An introduction to my mental health journey and why I think it’s important to talk about it.

All the buried seeds crack open in the dark the instant they surrender to a process they can’t see.

Mark Nepo

A month before my 38th birthday, I had a breakdown. A nervous breakdown, as they say. I burnt out. I couldn’t cope, couldn’t function, couldn’t see a way forward within my life. I’m a pretty anxious person at the best of times, but I wouldn’t say I was suffering from depression – and it turns out I wasn’t. But I did have a crisis, a depressive episode which saw me spend 24 days in a private mental health hospital, and not return to work for six weeks.

I am on the other side of that particular time in my life now. I’m gradually returning to work, I have a treatment plan and I’m moving forward. But now that acute period has passed, it’s almost like things get harder as I navigate my life with the changes and lessons now installed in me. My room and house are the same. My friendships are the same. My job is the same. But I, am different. Different in a good way. Calmer, more ordered. Two things I’ve been craving to be for such a long time.  I’ve been on the “self-help journey” (it’s cliched but it is what it is!) for nearly six years.  I’ve been questioning myself and exploring and working on finding out “who I am” for all of that time.  I’ve learnt and done a lot – but I don’t feel much differently about where my life is, where it’s going and who I am.  For a long time, I couldn’t categorically say I love myself anymore than I did when I started this whole process.  And isn’t that the point?

November 2014 is when I can mark a real beginning in the search, through an email I wrote to two lovely entrepreneurial women I discovered by accident, and who’s work really lit me up at the time (and still does!), mostly for the fact they were doing amazing things for women and for themselves (thanks Claire Baker and Alana Wimmer!).  Below is an excerpt from that email:

There are days where I’m really not sure how I’m going to get through the mud of stress and expectation and obligation and that general feeling that it’s just never going to get any easier.  But the thing that always keeps me going is the blind faith that one day, I will work it out and one day, I will find my passion and meaningful contribution to the world, and that’s when it will become clear, and life will be about living, not waiting and suffering through…

Up until a couple of months ago I felt EXACTLY the same as this.  That I couldn’t find what I was looking for, but that I trusted I would. As helpful as it is to have this indicator of where it all started, it’s almost soul crushing to think I still felt the same after such a long time.  When I’d identified the need for change, and more, and a different way of life – but hadn’t really put it into action.  Of course, that’s not entirely true – my life changed hugely in that six years, and much for the better.  What has persevered was a constant inability to acknowledge my achievements, my strengths and to love myself for who I am. 

Then, I lost the faith.  I stopped believing it would get easier, that I’d work it out, that I’d be happy.  The word I used to a friend was “untethered”. I became untethered. And despite the multiple warning signs physically, mentally and spiritually, I kept pushing in the wrong direction. And now I know exactly where my limit is – because I passed it.  The details deserve their own space. I imagine a breakdown is different for everyone who experiences one, while essentially being the same – the end of the way you were.  It’s impossible to return to the feelings and doubts and fears you had because you know what the worst is and you don’t want to return.  The difficulty, as always, lies in the action.  All the action you must now take – there is no other choice.  The appointments, the talking, the therapy, the drugs, the books, the tidying, the truths you must face.

I am incredibly lucky to have, and grateful for, an amazing support network.  My family and friends who love me unconditionally and with whom I couldn’t have made it through.  Who I didn’t lean on before it got too much but who I will never forget to call on again.  A supportive workplace, incredible doctors and therapists.  An exceptional private health policy which covered it all.  Not everyone has this. Not everyone recovers as quickly as I seem to be. Not everyone gives themselves a second chance.

So, while I’m nervous about sharing the things that went wrong, my diagnoses, my dreams – I know it is valuable that I do – both for me and for others with whom these feelings and experiences might resonate. Because I’m very sure I’m not alone. And that realisation has been the biggest learning and relief of it all.

Nicole xx