because of suicide, and up to 100,000 will attempt suicide this year. And that is not even touching upon the terrible lack of support forcing people back to work when they are too sick, which is why we must change the WCA. Nor the fact that too many young people and adults of every age are becoming sicker and sicker with the many facets of debilitating mental health conditions.

I will never. EVER. stop talking about how important it is that we support each other until we have ended the stigma around mental health and changed those harrowing statistics into more lives kept, more lives lived, more lives better because of access to care, support, kindness and love.

To honour Lucy, and everyone in her position, I will do this work. I will do it with others. I will do it for everyone with a mental health condition - or without one. I will do it for those caring for people with mental health problems. And I will do it for myself.

Here is my own story of times when I have lost "Hope". I know I have to watch carefully to try to prevent myself from harming myself during tough times.

I first lost Hope when I was five years old. My memory is so clear. I am standing on a wall in the playground again, because Rebecca and her friends tell me to. The wall has bars behind it and it’s too high for me to jump off. I can’t remember anymore how I got up here. I now know that play-time means wall-time, and when I realise that is how it will be from now on, I come home from school that day and in my room, alone with my toys and books, and I notice that Hope has gone.

I was hurt that she had left without saying anything to me. We had spent the last years together. She was there when I first rode my bike on the grass without stabilisers. She was there when I went to school (the school where I stood on the wall  every play-time) when we painted, when we ran, and when we made bread rolls and mine came out just like everyone else’s, round and golden and smelling so sweet. Hope was my friend: she was nearly always close by. And in the past, she only sometimes stood a little way off from me looking into the distance, like when I fell off the swing and cut my knee and my mother wasn’t there, or when *Beverly said that my painting of the owl was by her, not me, and Mrs Maler said that because we couldn’t agree, neither of us would have the painting, and she tore my owl picture in two and put it in the bin.

I had no words to describe the emptiness of life without Hope. I asked to stay home from school. I didn’t want to go in without Hope. Hope made me a bit braver. Hope showed me the squirrels who climbed the chain link fence at the other end of the playground and hopped along it, drawing out my smile after another play-time on the wall. Hope made things funnier, easier, lighter. Better. Hope made me want to keep exploring things. Hope showed me that the world was exciting and safe and different.

My mother eventually found out about the play-time wall game and that I wanted to stay at home so I didn’t have to play, play again, and play without Hope. Something must have happened – I don’t remember what – but I went back to school and I never played that game again. And then one day, when I was looking at the fallen leaves looking like someone had had a wonderful accident playing with the green, brown, red, yellow and orange poster paints, I smiled. And when I looked up I saw Hope at the end of the playground, watching the squirrels. Hope had come back.

As I grew up, Hope didn’t always stay. She came and went, sometimes staying for days, sometimes leaving for weeks. It was hard to manage when Hope left me. I understood Hope didn’t like school. I didn’t like it either, when Mrs Tramwell told me that a C was an awful test result, and I cried or when Jayne and Tessa sniggered behind my back, though not behind my back because they were right in front of me. As I got older, Hope struggled to stay. I sympathised. Sometimes I didn’t go to school because it was too hard without Hope.

By the time I was twenty I knew Hope found life with me hard. She would turn up sometimes to see me, when I was in a concert or handed in an essay that received positive comments from my tutors, or when I had a picnic on the river friends. Hope came for these times, and lingered a while beyond. I loved times with Hope. But Hope didn’t stay. She would take long trips, especially in the winter when the sun didn’t come through the grey clouds, and the mornings and evenings were dark and cold. It was hard without Hope. I relied on my hot water bottle, extra jumpers, socks and the comfort of bed to read or sleep, while Hope was away. I didn’t want to go out without Hope; I didn’t want to do anything. She would pop in from time to time, and sit on my bed, next to me, just so that I would know she was there. I think she wanted to stay. I just don’t think she could.

Life was hard without Hope, so I decided to work at making her stay. I watched her closely. If she moved towards the door, I took her hand and led her back towards me. If she looked out of the window, I distracted her by creating a picture with my oil pastels or walking in the park to see the squirrels I knew that she loved. I arranged to see more friends, to go to the cinema, cook, travel and explore the world, organising lots of things I thought would make being with me more desirable for Hope. I wanted Hope to stay.

Image: Hey Miss Awesome

Life events tested me to fight for Hope. At twenty four a great friend died and my father got cancer. I asked Hope to stay, small as she was, quietly in a corner as I grieved and worried. I whispered to her, “Please stay,” on days when I stayed in bed. Slowly my whisper became a voice and I started to find happiness again, hand in hand with Hope. I got my degree and a new job; I met a wonderful man and we fell in love; I got another new job (a better job, though a harder job). Hope remained, watching me rush through into new things and exciting experiences.

Image: Love this pic.com

I was afraid Hope might leave again, as the changes – happy and sad – brought my anxieties and worries back. I worked again to keep her, making more friends, socialising, doing, working, walking, and filling every moment of the day with something that would keep Hope with me. I bundled memories of rest days, calm and quiet under the duvet where I had warmed myself, rushing forward into everything clinging on to Hope to stay.

Image: Negatives are taking over

But I failed. I couldn’t keep Hope and myself in this way. In the spaces between this new different life of work, love, new (and old) friends and new city, the quiet moments were dangerous. I saw that I was tired. Smiling pained me. I wanted my mouth to droop into expressionlessness. I preferred isolation and sleep to any alternative. A fog of numbness filled my head with its heavy coldness, which flowed into my sinuses, my cheeks, my ears, down to my neck and through my body to my leaden feet. It weighted down my limbs, pushing me back into bed as I tried to get up. The fog took away my taste buds for food I ate with friends I had no energy to see, which I wasn’t hungry for. Surely my friends wouldn’t want me anyway. I was worth nothing like this. Without Hope. I went back to the doctor, again. I cried. “I have lost Hope.” My nights were wakeful, though all I wanted was to dream away these difficult days. I watched for Hope to come back, but all I saw were shadows of her. Wisps of something close to nothing. Not Hope.

Image: Havocjournal.com

Today, Hope has run away from me again, and I can’t find her. I should be better at looking for the signs that she’s about to bolt, really, after twenty years of living with her, here and there, from time to time. I’m feeling heaviness again; I cannot sleep; I don’t want to eat or see people. But I do. I do because I know that the only way to find Hope is to believe in her. I see people when I can. I eat things I know I like even if I cannot taste them. I run in the park looking for the squirrels Hope and I both love. I take my medicine. I go to work. I write. I try to be kind. I love my husband. I live.

I have succeeded at work despite losing Hope at times. I have achieved more things than I thought I could. I have grown. I have railed against the people who don’t understand depression; what life without Hope feels like. I tell them they are not alone. I stand up believing in Hope even when she is barely a memory to me. Please believe in Hope. Hope is there for you, even if you have to work to find her.

Image: ourworld.unu.edu

I believe that I will find Hope and that you will too. The wisps will become shadows, which will grow darker and more substantial. At last, tiny, but real, Hope will appear. And I will welcome her again, be kind to her and try to keep her with me, always.

Image: kcbi.org