Ouchies! When Little Things Hurt a Lot

TW: Mention of suicide and self-harm.

A thousand paper cuts given over a lifetime might be insignificant, but when none of them are allowed to heal, they fester into something awful.

― Darcy Coates, The Haunting of Leigh Harker

This blog post was inspired by a conversation with my friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson. Aimee’s had a significant knee injury for a while and wanted to update me on some additional painful, but relatively superficial, damage.

Forgot to tell you, I hurt my knee again today. It happened outside so it got all scraped. The scrapes are very sore! You know that tingly pain you get with grazes? It’s a different kind of pain than a broken bone pain or a bruise pain. And there’s that thing people say about smaller injuries being more painful ... I’m feeling like that’s pretty true!

I agreed, giving the example of how paper cuts can be agony despite not being serious in a medical sense. “Yes!” she replied. “That’s exactly the example I was going to use!” It was a fun to find ourselves on the same page. More than that, it gave me the idea for a new blog post about how things that appear relatively minor can nevertheless hurt a great deal.

When Little Things Hurt More than We Expect

It’s a truism that “little things hurt a lot.” In general, this is because our expectations don’t match reality. That paper cut looks superficial. It might not even be deep enough to bleed. And yet, it really hurts! What’s surprising isn’t the fact that a relatively minor injury can hurt so much. The edge of a sheet of paper can be razor sharp, and our fingertips are served by a great many nerve endings. What’s surprising is that we’re surprised every time it happens. The injury is only “small” because we focus on the external injury rather than its impact on us. This mismatch between how things are and how we imagine they are doesn’t only apply to paper cuts, grazes, and other minor injuries. Naive, ill-informed, or inappropriate expectations underlie much of the pain we experience in life.

If It Hurts It Hurts

Sometimes we do or say something that hurts another person in ways we neither intended nor anticipated. I forgot a close friend’s birthday this year. I’m not sure how it happened. I have a calendar reminder, and in previous years I’ve remembered to send a card or gift. I was surprised that I forgot this time, but what really caught me off guard was the depth of the hurt my friend felt at my unintentional omission.

At times like this I remind myself of a line by American comedian and actor Louis C.K. “When a person tells you that you hurt them, you don’t get to decide that you didn’t.” I wouldn’t have been hurt if my friend forgot my birthday, but that’s irrelevant. I listened as my friend described how much she was hurting, and some of the reasons why it hurt as much as it did. I apologised, but deep hurt can’t be healed so easily. Only change — my change — can do that. I’ve set additional reminders for next year.

When Big Things Hurt More than We Expect

The mismatch between anticipation and reality applies to big things too, and there are few things bigger than our search for meaning. What is my life for? Why am I here? What’s this all about? We’ve all asked ourselves these questions at some time. As most do, I come up short. Desperate for answers as we are, it hurts to realise that the universe has nothing to offer. There’s no absolute purpose and meaning to existence beyond those we make for ourselves. It’s the ultimate discrepancy in expectations; an existential crisis philosopher Albert Camus termed the Absurd. He was well aware how devastatingly painful this can be. His book The Myth of Sisyphus opens with the assertion that “There is only one really serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.” To be clear, Camus rejected both physical and intellectual suicide as responses to the Absurd. His challenge is to find healthy ways to accept the situation and live a meaningful life anyway.

Death is by no means a little thing and yet even when we can anticipate it — the passing of an elderly family member, for example — we’re shocked at how deeply the death of our loved one hits us. This is exacerbated by our reluctance to face death in advance. We don’t want to think about it until it happens. I’ve taken a few steps towards death education and end of life planning, a journey I’ve described in such posts as Letting Go of the Balloon: End of Life Planning for the Overwhelmed and How Much Do You Want to Know about Me? Thoughts on Writing My Obituary. No amount of education and planning can insulate us from the pain of losing someone we love and care about. That’s not the point, nor would it be a healthy aim. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, but facing up to the reality of death and what it means gives us permission to feel its impact more fully and genuinely when the time comes.

We Feel Physical Pain in Our Own Way

Sensitivity to physical pain varies a great deal. The following is excerpted from Ouch! The different ways people experience pain by Christian Jarrett for the British Psychological Society.

The sensitivity and tolerance people show towards pain varies predictably according to several factors, including gender, ethnicity, personality and culture, all interacting, overlapping and playing out in the tissues and synapses of the body. Indeed, the topic of individual differences in pain is like a microcosm of science – it’s where biology, psychology and sociology all meet.

Two conditions involving an increased sensitivity to pain are hyperalgesia and allodynia. Hyperalgesia is where you feel an excessive amount of pain in situations that most people would find only moderately painful. Someone with allodynia feels pain in circumstances that wouldn’t normally hurt at all, such as the touch of clothes against your skin. With allodynia, the person’s nervous system misinterprets touch signals as pain. Medication can also affect a person’s sensitivity to pain. If you’re on analgesic medication for a long-term condition or illness, you’re likely to feel less pain from any new injury.

We Feel Emotional Pain in Our Own Way

As with physical pain, we all experience and respond to emotional challenges differently. What seems minor to one person might be extremely hurtful to someone else. Past injuries, trauma, or abuse are amongst the reasons someone might respond in ways that seem extreme or inappropriate if you’re unaware of what’s going on. Actions, words, topics, and situations might trigger flashbacks and emotional responses that seem out of character or disproportionate.

A clear example of the mismatch between physical and emotional pain is in the area of self-harm. I’ve witnessed situations in which someone has inflicted a physically significant, even dangerous, injury that was extremely painful, without any obvious emotional hurt involved. In contrast, I’ve known someone cause an injury that was almost trivial in physical terms, and yet feel intense emotional and mental pain at what they’d done.

I’ve written elsewhere about my response — or relative lack of response — to bereavement. “The death of a friend,” I wrote, “affected me far more than either my father’s death when I was eighteen or my mother’s, decades later.” Grief is grief, irrespective of who or what we’ve lost, or how profoundly it’s experienced.

There’s no hierarchy of grief and no loss is unworthy of being mourned. The death of a parent, child, partner, family member, friend, or animal companion, may all be deeply felt and deserve respect, caring support, and compassion. This is true whether we were bereaved by old age, accident, suicide, illness, conflict, crime, or any other circumstance.

I’ve witnessed how deeply the loss of a beloved pet can be, despite having no commensurate experience of my own. I’ve more experience of the pain that can accompany the ending of a close friendship. It’s another example of where reality can be out of step with what’s considered socially appropriate. We’re expected to feel pain after the breakup of a romantic relationship. There’s far less accommodation when a close friendship ends. It’s not supposed to tear us apart, yet so often it does.

And then, some people simply seem more sensitive than other to what’s going on around them. The following unattributed exchange captures this well.

Someone asked me, “What is your weakness?”
“I’m sensitive. Smallest things hurt me.
“What’s your strength?
“Little things make me happy, too.”

— Unknown

I began this post focused on the commonplace that “little things hurt a lot” but it’s brought me to the deeper awareness that we all feel things differently. That might seem no less trivial an observance. It’s nevertheless helpful and kind to remind ourselves of it from time to time, and not judge others for reacting to a given situation more — or less — than we imagine we would ourselves.

 

Photo by Diana Polekhina at Unsplash.

 

First Munchie / Last Rolo: Little (Chocolate) Things Mean a Lot

There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.

— Linda Grayson

This blog post was inspired by a recent conversation with my friend Sophie who offered me the first chocolate from the tube she’d just bought herself.

“Would you like a Munchie?”

“It’s not quite your last Rolo but thank you!”

For anyone too young to recognise the reference, I was thinking of a long-running and much-loved TV advertising campaign from the eighties with the tagline “Do you love anyone enough to give them your last Rolo?” The original animated adverts were followed by live action ads demonstrating the unfortunate consequences of keeping Rolos to yourself. My favourites feature this couple on a train and the elephant’s revenge. I told Sophie how I once bought a tube of Rolos with the sole purpose of sending the last one to a dear friend. I made a little gift box for it and everything. It was a fun exchange and I walked away grateful for the memories as well as the Munchie. It occurred to me afterwards that chocolate has played a small but important role in many of my friendships.

Another series of classic TV advertisements featured a James Bond–style figure who risked all manner of dangers to surreptitiously deliver a box of Cadburys Milk Tray chocolates, with the tagline “And all because the lady loves Milk Tray.” I once took a box of Milk Tray to a friend, and managed to do so without scaling castle walls, hanging from cable cars, or navigating shark-infested waters.

Cadbury’s Freddo bars are a favourite of one of my best friends, Aimee. According to one article (The History of Cadbury’s Freddo Price: From 10p to 35p) “[the price of] this seemingly simple chocolate bar has become a symbol of inflation for many.” That may be true, but the cost doesn’t put me off. She’s worth it!

I remember sending a bag of Hershey’s Hugs to a friend abroad. (Hugs feature Hershey’s milk chocolate “hugged” by a white cream coating.) It was an impromptu impulse but I’m glad I acted on it because the gift meant a lot to my friend. I’ll note that American chocolate is often perceived as inferior by people here in the UK, but I feel that’s grossly unfair. I haven’t tried Hershey Hugs, but I’m partial to their iconic Kisses.

One of my dearest friends is partial to Green & Black’s organic chocolate. I enjoy putting together a selection of their variously flavoured bars for her at Christmas. Another friend loves Cadburys Dairy Milk and I used to bring a small bar for her most times we met. It became a small but valued part of our get-togethers. It’s by such gestures and routines that friendships are cemented and reinforced.

That brings to mind a friend from university days. One Christmas she sent me a box of little gifts. I don’t remember the gifts, but I do remember that she packed the box out with dozens of mini packets of Rowntree’s Jelly Tots. I was eating them for months afterwards!

High on my list of friendship confectionery is the small square of chocolate Fran saved me from her transatlantic voyage on board RMS Queen Mary 2 in 2013. The chocolate was eaten a long time ago but I keep the Cunard branded wrapper in the Traveler’s Notebook that serves as my memory journal. That little wrapper means the world to me. It serves as a keepsake of our first meeting in person in Southampton, and a token of our fourteen year mutually supportive friendship. On another occasion, Fran gifted me a box of four hand-made chocolates from Chocolats Passion French chocolaterie in Portland, Maine. They were almost too beautiful to eat. Almost.

I’ve used chocolate as the example here, but not everyone likes or can tolerate it. In the course of writing this post I’ve learned that one of my newer friends doesn’t eat chocolate. (It’s okay, Jo. If you can forgive my total lack of interest in football, I can forgive you not eating chocolate!) The confectionery itself isn’t the point. What matters is knowing a few of your friend’s likes and dislikes, the things they reach for when they want to treat themselves or deserve a little lift. Knowing, and remembering. It might be a voucher for their favorite coffee shop or store, a bath bomb or scented candle, a pack of colouring pens, or a notebook. Whatever it is, having someone pay attention to your preferences means a lot. As one friend said to me, “I will never forget this.”

If anyone’s interested, I’m easily pleased. Lindt’s Lindor truffles are probably at the top of my list but any chocolate is appreciated, the darker the better. Walnut Whips and Toblerone are great (my Dad’s favourites). Milky Bar. (Who else remembers the Milky Bar Kid TV adverts?) Chocolate covered coffee beans evoke fond memories of Caffè Nero who used to sell them in little red cardboard boxes. No Ferrero Rocher, please.

The Last Rolo

I bought Sophie a tube of Rolos to thank her for inspiring this blog post. She very kindly saved the last one for me.

“My last Rolo for my friend Marty”

Another chocolate-related friendship memory is born!

Over to You

Do you have a favourite chocolate or candy? Do you know your friend’s preferred treat? What TV adverts evoke warm memories for you? I’d love to hear your thoughts, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Main photo by Brett Jordan at Unsplash.

 

Use Your Words: Exploring the Power of Narrative for World Suicide Prevention Day

TW: Mention of suicide and suicidal thinking.

Be brave enough to start a conversation that matters.

— Margaret Wheatley (Turning to One Another)

Established in 2003 by the International Association for Suicide Prevention, World Suicide Prevention Day (WSPD) is observed each year on September 10. The theme identified for 2024–2026 is “Changing the Narrative on Suicide”.

Changing the narrative on suicide is about transforming how we perceive this complex issue. It’s about shifting from a culture of silence and lack of understanding to one of openness, empathy, and support. Changing the narrative on suicide aims to inspire individuals, communities, organizations, and governments to engage in open and honest discussions about suicide and suicidal behaviour. By initiating these vital conversations, we can break down barriers, raise awareness, and create better cultures of understanding and support.

Last year in Beyond the Hotline I discussed a range of approaches to suicide prevention. I explored how modern technology, community initiatives, and policy change are vital if we are to develop more holistic strategies for saving lives. This year, I want to focus on the power of language to change the narrative on suicide. Our words are important. We can employ them in various ways to influence how suicidality is perceived and talked about. We can make a difference.

What’s Wrong With the Current Narrative?

The call to change the narrative on suicide implies the existing narrative is unhealthy. What is that narrative and why does it need to be changed? In their post for WSPD 2024, the UK suicide prevention charity Papyrus identified a number of key elements in the prevailing narrative on suicide. Misleading myths and stigmas make it harder for people to reach out for help. These include labelling people who have ended their life as “selfish” or “taking the easy way out.” Other myths include the idea that suicide can’t be prevented, or that asking someone if they’re thinking about suicide will put the idea in their head. As Papyrus put it, “These myths are not true and need to be dispelled to end the stigma.” They also highlighted the fact that suicide awareness and prevention are not obligatory in the [UK] school curriculum. In their words, “It is vital our young people know how to support themselves, keep themselves safe and look after one another.”

Inconsistent reporting and representation of suicide and suicidality also needs to be challenged. Treated sensitively, TV dramas, movies, news, and other media offer valuable opportunities to educate and inform. Explicit or sensationalised treatment, however, can reinforce unhealthy stereotypes. There’s some evidence it can even lead to an increase in suicide rates. According to one recent research study, “The association between suicide reporting in the media and [rates of] suicide appears to be particularly strong following coverage of a celebrity suicide, especially when the suicide method used by the celebrity is reported.” These concerns were highlighted in a 2023 article in Missouri Medicine which focused on how suicide is discussed on social media. The article concludes, ”As far as the authors are aware, there are no formally vetted guidelines created for social media. Guidelines can help ground conversations and lead professionals and creators to discuss suicide safely and more easily.”

Online and offline, inappropriate language reinforces the stigma that already surrounds suicide. The clearest example is the continued use of the term “committed suicide.” This implies suicide is a crime, despite it being decriminalised in the UK in 1961. The lack of a healthy shared vocabulary is highlighted by Papyrus. “Many people are not aware of how to talk safely about suicide. Words have the power to heal, but they also have the power to harm. It is important we speak about suicide sensitively to avoid adding to the stigma and shame that surrounds it, as this can lead those who are having suicidal thoughts to not reach out for the help they need.”

What Would a Healthy Narrative on Suicide Look Like?

A healthy narrative on suicide would be characterised as confident, open, honest, informed, non-judgemental, supportive, and engaged. It would respect the thoughts, feelings, and needs of those in such pain and distress that suicide seems like a viable option. Crucially, it would be underpinned by practical, accessible, and appropriately funded medical, psychiatric, and other support services. This may seem a long way off, but we all have a role to play in moving towards that goal. We can begin by asking ourselves how we think and feel about suicide. This is our personal narrative. We all have one, whether we’ve thought about it before or not. Consider asking yourself the following questions.

What comes to mind when someone mentions suicide?

What are you feeling right now, reading this blog post?

Are you open to talking about suicide? If it’s a difficult topic for you, why is that?

If you learned that someone you know lives with suicidal thoughts, how would you respond? Would it affect your relationship with them?

What do you think when you discover a famous artist or celebrity has taken their life? Does it change how you feel about them and their artistic legacy?

This exercise isn’t about self-criticism or judgement. It’s about being honest about your thoughts, feelings, and perspective on a topic that affects more people than you may realise. As I wrote in a post for WSPD 2023, if you imagine no one you know lives with suicidal thinking, you’re almost certainly wrong.

One in five people in the UK have suicidal thoughts and one in twenty will attempt suicide. Statistics such as these can be hard to grasp, but there will be people in your life — your friends, family, neighbours, and colleagues — with direct experience of suicidal thinking. You might not know who or how many, and it’s not a comfortable realisation, but it’s the simple truth. Many of my friends have had, or still have, thoughts of suicide. Some have made attempts to end their life. Others have not. I know this because it’s not a taboo subject for us and comes up in conversation whenever it needs to.

Exploring our personal narrative on suicide is a good start, but what comes next?

How Can I Contribute to a Healthy Narrative on Suicide?

The first thing we can do is pay attention to the language we use. UK charity Samaritans publish media guidelines for reporting suicide. Equivalent media guidelines are published by Papyrus. Although written for journalists and other professionals, they’re relevant to all of us. The authors of the previously mentioned Missouri Medicine article proposed eight “key strategies to encourage people to responsibly report and discuss suicide on social media.” In brief, these are as follows.

1. Include a content notice or trigger warning
2. Limit details
3. Take care with use of images
4. Take care with the use of language
5. Don’t sensationalise
6. Don’t assume you know why someone died by suicide
7. Monitor and curate comments that other people post
8. Provide messages of hope

I recommend reading the original article for more details. These guidelines are relevant to all of us who post and comment on social media, or any other public platform. Beyond paying more attention to how we talk about suicide, what else can we do?

Consider contributing to the narrative on suicide by sharing your story. This might include your experience of suicidal feelings, your thoughts on suicidality more generally, your experience supporting someone through suicidal thinking or attempts to take their life, or as a suicide survivor. Personal testament can be transformational, whether it’s shared publically or in private conversation and discussion with those we know. This is true generally, not solely with regard to suicide and suicidality. In the words of American inspirational speaker and author Iyanla Vanzant, “It’s important that we share our experiences with other people. Your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else. When you tell your story, you free yourself and give other people permission to acknowledge their own story.”

This is something I’ve found to be true in my journey as a supportive friend to people whose challenges including mental illness, past trauma and abuse, self-harm, and suicidal thinking. I’ve learned so much from them and from the shared experiences of others. Through our books and this blog I offer my experiences in return in the hope they may inform and help others. As I’ve expressed it elsewhere:

SPEAK YOUR TRUTH. WHISPER IT. SCREAM IT. LIVE IT. YOU NEVER KNOW WHO MIGHT NEED TO HEAR WHAT ONLY YOU CAN SAY. THIS STUFF MATTERS. YOU MATTER.

Perhaps you have little personal experience, or don’t feel confident talking about it. You still have a role to play. Use whatever platforms you have to demonstrate that suicide is not a taboo subject. Follow mental health and suicide prevention accounts. Share other people’s words and posts that treat suicide and suicidality in healthy and positive ways. Challenge and report stigmatising, ignorant, or intolerant behaviour, online and offline.

Consider wearing badges or clothing with positive messages concerning mental health or suicide awareness. A number of organisation offer such merchandise, including Boys Get Sad Too, Live2lives, and To Wear Love On Her Arms. As I’ve written previously, wearing t-shirts is not enough on its own. It nevertheless demonstrates to those around you that you’re a safe person to approach or talk to about subjects which so often are considered taboo.

It’s important to acknowledge that not everyone feels able to share their experiences or engage openly in discussing such personal and sensitive topics. Respecting this is part of a healthy narrative too.

Talk About It If It Keeps You Here

I’ll close with a short but incredibly powerful video by Lauren Nicole Jankowski which was shared on Instagram by NSG (Never Stop Growing).

I met someone at a bar last night and he said the most profound thing I have ever heard. It hit me right in the chest. The conversation was about mental health and grief and how they go hand in hand. And I said I just feel like all my friends are annoyed with me because it’s all I talk about lately. I feel like I talk about my loss too much. And do you know what he said? He set his drink down and he looked at me and he said. “Talk about it if it keeps you here.”

I literally had goosebumps. I didn’t even know what to say back. How true and important is that statement? There’s no such thing as talking about mental health too much, talking about your struggles too much, talking about your loss and grief too much, if that is what’s keeping you here. If that is what is helping you heal. If that is what is getting you through the damn day. Talk about it. Talk about it so you stay.

Lauren captures perfectly the power of words, of talking about our pain, of sharing our story. And of holding space for others to do so, whether it’s someone we know well or someone we meet once in a bar. Make your words and spaces kind. You might give someone the hope to go on for one more day. You might just save a life.

 

Photo by Andreas Fickl on Unsplash.

 

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

Our most visited pages were:

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

 

Photo of St Thomas’ Newcastle by Martin Baker.

 

It's in the Post: A Tribute to the Perilous Act of Posting a Letter

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.

— Phyllis Theroux

This blog post was inspired by a recent video call with Fran while I was taking one of my lunchtime walks. As we passed the pub I noticed the postbox by the road was shrouded in black plastic. A printed notice declared it out of use. A little research suggests it’s part of Royal Mail’s “postboxes of the future” programme to upgrade the traditional red postboxes to support barcode scanning and handle small packages. Others in the region are being upgraded, including the box outside The Hungry Caterpillar post office in Dipton, Stanley. According to one report, “the news has been met with scepticism and sadness by villagers.”

I know how they feel. There’s a post office counter in the general store beside the pub and a postbox at our local supermarket, but I’ve used this one hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Seeing it taped up like that was a shock. It felt and still feels disrespectful. An insult to something that’s played a small but important part in my life for more than three decades.

I’ve written previously about my life-long love of letter writing but I want to focus here on the physical act of posting a letter. It’s often overlooked, but for me it’s always been one of the most meaningful parts of the process. I described it to Fran as “the ambience of mailboxes.” (We’ve been best friends since 2011 and I routinely shift into using American terms and pronunciation when we’re together.)

I’ve think I’ve always felt it. That unique combination of excitement, anticipation, fear, and commitment as I walk to the postbox, take the envelope from my bag or pocket, look at it one last time, and push it through the slot. I hold it between my fingers for a moment then let it fall inside. American writer and environmentalist Terry Tempest Williams has called it “the release of the letter to the mailbox.” It’s a watershed moment. A perilous act. The point of no return.

Who hasn’t felt that frisson as we step away from the postbox? Our words, our feelings, confessions, doubts, hopes, and dreams are sealed in there. It’s like taking a loved one to the rail station and leaving them on the platform to await their train. We’ve done our part. All we can do now is trust that our words will be delivered to their intended destination. And more, that they will be received and understood as we hope they will be.

How many times have I felt that? Too many to remember them all but a few come to me now. (One of the less obvious rewards of blogging is that I get to revisit past thoughts and experiences that might otherwise languish unrecalled.) The first was so long ago I’m unsure if it actually happened. I was sixteen or seventeen years old. Did I write and post a love note to the girl I’d fancied since junior school? Or did the terrifying realisation I could do get the better of me? I still remember her name. I can’t quite recall her address but I know where it was. (Ironically, just across the road from the post office.) In any case, there was no reply. There never would have been.

Summer break from university brought ample opportunity to send letters of love and affection to the important people in my life. There were postboxes close to my childhood home but I’d take long evening walks to prolong the experience of sending my letters on their way. I’d then torture myself over the wisdom or otherwise of doing so. Did I say too much? Not enough? I’ve erred in both directions in my time. The agony of waiting for a reply is captured in one of my poems from those days.

So few words would despatch misapprehension,
End this love’s charade,
Or blow despair upon the wings of a kinder truth.

But tide and time have marked another day
And still no word
—not one—
Consoles me.

— from “Faithfully (unanswered)”

A few years later I spent six months on university placement at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital. I have fond memories of writing to one of my very closest friends each week. I’d start at the weekend, gathering my thoughts and words together before copying them neatly into a letter or card. When the time felt right I’d walk to the postbox in the centre of town, savouring the moment and anticipating how my words might be received. I checked my mailbox in the nurses home each day for a reply.

I write fewer letters these days than I used to, but there are a great many memories associated with that classic red postbox by the pub. The letters and cards I sent every day to one friend through what turned out to be the final two years of her life. The letters I still send each week to my friend in Cornwall. The “Would you like to meet for coffee sometime?” card I sent a friend several years ago, months into our second breakup. Approaching the postbox, I felt the familiar mix of trepidation and inevitability. Was I right to suggest reconnection? Were my words appropriate? I might have changed my mind but knew I wouldn’t. I let the envelope slip from my fingers and stepped away. For right or wrong, I was committed. I knew there might be no response. (There was.)

It’s precious moments like this — memories like this — that are imperilled by the black plastic shrouding and the threat of a “postbox of the future.” The current box has been out of service in the past, most recently during the covid pandemic, but this feels different. Hopefully, the experience won’t be permanently tainted.

In the course of writing this piece I came across a wonderful blog called The Handwritten Letter Appreciation Society, and this post in particular which discusses the origins of the hashtag #PostboxSaturday. It also includes a selection of postbox-related links and photos of postboxes from all over the UK. Do check it out and follow the The Handwritten Letter Appreciation Society on Twitter/X, Facebook, and Instagram. The Society’s mission is “To inspire people to write handwritten letters to each other.” It’s a worthy aim.

I thought I’d close with a few quotations extolling the virtues of letter writing.

There is something very sensual about a letter. The physical contact of pen to paper, the time set aside to focus thoughts, the folding of the paper into the envelope, licking it closed, addressing it, a chosen stamp, and then the release of the letter to the mailbox — are all acts of tenderness.

— Terry Tempest Williams

When you see a handwritten envelope addressed to you in your packet of mail when you get your mail out of the mailbox — when you see a personal letter waiting for you — it’s exciting. It touches you. You say “Oh, somebody really thought of me and didn’t just slap a mailing label across an envelope. Somebody wrote something to me.”

— Martha Williamson

I’ve always felt there is something sacred in a piece of paper that travels the earth from hand to hand, head to head, heart to heart.

— Robert Michael Pyle

Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.

— Lord Byron

I wrote you a love letter, and I sent it snail mail. Love is forever, and that’s about how long it’ll take to get to you.

— Jarod Kintz

That last one brings a wry smile, given the present state of the postal service. Posting a letter these days really is an act of faith!

Over to You

Are you someone who enjoys writing and receiving letters? Do you have a favourite postbox? Have you ever posted a letter and regretted it? Or doubted yourself only to be very glad you sent it? We’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Kutan Ural at Unsplash.

 

Are My Blog Posts Relevant to You? An Open Letter to My Readers

Dear friends.

This letter is written to the readers of this blog, especially those of you with lived experience other than my own. Chronic mental or physical health conditions. Disability. Trauma. Abuse. Rape. Self-harm. Suicidality. Debilitating fatigue, pain, or insomnia. These are things I’ve never known and cannot pretend to speak to or understand. Such awareness as I have is second-hand, shared by those willing to open their lives and selves to me. Friends. Family. Colleagues. Strangers. I will always be grateful for the trust implied by such deep sharing.

We write best about what we know personally. With respect to this blog, that’s my experience as a supportive friend to Fran and others. Fran and I wrote our book High Tide Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder on exactly that premise. It’s a perspective that’s valuable and arguably under-represented. Last year I was invited to write about being there for a friend who has survived rape and abuse. It turned out to be one of the strongest pieces I’ve written in recent years. Another article I’m proud of was inspired by a friend asking if I was okay hearing the details of her past experiences.

This blog was founded in 2013 as a space for me and Fran to share our thoughts and experience about mental health and supportive friendships. Over the years I’ve widened the scope to include content based more on my life, interests, and experiences. That’s valid when I’m discussing men’s mental health, gender identity, health checks for potentially serious conditions such as prostate cancer, or the challenges of end of life planning. But I do wonder if I’m indulging my own interests too much, diluting our core message in the process.

I’m thinking of pieces that explore my doubts and struggles, many of which seem mundane or even trivial compared to the challenges many of my friends — many of you — live with. This was brought home to me recently. I was chatting with Aimee Wilson, one of my closest friends and a fellow blogger. Her award-winning blog I’m NOT Disordered draws extensively on Aimee’s lived experience. I mentioned my idea for a blog post about the day I’d just spent at the coast and how my hopes of eating chips by the sea had been thwarted by circumstance. That same day Aimee had shared a social media post to mark eighteen years since she reported her experience of abuse and rape. “This content,” she wrote, “provides thoughts and advice for loved ones of survivors, survivors themselves, and professionals, as well as a QR code [for information about training programmes], all the reasons I’ve made it, and contact info for help and support.” She closed with the hope that people might find it useful.

I could not have been more proud of my friend, but my plan to write about my day at the coast felt suddenly trivial and silly. Sharing my experience of low-grade anxiety and depression is one thing. I struggle far less with my mental health than others but anxiety and low mood are part of my reality. Likewise my experience of alexithymia. I’ve also written extensively about the process and challenges of blogging. All this seems valid for me to explore and of potential relevance to other people who may find themselves in similar situations. But my disappointment because I didn’t get any chips on a day out? Aimee reassured me the idea was imaginative and creative but I was less than convinced. I completed the post nonetheless, so you can make up your own mind about it. (It’s not all about chips. There are some model yachts too.)

Perhaps I’m worrying unnecessarily. Not every piece needs to be cutting-edge, serious, deep, or societally significant. Maybe it’s okay to let the world know such things occupy my thoughts at times and engage my imagination. In recent months, we’ve shared posts about making a difference in the world; a short story of mine from 2001; a post about being aware of our friends’ needs; two open letters to Fran, one written for World Bipolar Day; a short poem about ducks; the post I mentioned earlier about checking if people are okay talking about difficult topics; a look at what makes us feel powerful; and the impact of daylight saving time on long-distance friendships.

Looking through this list of topics, I’m somewhat reassured, but what do you think? Are articles such as these of interest and relevance to you? What would you like to see more — or less — of? Are there any specific topics you’d like me to write about or focus on? I’m aware that we’ve not had any guest posts in a while, so that’s definitely something for Fran and I to consider. As always, we’d love to hear your thoughts and suggestions, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

Thank you.

Marty

 

Photo by S L at Unsplash.

 

Please Do Not Feed the Geese: A Five Question Guide to Giving and Taking Advice

I am, at heart, a tiresome nag complacently positive that there is no human problem which could not be solved if people would simply do as I advise.
— Gore Vidal

People don’t always need advice. Sometimes all they really need is a hand to hold, an ear to listen, and a heart to understand them.
— Unknown

A friend will give you good advice — and stand by you when you ignore it.
— Pamela Dugdale

This post was inspired by a conversation with my friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson. Aimee described an article she was writing on the topic of advice, and it got me thinking. I’ve discussed giving and taking advice previously, in such posts as A Few Thoughts on Taking My Own Advice and How to Give Mental Health Help and Advice to People You Don’t Know. It’s a broad topic, though, and there are many aspects I’ve not covered before. In this post I’ll explore a few more, focusing on the following five questions.

• What does giving advice mean to you?
• How good (or bad) are you at taking advice?
• When is it appropriate to offer advice and when is it best not to?
• What is the best (or worst) advice you’ve ever received?
• Was there a time when your advice was really helpful to someone else?

I’ll answer each of these questions for myself, then share the thoughts of others who were generous enough to respond to my request for contributions.

What Does Giving Advice Mean to You?

I’ve always been wary of giving or asking for advice. Another person’s experience and wisdom can help us decide what to do, but no matter who you are or who you ask, advice is no more and no less than someone else’s opinion. Your doctor, psychiatrist, therapist, lawyer, and financial advisor may be — and hopefully are — experts in their respective fields. Their opinions are to be respected, but no one knows for certain what’s best for someone else. You are the expert at being you, so treat other people’s advice accordingly. Mine included. If you ask for my thoughts about what’s going on for you, I’ll be happy to share them. Just take them for what they are. The ideas and opinions of someone who cares and wants to help, but makes no claim to know what’s best for you.

How Good (Or Bad) Are You at Taking Advice?

If you ask Fran she’ll tell you I’m dreadful at taking advice! We were discussing this recently and she exclaimed, with no little frustration, “You never listen!” I countered that I do listen, I just rarely do what she suggests! Joking aside, my resistance to other people’s advice is rooted in the fact I rarely ask for any, so any advice I’m offered is usually unsolicited. Asking someone’s advice invites them into your situation. That in itself changes things, as I’ve learned from experience. There are exceptions, but I prefer to keep my deliberations to myself and figure things out on my own.

I’m far more likely to follow someone’s example than take their advice. Decluttering is a case in point. Fran’s apartment is a clutter-free haven, tidy whilst still feeling warm and lived-in. It’s something I can only aspire to. A few months ago I cleared the equivalent of several rubbish bins (trash cans) of old clothes that had been lying around for years. It barely touched the surface of what needs to be thrown out, but it did feel good. Financial management is another example. I held a significant amount of money for years in a bank account where it earned negligible interest. Fran’s determination to rationalise her finances gave me the incentive I needed to research my options. The money now resides in a new account earning a respectible level of interest while I consider if there’s a better place for it.

When Is It Appropriate to Offer Advice and When Is It Best Not To?

I believe it’s appropriate to offer advice if you’ve been asked explicitly. It’s inappropriate to impose your opinions on someone who doesn’t want them, especially if you know nothing about them or their present situation. I feel far more comfortable offering suggestions to Fran or other close friends than to someone I barely know. This is partly because I can tailor my suggestions and presentation based on what I know of them, their situation, and our friendship. Above all, it’s important that the person feels able to decline, amend, or challenge my advice, rather than blindly following what I tell them.

This raises the question of responsibility. If someone follows your advice and things turn out poorly for them, who is responsible — you or them? It’s not a trivial question. It’s why professionals are careful about the advice they offer and insure themselves against claims for redress if things go badly.

What Is the Best (Or Worst) Advice You’ve Ever Received?

I’ve made decisions over the years that have turned out other than I’d hoped or desired at the time, but I can’t blame any of them on following poor advice. In fact, I can’t remember ever being given bad advice. (Maybe Fran is right and I don’t listen to any advice, good or bad!)

I mentioned this to Aimee. “I don’t think I’ve had bad advice either,” she replied. “But I wonder if that’s because if someone were to suggest something and you know it wouldn’t work well then you don’t listen or do it. Perhaps it shows a good understanding and sense of direction to establish if the advice is just not right without trialling it.” This makes sense to me. I don’t feel obliged to follow a suggested course of action just because someone told me I should. If it feels wrong, I’ll set it aside.

I can think of two pieces of good advice that have stuck with me. The first is something Fran shared with me early in our friendship. It’s the analogy of holding — and dropping — a hot coal. It comes originally from Eckhart Tolle’s book The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment.

How do you drop a piece of hot coal that you are holding in your hand? How do you drop some heavy and useless baggage that you are carrying? By recognizing that you don’t want to suffer the pain or carry the burden anymore and then letting go of it.

I’ve been known to physically mimic the action of opening my hand to drop something that’s been causing me pain as I walk to work, or on my way to the supermarket. It might sound silly but it works.

The second piece of good advice was offered to me by another dear friend, Louise. As I described in The Gentle Art of Letting Go someone I knew was struggling and I felt utterly unable to offer meaningful support. Louise reminded me that not all the team is on the field at all times. “Keep in mind that your friend is going through her stuff,” she said. “You’re still on her team, just not playing right now.” Her words helped me navigate a difficult and confusing phase in that particular friendship, and informed my concept of supportive disengagement.

Was There a Time When Your Advice Was Really Helpful to Someone Else?

In the Foreword to our book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder mental health advocate and author Rachel Kelly couched our book’s relevance in terms of the advice it offers.

As someone who has suffered from debilitating depression, and now writes about mental health, there is one question I am nearly always asked by those who come to my talks and workshops. What is my advice for those who are caring for someone with a mental illness? What is the best way to be a true and supportive friend? I’ve often thought if only there was a book I could recommend. Martin Baker and Fran Houston have now written just such a book.

Given Rachel’s background and experience as an ambassador for mental health charities including SANE and Rethink Mental Illness, her endorsement means a great deal. Interestingly, neither Fran nor I think of our book as offering advice. It was written more as a collection of ideas and strategies from which our readers might select what resonates for them. Fran made this explicit in our book’s Epilogue:

How do I help my friend? What should I try? What works? So many choices. So many possibilities. To me this book is less of a memoir than a menu. [...] Choose something. A bit of this. A bit of that. And let that something ease another’s pain.

In Teardrops and Waterfalls I describe a conversation with Fran in which we discussed what it’s like to hold space for a friend who wants to talk about whatever’s going on for them. Fran said she found this overwhelming at times. I offered an analogy.

Imagine you’re standing beside a waterfall. If it’s a small waterfall with a small pool, you can stand close by. If it’s a big waterfall it will have a bigger pool and more spray and splashing. You would stand further back so you can appreciate it without getting wet.

The waterfall analogy is something we both find helpful and refer to from time to time.

I asked two friends if there was anything I’ve offered them by way of advice that they found especially useful. Louise interprets advice the way I do, in terms of suggestions and opinions. “You’ve helped by just listening and offering an opinion on a situation,” she said. “I really appreciate the opinions of like-minded others such as yourself when I’m going through a hard time. Reassurance about a decision, you always offer that. And sometimes you have offered an alternative perspective based on your experiences of similar things. You’ve also often got support materials that you’re able to signpost me to.”

Aimee recalled a time when she asked me to proofread her presentation for a major conference. I noticed a few of the headings were inconsistently capitalised and suggested an online capitalisation tool I use myself. This is a good example of practical advice and demonstrates the importance of offering appropriate guidance in appropriate ways. We both blog in the mental health space but our approaches, workflows, and writing styles are very different. Unless I spot an obvious typo or error in Aimee’s writing, I keep my thoughts or suggestions to myself. She does the same. “You should do it this way” wouldn’t go down well, no matter which of us said it! On this occasion, she’d explicitly asked for my opinion and I felt my contribution was both welcome and appreciated.

Contributions from Others

I’m grateful to everyone who responded to my social media request for thoughts about advice in general, and my five questions in particular. Contributions are presented with only minor edits for clarity.

Advice has an edge to it. “May I make a suggestion” is gentler.
— Fran

My worst advice was from the crisis team when I was self harming. They told me to have a warm bath. I think people relate when they have been through the same as you and can open up more, I could never open up to a professional as it’s all text book talking.
— Joanne

Seconding Joanne’s experience with the bath advice! I actually have a wet room in my home so there’s only a shower so I once told them that if I say I’m having a bath, be more concerned cuz it means I’m hallucinating baths! I wrote a blog post about it called STOP TELLING ME TO TAKE A BATH!” | WHAT TO DO WHEN THEIR ADVICE DOESN’T HELP.
— Aimee

Advice is a delicate thing, I think. It’s about social courtesy, or social dynamics. You have to feel it out. Listening and just being present are really important. I try and let people think things out for themselves.
— Jen.

Always bear in mind when offering advice, that each person has their own “map of the world” and what works for you might not be the right thing for the other person. Try to ask a few questions, listen and respect what you hear, before you start talking. When someone offers you advice, then try to accept it, listen before you decline. Then decide for yourself.
— Charlotte

I’ve thought about it and the first thing that comes to mind (repeatedly) is that it’s VERY important (helpful) to know when not to offer advice and when to offer it. The next thing is, is it advice I would or do take for myself.
— Andrea

When we give advice we need to remember the person is not us, their situations is not ours. I am happy to take advice. I may not follow it, but it’s good to have as it’s a starting place to think about and helps you to begin to deal with the circumstances. Worst advice for me was don’t do it or you can’t do that, although maybe in some situations it may have been the best advice. I was a young people’s support worker and then social worker. I have seen a few now grown up and they have said I helped them through by listening, discussing, and asking them what they wanted long-term and supporting them to work best way to get there. I was a social worker and had to give advice to parents sometimes that they didn’t want to hear, but that was to protect their children.
— Anonymous

First, know the person you are advising. Second, don’t give advice on something you haven’t personally experienced. Third, make sure the advice isn’t given with a negative/criticism kind of connotation. No one likes a know it all lol.
— Jessica

Paul responded to each of my questions at length, which is much appreciated.

What does giving advice mean to you?
When to offer someone advice, and when not to?

There are two scenarios for me. Someone asks me for some help or I can see they need some help and I offer it. With the first scenario obviously there are multiple questions that I could be asked but it usually is in the format “This is what is happening, what do you think?” I then view what I’m hearing [from the perspective that] the person wants to be out of their state of mind or even physical predicament, and what’s the best I can do to work out a plan or set of ideas with them to do that.

The second scenario is where I see somebody who has got something on their mind and they are displaying that so I ask questions. If they don’t want to talk about it I stop but if they do, revert to scenario one.

With both scenarios it is always the default from me that I sympathise. Sometimes the best “giving advice” is simply being there in front of the person, hearing it all out. All of this is outside the family of course. How we do things in our family is completely different. Families are worlds of their own!

How good (or bad) are you at taking advice?

Pretty good because if I am asking anybody for advice it really does mean I have done absolutely everything to try and figure it out what’s bothering me but I can’t. I only ask people who I consider to have good intellectual ability because to be quite honest those sorts of people I believe always do really understand. Currently the only three people I would turn to (as in meet physically) for specific advice for a couple of things that were bugging me a while back are Martin Baker, a guy called Gaz Robinson who lives in York who I knew from the 80s, and Martin Wood a Darlington guy who is upfront and as analytical as they come, which is how I like people to be when I need some advice. I also talk to my two children Miles and Clifford occasionally because they have always been superbright lads, and as they are now past the age 30 mark they have some experience as well. I have definitely picked up some good tips to figure out my own dilemmas from them.

What’s the best (or worst) advice you’ve ever received?

I’ve never had bad advice from anybody because by the time I need advice I really have gone over all the possibilities, but I am still unsure which one of them is the best to get what I want to happen. Occasionally I have been told that all the possibilities I have worked out are probably not good ideas! They were definitely “Ouch” moments but that is the way it has to go sometimes!

A time when your advice was really helpful to someone else.

This is usually when the advice is of the type “Stick in there and you will win through” or “Get out of the situation because you’re wasting your time.” The confidence booster is welcomed and the understanding warning to ditch what is happening is also appreciated.

— Paul

Thank you again to everyone who contributed.

Over to You

In this post I’ve shared my thoughts and experiences concerning advice, and those of others who have been generous with their perspectives. What do you think about giving other people advice? Are you comfortable asking for advice? Who do you trust to approach for advice? I’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Todd Morris at Unsplash.