Our Top Posts of the Month (October 2025)

Check out our top posts for the past month. Posts are listed by the number of page views they attracted during the month, most popular first.

1. Twelve Songs That Remind Me What Caring Is All About
2. The Box on the Shelf: A Strategy for Handling Difficult Issues and Situations
3. Shhhhhhh! A Friend’s Guide to Secrets
4. I’m on My Way: Thoughts Inspired by Ed Sheeran’s “Castle on the Hill”
5. One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy: Encounters With the Absurd Man
6. Supportive Disengagement: How to Be There for Your Friend When They Need Space
7. Seven Hours on Sun-beds (I’m Not a Beach Person)
8. Thank You Anyway: The Gift of Ingratitude
9. It’s Not Enough / Never Enough
10. It’s Time to Talk. But What If You Don’t Want To?

Our most visited pages were:

1. Contact Us
2. Our Books
3. About Us
4. Testimonials
5. News and Appearances
6. Resources

 

Photo of sunflowers on Holy Island by Martin Baker.

 

Forward or Back? Thoughts on a Steam Train Ride from Heatherslaw to Etal

The little blue steam engine Bunty takes around twenty-five minutes on the two mile journey between Heatherslaw and Etal. The fifteen inch narrow gauge track of the Heatherslaw Light Railway follows the course of the River Till around Letham Haugh, a low-lying meadow near Etal village. On such a short journey, with plenty to see on either side, it wouldn’t seem too big a deal on which side of the tiny carriages you choose to sit, or in which direction you’re facing.

It was a big deal, however, for the father of two young children at Heatherslaw station one morning in July. I lost count of how many times he shuffled them between the carriage they’d chosen and the one in which his parents, the children’s grandparents, were sitting patiently. He had very specific, if not entirely logical, opinions on what constituted appropriate seating arrangements for a family excursion on a narrow gauge steam railway. He remained calm, but his need to control what was happening and direct where his children sat was as disturbing to witness as it was embarrassing.

I was reminded of the scene in the movie Jurassic Park in which the children Tim and Lex Murphy are deciding in which vehicles they’ll explore the park. Played by Sam Neill, palaeontologist Dr. Alan Grant is doing his best to avoid sharing a vehicle with Tim, whose enthusiasm for dinosaurs and need to share everything he knows about them is relentless. (I wouldn’t want to ride with Tim either!) After switching vehicles, only to have the boy follow him, Grant asks, “Which car were you planning [on riding in]?” “Whichever one you are,” Tim replies. His sister joins them. “She said I should ride with you,” Lex declares, speaking of Laura Dern’s character, palaeobotanist Dr. Ellie Sattler. “Because it would be good for you.” We’re meant to side with Sattler, but I feel sympathy for Grant. His wishes are being overridden by someone who believes they know better.

I wondered what the children on the train thought about it all. Were they used to their father’s need to control what they did? Did they actually care if they sat facing the direction of travel or not? Would they grow up to resent him?

The guard blew his whistle and the train started with a jolt. I jotted a few notes in my phone.

Do you face forward or do you face back?
Train Heatherslaw to Etal
Dad trying to organise his family’s seating
Need to control things and people vs letting them choose for themselves

I put my phone away and settled into the journey. The train rattled its way along the wide loop of track. Open fields on one side, the narrow water of the Till on the other. I’ve seen heron along there in the past. Cattle in the fields. Deer watching from beneath the trees, or running along the track ahead of the train. It’s a pretty journey with plenty to see if you’re paying attention, no matter which seat you chose or in which direction you’re facing.

In the weeks that followed, I kept returning to the notes I’d made on my phone. Do you face forward or do you face back? There was something there I wanted to explore, I just wasn’t sure what it was. It happens that way sometimes with my blogging. The shape of the piece doesn’t emerge until I get in there and begin writing. I opened a new document and gave it a working title. I chose a photo from the many I took that day, and wrote an opening paragraph or two. Where was this going, though? I was still in the station. Literally, in terms of the narrative, but creatively too. What finally moved me on was a conversation with my friend Jen. I told her I’d started a new blog post inspired by what I’d witnessed at Heatherslaw that day.

“So your post is about preference?”

“I’m still working it out, but yes. Preference, and how it affects what we see and experience.” I paused to reflect on that. “You might prefer to sit facing forward,” I mused, “and I might choose to face the other way. Our experiences of the journey will be different but one isn’t more correct or valid than the other.”

“Like it doesn’t really matter where you sit?” Jen asked.

“Yeah. I think so. Maybe.” As we chatted I was watching a TV adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple mystery 4.50 from Paddington, in which the witnessing of a murder depends on where the character of Elspeth McGillicuddy chose to sit on the train. “— Except in this show I’m watching it matters,” I said. “Because if the woman hadn’t chosen that exact seat she wouldn’t have seen the murder and the killer would have gone free!”

Apparently trivial decisions have consequences. I’m fascinated by air crash investigation videos. (One day I’ll blog about my fondness for disaster documentaries.) There are many examples of a seating choice making the difference between a passenger surviving the event or not. The consequences aren’t usually so dramatic but we’re often required to choose where to position ourselves and in which direction to face, literally or otherwise. Only the Roman god Janus (for whom is named the month of January) and the Pushmi-Pullyu, the mythical, two-headed creature from Hugh Lofting’s Doctor Dolittle books, can look both ways at once. I asked Jen in which direction she prefers to travel.

“You know,” she replied, “it’s been a long time since I rode a train or a bus. I’d have to think back to [when I visited] England because I drive most of the time.”

“Best to face forward when driving!”

Later, Jen told me she’d thought about it and decided that if she was on a train and knew the route she’d be happy to face in either direction. She'd prefer to face forwards if the journey was new to her. That was something I’d not considered, and I’ll bear it in mind the next time I’m travelling somewhere new. In general, I don’t have a strong preference. On my commute to and from the office I choose seats which face in towards the centre of the carriage. In our new Metro trains all the seats face inwards. You can’t choose to face forward or back, even if you want to. It’s an interesting design decision, psychologically speaking, and one I know not all travellers endorse. Our conversation shifted to other preferences in seating and how they affect our experience of the world.

“I tend to be really picky about where I sit,” Jen told me. “For instance, when I go to the Millstone [restaurant], I have two or three places where I love to sit. No matter where I am, I prefer to be by a window. I like looking out at the area around me. It’s probably kind of odd.”

I didn’t think it was odd at all. “I totally get what you mean.” I told her. “I used to go to Caffè Nero in Newcastle every Saturday. I always sat at the back in the corner. I had a direct line of sight to the door and outside, and only had someone sitting next to me on one side. I like corner seats.” I’m rarely at Caffè Nero these days but in my local coffee shop I choose a table near the back of the room against the wall. It’s not quite in the corner but I have the same sense of what’s going on around me and outside.

“So you can people watch,” Jen asked.

“Yes! Though when I’m writing I’m scarcely aware of who else is in the place beyond a general awareness of whether it’s busy or not from the noise level. I’m in a little world of my own!” I thought of other times I choose where to sit. At work, I prefer a desk next to the aisle, facing into the main body of the office. I’ve only been on a plane once but if I ever do again I’d choose an aisle seat over one at the window. There’s more leg room, for one thing. (I’m six foot two, these things matter!)

I’m grateful to Jen for that conversation. As is often the case when we discuss my blogging ideas, she opened me up to thinking about things from a different perspective. That was especially relevant in this case. I’m reminded me of the Two Guys on a Bus meme based on a 2013 cartoon by Brazilian illustrator Genildo Ronchi. It features two men sitting on opposite sides of a bus with one looking out the window at a rock wall and the other looking at a beautiful view. It’s a somewhat clumsy metaphor. We can’t switch from depression to health and hopefulness as easily as we might change seats on a bus. It nevertheless conveys something useful about perspective and preference. Forward or back, left side or right side, we have some agency in how we see the world and our place in it.

Perhaps that’s what the father wanted his children to understand, though I’d contend it’s something we have to figure out for ourselves. In any case, I hope the family had a pleasant day. If you ever find yourself in Etal village, check out the Lavender Tearooms. Great coffee and the best Singing Hinnies! Tell them Marty sent you. (They won’t have a clue who you mean but hey!)

Over to You

Do you prefer to face the direction of travel on a train? Aisle or window seat on a plane? Do you have a favourite table at your local café or restaurant? More generally, are you someone who looks to the future or back over what’s happened in the past? I’ve kept a diary for over fifty years and used to spend a lot of time poring over past experiences. These days I tend to focus on the present and near future. Whatever your thoughts and perspective, we’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo of the Heatherslaw Light Railway by Martin Baker

 

Miserable Places: My Welsh Nightmare

I’m not sad anymore, I’m just tired of this place
The weight of the world would be okay
If it would pick a shoulder to lean on
So I could stand up straight

— The Wonder Years, “My Last Semester”

This post was inspired by an impromptu conversation in a pub. One rainy morning in July I found myself talking at the bar of the Wateredge Inn with a guy called John. You can read about our meeting in One Must Imagine Marty and John Happy: Two Strangers Discuss the Absurd in an Ambleside Pub.

I mentioned it was one of my happy places and that I’ve blogged about it previously. [...] John commented that as I’d written about happy places I could write about miserable places too.

It’s taken me this long to think of anywhere I’d refer to in those terms. I tend not to dwell on things that didn’t work out for me, still less on where I was at the time. I kept coming back to the topic, though. Where’s somewhere I’d never want to revisit? Where do I struggle to talk or even think about? There are places I have no reason to revisit, but that’s not what John meant. That’s just moving on. Where have you been that’s painful to remember?

Finally, one place came to me. I’ve suppressed the memories so well that I don’t remember precisely where it was. Somewhere in Wales. Don’t get me wrong. Wales is a great place. I still have the little booklet of words and photos I put together after a class trip to Conway Castle. Family holidays in Llandudno. A youth club week in Corris, Machynlleth when I was sixteen or seventeen. The decrepid farmhouse my friend’s parents rented, venue for numerous retreat weekends in the eighties and a key character in my unpublished short story “Away From Home.” Two of my favourite books are set in Wales. The Owl Service by Alan Garner, and Susan Cooper’s The Grey King, part of the Dark Is Rising sequence. Good memories of good places.

The place I’m thinking of — and trying not to think about too deeply — wasn’t a good place for me at all. It was, I think, 1987. I’d moved to Newcastle upon Tyne at the start of the year and was settling into my new life in the north of England after three years in London. New places. New people. Two of my closest friends lived in Burnage, on the outskirts of Manchester. Mike, Margaret (Maggie), and their young son David. None of us had much money so when the opportunity arose for a inexpensive week away together in Wales we jumped at the chance. They’d secured the accommodation and I’d arrange the transport. The price for a week’s car rental at one of the mainstream companies I’d used previously seemed prohibitive, but I found a rental company in Gateshead that offered what seemed like a bargain deal.

Our plans in place, I picked up the car and drove the three hours or so to Burnage to collect Mike, Maggie, and David. The car was pretty full with luggage and provisions but before long we set off for Wales in hope of a fun week away. We arrived at the cottage a few hours later. We unloaded the car, put the kettle on, and settled in for the evening. My room had bunk beds, I recall. I chose the lower bunk.

Next day, we drove to the nearest city. I don’t recall where it was or what we did, apart from our visit to a particularly dreadful café. The place was full but we secured a table and waited to be served. David was hungry and Maggie proceeded to feed him. It didn’t take long for a waitress to come over and tell her she couldn’t breastfeed at the table. There was a toilet if she wanted to do so in there. We left immediately and with all the drama such treatment deserved. I wrote to the café after the trip to complain but nothing came of it.

On our way back to the cottage, the car broke down. That was bad enough, but these things happen. The nightmare began when I phoned the car hire company. It turned out one of the reasons the rental had been so cheap was the utter lack of support or rescue provision. I was told to get the car to the nearest garage and arrange for it to be repaired. Other than that, we were on our own. Somehow, we made it back to the cottage using public transport.

And then we got sick. I can’t recall what it was exactly. A stomach bug of some kind. Things were going downhill fast. There we were, at the start of a week away from home. Three adults and one young child, poorly, without transport or much money, in the middle of Wales, with days at least before we’d have the car again. Phone calls were made. Maggie’s father drove down from Manchester to rescue them. I had to stay to pick up the rental car when it had been repaired.

The rest of that week is a blur. I was really poorly. High temperature. Throwing up. A fever, maybe. I spent most of the time in my bunk, feeling alone and very sorry for myself. On the Friday I made the difficult bus journey back to the town where we’d left the car. It took me ages to find the garage. My keynote memory of the entire episode is of walking up and down the main street trying to locate the garage, asking people who seemed determined to prolong my misery by misdirecting me. Eventually, I found the place. The car was parked outside but I was too late. The garage was closed for the weekend. The Bank Holiday weekend. There was nothing to do but to return to the cottage and spend the next three days curled up in my misery.

I was somewhat recovered by the Tuesday morning. I collected the car and drove it home. I tried to secure a discount from the rental company for the lack of breakdown or recovery support, but to no avail. Needless to say, it’s the last time I’ve ever used a cut-price rental company.

Note to self and to you, dear reader: always read the small print.

I’m aware that my week in Wales doesn’t rate particularly high on the trauma scale. My car broke down. I got sick. A holiday was ruined. As another friend might have put it, “No one died and no one caught fire.” It was, nevertheless, one of the most stressful and traumatic experiences of my life to that point. Aside from the stress itself, I felt I’d let my friends down on what was supposed to have been a much-needed and well-deserved holiday. I know they weren’t happy, but it’s a testament to our friendship that they never once held it against me.

Another “miserable place” comes to mind. Another holiday. Another rental car. A single-track country road in Cumbria where, facing an impatient tractor driver coming in the opposite direction, I reversed my car into a stone wall, denting the wheel arch and wrecking the tyre. I spent an hour or more fitting the spare space saver wheel, and the rest of the week driving at or below fifty miles an hour. As awful as that experience was, it pales in comparison to my week in Wales.

I’m grateful to John for suggesting I explore some of my “miserable places” but I doubt I’ll do so again. This was hard enough. Hard mentally, in that it happened a long time ago and I’m vague on the details. But hard emotionally too. I really have pushed these memories down deep. Everything will be recorded in my diary for that year, but I’ve chosen not to refer to it to fill in the gaps or recover more than my reluctant memory will recall. Some chapters are best left unread.

I haven’t heard from Mike and Maggie in a long time. We drifted apart over the years as friends sometimes do. If by any chance they’re reading this, I hope they were less traumatised than I was by that week we — almost — spent together.

Over to You

Do you have “miserable places” you never want to revisit and can scarcely think about? How do you handle the memories if they come up for you, as they do for me from time to time? If you can share about them, I’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Navid Abedi at Unsplash. The moment I saw Navid’s photograph I knew it was right for this piece. It captures perfectly the isolation, helplessness, and hopelessness I felt that day in Wales as I tried unsuccessfully to collect the rental car after it had been repaired.

 

"Yes! Exactly!" When You and Your Friend Are on the Same Page

The inspiration for this post was a recent chat conversation with my friend Jen. In the space of an hour, I twice said something to which she replied “Yeah. Exactly.” That simple validation meant a lot because it confirmed we were on the same page. Thinking about it afterwards, it struck me how important this kind of validation can be.

It’s particularly helpful when the experience or situation being shared isn’t common to both people involved. That’s often the case when I’m talking with someone I don’t know, or if we’re discussing their mental or physical health, suicidality or self-harm, trauma, rape, or abuse. I’ve written elsewhere how I approach such situations.

• How to Give Mental Health Help and Advice to People You Don’t Know
• How Are You, Really? Eight Things I’ve Learned About Suicidality and Self-Harm
• I Believe You. It wasn’t Your Fault. You Are not Alone. Being There for a Friend Who’s Survived Rape or Sexual Abuse
• Are You Okay Talking About This? Trust and Boundaries in Caring Friendships.

In this post I want to share a few ideas to keep you and the person you’re talking to on the same page, no matter what you’re discussing.

I’m Thinking That ...

It can be difficult to know what to say when you have no equivalent experiences to draw upon. It’s tempting to respond with “I understand” or “I get what you mean” — but do you, really? Comments such as these can come across as condescending, especially if your friend is aware of your lack of corresponding experience. It’s better to acknowledge that your understanding is, at best, partial. In such situations, I might begin an exploratory sentence with “I’m thinking that ...”

Imagine a friend tells you they’ve been sleeping poorly. Without further information, it might not be obvious how much this is affecting them. Chronic insomnia can be far more serious than is appreciated by those of us whose idea of a bad night’s sleep is taking longer than usual to drop off. It can affect almost every aspect of a person’s life, mentally and physically. Unless you’re certain your friend’s insomnia is temporary or has a simple explanation, don’t assume you understand what they’re dealing with.

Rather than leap in with potential fixes (sentences that begin “Have you tried ...” are never a good idea), attempted solidarity (“I’ve not been sleeping very well either.”), or trite commiserations (“I’m sorry to hear that. It must be awful.”) I might respond more tentatively, taking into account what I know about insomnia in general and my friend’s situation in particular.

“I’m thinking that makes everything you’re dealing with harder.”

A response like this lets my friend know I’m aware how devastating insomnia can be, without making assumptions about how serious it is for them. Rather than derail the conversation, I invite my friend to clarify my thinking, or go into more detail if they want to.

Did That Make Sense?

Another useful technique is to ask if what you’ve just said makes sense to your friend. You’re not telling them how things are. You’re sharing your perspective and inviting them to say if you’re on the right track. It’s equally useful when you’re talking about what’s going on for you and want to check your friend follows what you’re saying. You’re not necessarily asking if they agree with you, just if they understand what you said. If so, you can take things forward, confident you’re on the same page. If not, you have the opportunity to rephrase or reframe what you were saying. I tend to use it more in chat than in face-to-face conversation, especially if I’ve expressed something at length, or feel I might have strayed off track.

Yes! Exactly!

It feels great to have your thoughts and feelings validated, but it’s not an end point in itself. Think of those “Yes! Exactly!” or “That makes perfect sense to me!” moments as waypoints on your journey towards even greater understanding. No matter how many affirmations you receive, you can never fully understand what your friend is experiencing. As hard as it may be to hear, it’s not their responsibility to educate you. As I’ve written elsewhere with respect to mental health, “[w]hatever your friend’s situation, approach educating yourself about it as a privileged insight into something you may never fully understand.” The same applies to physical health and other significant life experiences, including trauma, abuse, self-harm, and suicidality. Take the time to inform yourself.

It would be remiss of me not to mention those delightful times when you and your friend come out with almost exactly the same thing at the same time. It’s a fabulous feeling and one that happens regularly with several of my friends. (Louise and Aimee, I’m thinking of you in particular!) At such times it’s hard to resist the sensation that we’re actually one mind in two bodies!

Errrrrm. No.

Remember that neither of you is psychic and it’s okay to not be perfectly attuned at all times. Checking in with each other is an opportunity to adjust your perspectives where necessary. Receiving an “Errrm, no, that’s not what I meant” or an “Actually no, I don’t understand what you just said” doesn’t imply a failure in communication. In fact, it’s a success, because you’ve learned something about yourselves and your mutual level of understanding.

Aimee and I have a running joke which began a couple of years ago. Neither of us can recall what we were discussing at the time, but we both remember me pausing to ask if Aimee understood what I was saying.

“Know what I mean?”

“— I thought I did!”

You maybe had to be there, but it still makes us laugh, and is a great reminder that not being on the same page can be fun too!

 

Photo by Benjamin Wedemeyer at Unsplash.

 

So What If You Don't Have a Workplace? WMHD Is for You Too

Organised by the World Federation for Mental Health, World Mental Health Day (WMHD) is celebrated each year on October 10. As it was last year, the theme for 2025 is “It is time to prioritize mental health in the workplace.” Last October I shared my experience of healthy and unhealthy work environments in Do More of What You’re Good At and Keep Good People Close: What I’ve Learned about Prioritising Mental Health in the Workplace. Elsewhere, I’ve written on the value of teamwork and workplace recognition, and described working with colleagues and senior leaders to achieve accreditation under the Time to Change Employer Pledge Scheme.

It’s hard to overstate the importance of a supportive workplace. But what if you’re not in a workplace right now? What if your days don’t fit neatly into a nine-to-five schedule, with face-to-face team meetings, water cooler moments, and lunch breaks in the staff canteen? Maybe you’re self-employed or work in a sector that involves a lot of travelling or working on your own. Maybe you work from home, are between jobs, retired, or long-term unemployed, medically or otherwise unable to work. If that’s your reality you might wonder where you fit into this WMHD conversation.

Mental Health Outside the Workplace

Mental health challenges can affect any of us, regardless of our employment situation. Employers aren’t necessarily great at supporting their employees, but many do make an effort. Those support structures and procedures aren’t available to you if you’re outside the workplace environment for any reason. The responsibility for your mental health and wellbeing falls much more on your own shoulders. You may also face specific challenges which don’t generally apply to people in a more traditional workplace setting.

Maybe you’re self-employed, handling the challenges of running a business. This may include the responsibility of employing, managing, and supporting employees of your own. Maybe you’re a freelance worker navigating the insecurities of living from one contract to the next. Maybe you’re a homeworking parent balancing the competing demands of work, home, and childcare. Maybe you’re a salesperson, driver, carer, or other worker who spends a lot of time working on your own or away your office or team environment.

Maybe you’re newly retired, adjusting to this new phase of your life, without the support structures you had when you were in work. Maybe you’re disabled or chronically ill, and have to manage your condition or symptoms on top of life’s other challenges. Maybe you’re a job-seeker dealing with financial worries, stress, disappointment, self-doubt, and the stigma (including self-stigma) of unemployment.

Whatever your situation, it’s important to remember that your experiences and needs are valid. They, and you, deserve respect, care, and support.

What Support Do Workplaces Provide?

Every workplace is different, but when I talk about mental health in the workplace I’m referring to policies and structures that exist to support employees, either formally or informally. They include:

• A sense of routine and structure
• Social interaction with colleagues
• Performance recognition and feedback
• A sense of identity or purpose
• Access to internal or external employee support

Outside the workplace, many or all of these supports may be missing. Without them, you may need a different kind of support system.

Caring for Your Mental Health Outside the Workplace

How can you replicate the positive aspects of the workplace if you don’t have that formal structure in your life? People respond differently to structure but personally I like know what’s coming up in my day-to-day life. Consider using a paper calendar or app to keep track of what you need to do and when. Even a basic routine can help ground us, serving as a template into which we can fit appointments and other activities. Remember to allow room for yourself too. Be creative. A friend recently showed me the physical time-tracking tool she uses to keep herself on target.

Workplace assessments can be tedious but they provide feedback, reminding us of our value and helping keep us on track. Outside of the workplace, it’s easy to lose sight of our value. Make a point of checking in with yourself every now and again to acknowledge your achievements and monitor your progress towards whatever goals motivate you. Remember that success is a personal thing and not everything is to be measured against the criteria society sets up for us. I’ve written about this previously in For the Win! Celebrate Your Successes in Your Own Way. Your value isn’t defined by your productivity or job title. You are not “less than” for being outside the traditional workplace environment, whether that’s by choice or necessity.

If you’re not currently employed, or are employed in a non-traditional working setup, one of the most valuable things you can do for your mental health is to recognise and foster the supportive connections you have already. Whether it’s a friend or family member, therapist, or social network, connection is healthy in and of itself. There’s no one approach that works for everyone. I’ve written about different types of support system previously in such posts as Spokesfriends and Insular Groups: What Kind of Support Network Do You Have? and You Are Not Alone: Celebrating Community.

There’s a wealth of information and support available, online and locally, much of it free to access. Research charity websites relevant to your situation, community mental health hubs, and online and local peer support groups. If you’re unsure what’s available, ask your doctor for recommendations or a referral.

WMHD Really Must Be for Everyone

World Mental Health Day 2025 is focused on mental health in the workplace. It’s an important topic, but we need to broaden the conversation. What does workplace mental health mean in a world where not everyone has or wants a traditional workplace? Your day may not begin and end with a commute to the office. Your week or month may not begin or end with a paycheck. Nevertheless, your mental health and your needs are important.

This World Mental Health Day, let’s commit to making space for all kinds of work and all kinds of lives.

 

Photo by Chris Montgomery at Unsplash.

 

Our Top Posts of the Month (September 2025)

Check out our top posts for the past month. Posts are listed by the number of page views they attracted during the month, most popular first.

1. Twelve Songs That Remind Me What Caring Is All About
2. The Box on the Shelf: A Strategy for Handling Difficult Issues and Situations
3. I’m on My Way: Thoughts Inspired by Ed Sheeran’s “Castle on the Hill”
4. Shhhhhhh! A Friend’s Guide to Secrets
5. Thank You Anyway: The Gift of Ingratitude
6. Supportive Disengagement: How to Be There for Your Friend When They Need Space
7. One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy: Encounters With the Absurd Man
8. It’s Time to Talk. But What If You Don’t Want To?
9. It’s Not Enough / Never Enough
10. Return to Normal

Our most visited pages were:

1. Contact Us
2. Our Books
3. News and Appearances
4. Testimonials
5. About Us
6. Resources

 

Photo of Pyracantha (Firethorn) berries by Martin Baker.

 

Seven Hours on Sun-beds (I'm Not a Beach Person)

I finally was able to relax into the warmth that is Greece. I spent seven hours on sun-beds. Three at one bay and four at another. This is not normal for me. I’m not a beach person.

— Fran Houston

Sometimes, being a supportive friend means sitting with them through their darkest moments. And sometimes, it means sitting with them on a beach helping them relax. This blog post was inspired by a recent conversation with Fran on the Greek island of Poros. She was visiting a dear friend of ours, Laurel Seaborn, who is a captain and instructor on a women’s sailing programme based in Athens. You can read about Laurel’s amazing journey in this article for American Sailing.

Over the fourteen years we’ve been friends I’ve been Fran’s virtual travel buddy on a number of trips within the US and abroad. In 2018 she spent a month in Ajijic in Mexico. It was the longest she’d been away from home since the three months she spent touring Europe with her parents in 2013. The challenges of the 2013 trip are described in our book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder. You can read about our adventures in Mexico here on our blog (part one | part two | part three | part four | part five) and in No One Is Too Far Away: Notes from a Transatlantic Friendship. Fran took her copy of No One Is Too Far Away to Greece, both as something to read while she was away and to remind herself how she spent her time during those weeks in Ajijic.

I hadn’t intended writing about her trip to Greece, but that day on the beach when Fran finally managed to relax struck me as worth exploring. That might sound odd. What’s difficult about relaxing on a beach in the Mediterranean? Weren’t there any more serious issues or problems to blog about? What about the preparation for the trip? The journey itself? There were challenges of that kind and I’ve written about those aspects of traveling before. But relaxation isn’t a given when you live with chronic mental and physical illness.

When you travel you bring yourself with you. Your body with its health issues. Your mind with its hangups and tendencies to overthink and catastrophise. The people in your life with their needs and demands, no matter that you’d stress even more if you were completely out of touch and didn’t know what was happening with them. Poros is picture postcard beautiful — some of the sunsets Fran shared with me took my breath away — but the most idyllic setting is no guarantee you can let go of your concerns and truly relax. Achieving that release, even for an afternoon, is noteworthy.

Fran had several days to herself while Laurel led a sailing class. For the first couple of days Fran seemed on edge. She was determined to visit some of the places on her “Things to Do While I’m in Greece” list but never quite managed to relax into the experience of being away. I must add that I’m in awe of Fran for exploring Poros and the nearby islands as extensively as she did. If I’d been there on my own I’d have spent my days in the first coffee bar I found — which is how I spend most of my free time when I’m at home! Fran explored on foot and took taxis and boats as though she’d lived there her entire life, although I know how scary she finds navigating unfamiliar places on her own.

On the second Thursday of her trip she messaged me quite early in the morning (8 am my time, 10 am in Greece). She was still at the apartment. I was in the office, an hour into my working day. The chat conversations that follow took place throughout that day. They’re reproduced here with only minor edits for clarity.

Fran: Slow morning.

Martin: I’m on my second coffee.

F: I haven’t had any yet.

M: Any gentle plans for today?

F: I’m having a hard time getting going. I’m going to Russian Bay. It’s cooler today. 72F with wind. Not sure what to pack.

M: Take your jacket, to keep the breeze out.

Fran had bought the jacket for this trip. It was light enough to pack easily into a bag or pocket, but substantial enough to keep out the wind.

F: My French braid came out shitty. Sigh. But I’m not doing it over. I think I’ve packed too much but I really don’t know what to bring so I packed my larger backpack. I’m dragging my feet today.

M: You’re still moving. And you have pretty feet!

It was clear Fran wasn’t feeling great, but she was determined to get out and explore.

F: Waiting for the taxi. I feel like I did on Tuesday. It’s cloudy and windy and cooler. I’m in a bad mood.

M: Right now, maybe, yeah. Don’t hang on to it too tightly. It will pass. Feel it. Claim it. Love it. Let it go.

On Tuesday she’d found it hard to focus on herself while also caring for the needs of others back in the US. I knew better than tell her to ignore or reject how she was feeling. Instead, I referenced one of our most commonly used mantras. As we describe in High Tide, Low Tide “It can be challenging to handle powerful emotions, especially when they seem to come out of nowhere. Rather than allowing our emotions free rein, or trying to deny them, we find it helps to accept what we feel, take whatever meaning we can from the experience, and then release our attachment to it so we can move on.” Fran didn’t acknowledge my suggestion but the next time I heard from her she was at the Russian Bay Beach Bar. From the photo she sent me, it looked deserted. Even a little severe.

F: It’s empty, and windy. I can walk to Love Bay. It’s kinda cold.

M: Looks like you have the place to yourself.

F: I need coffee.

M: Welcome to my world! Hope the coffee is good.

F: The coffee is good. Chairs are hard and uncomfortable.

I believed her about the weather and the chairs, but she was still seeing things through jaded eyes. She seemed keen to move on.

F: It’s a 13 minute walk to Love Bay. Taxi driver said 5 mins. I wish I had brought my Tylenol. Have a bit of a headache.

I decided to shift the conversation a little. I wasn’t feeling too great myself.

M: My tummy is easier than yesterday but still uncomfortable. I have the day off work tomorrow but I’ll not go into town. I’ll stay close to home.

Fran sent me a short audio clip of the waves breaking on the shore.

M: Wind and waves! Thank you!

F: No swimming for me! I will stay here a bit longer but will then go to Love Bay.

She sounded unsure whether to stay or go. It was something I recognise in myself. I tend to be restless when I’m on vacation. I’ll stop somewhere for a drink or something to eat, then look to move on to the next place on my list for the day.

F: Just had a wind gust with sand. May be time to go? I just started relaxing. Sigh. I’m such a poo-poo-er. It’s actually not too bad here.

M: Stay a little longer then?

F: Yeah. I’m in no rush. The only things I need to get home for are eating with [my friend] and my sunset dip.

M: If you are able to relax here, make the most of it.

It was the first indication Fran might be prepared to slow things down. A little while after, she sent me a photo of the view along the beach.

F: I’m so glad you’re here with me!

M: Forever and always.

F: I’ll stay here until 2 pm. When did I get here?

M: About two hours ago.

The next time I heard from Fran she was at Love Bay. She sent a photo of the bay and one of the drinks menu.

F: I will have a cappuccino, banana milkshake, ham cheese tomato sandwich, and some sort of drink. A Love Bay drink: rum, malibu, frangelico, banana, vanilla ice cream. 10 Euros.

M: Looks great.

F: I like Love Bay better than Russian Bay. It is less desolate. And at Love Bay they wait on you!

M: Haha well you’ve seen both now!

F: The chairs are much better quality too and there are pillows.

Another photo, looking up at the tree that shaded her beach chair.

F: When I look up, this is what I see. I like that I am under a tree.

M: This is our place now!

F: I think she brought me a margarita instead of what I ordered. Sigh.

M: If you tell the waitress you might get the margarita for free!

A photo of Fran’s drink on the table, with the water in the distance.

F: I don’t think I’ll cause a fuss about the drink.

M: It’s a beautiful location. I could write blogs there very happily.

F: I don’t suppose you’ll write a blog about our trip?

M: I hadn’t planned to. I’ll publish yours if you write one!

Fran sent me a short video of a boat on the water. People swimming. The waves lapped on the shore no great distance in front of her chair.

F: I think I’ll leave around 5 pm.

M: You’ve felt more able to relax here?

F: Well, both places have their perks but I like this one better. I’ve been on a sun-bed since 11.30 am! That’s a record. I’m not a beach bum.

M: Me neither!

Fran was finally letting go of her frustrations and low mood.

F: It’s kinda funny. I don’t want to leave. I’m waiting for my friend to get back to me about tonight. Not sure if I will have my sunset dip. It depends on when she wants to get together.

M: It’s nice that you have that feeling. Earlier this week you said you kept feeling you needed to be always moving on to the next place or thing.

F: Yes! I’m not in a rush to leave here. Maybe I’ll wait until she responds because then I’ll have a better idea of what my night will be like. If she doesn’t call I’ll leave between 5.40 and 6.10.

M: What’s the journey back like from here?

F: Taxi. 10 Euros for about ten minute ride.

Her friend messaged to say she couldn’t meet up that evening. I thought Fran might be disappointed but she wasn’t. It meant she had the rest of the day to herself. She sent me a link to the website of the Colona restaurant.

M: That looks amazing.

F: I will do my sunset dip. Then eat at Colona. Then hang out on the veranda. Then bed. Tomorrow I’ll put out the trash. Coffee from Colona. Hang out on the deck. Do some Athens research. Noon swim. Shower. Braid my hair. Welcome Laurel home!

M: You’ve made this day your own, Fran. I’m proud of you.

The next day, Fran moved gently through her various activities. It was late by the time Laurel returned, exhausted from her days on the water with her class. The following morning, I had a video call with them both on the veranda of Laurel’s apartment with its incredible view across the roofs of the town to the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. It was great to see Laurel again, to hear about her sailing trip, and to talk about the things Fran had done while she was away. I mentioned the blog I was writing about Fran relaxing on the beach. Laurel offered the wisdom that “You don’t have to do. You just have to be.” That is so valuable and true, but as I’ve shared here, not always as easy to achieve as it is to say.

I’m grateful to Laurel for the opportunity to visit her (virtual traveling is still traveling!) and look forward to Fran and I both returning in the future.

Over to You

Do you find it easy to switch off when you are on vacation, or do you discover you’ve brought your cares and stresses away with you? What tips do you have to help yourself relax, at home or away? Where do you feel most at ease? Fran and I would love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

If you fancy the idea of sailing in the Aegean, check out the Women’s Sailing Program for details.

 

Photo by Fran Houston, Poros, Greece.