How Would You Be Feeling? Exploring Social Anxiety and Adventure

This post was inspired by a recent conversation with Fran. It happened a few days before she set off on a weekend trip with folk from MOAC (Maine Outdoor Adventure Club). Fran had attended several of their events in the past but this was to be her first trip away with the group. She was feeling a little anxious. I reminded her it's natural to have some anxiety when you're about to do something different. How the anxiety is a strategy your mind and body employ to protect you, perhaps as a result of past dissapointments. If you worry about something in advance and what you are worried about happens, you're prepared. You get to say, "See — I knew it." If what you were worried about doesn't happen, you get to feel relieved and pleasantly surprised. It's not a particularly healthy way of approaching things and it burns a lot of emotional energy, but it's understandable and far more common than we imagine. I reassured her that it was okay to feel what she was feeling, but she didn't have to dwell there. She could acknowledge it and then let it go. It was the kind of conversation we have all the time. Not only about Fran's situation, thoughts, and feelings. Mine too. I think we both felt on familiar ground. Then, Fran asked something that turned things on their head for me.

"How would you be feeling if it was you going away for the weekend with forty people, most of whom you don't know?"

On one level, the question was straightforward. How would I feel if I was a few days away from a long weekend in the woods with a group of people I scarcely knew? The fact that I can't imagine doing something like that says a lot. I can challenge myself to do things I've never done before, like a zipwire from the Tyne Bridge for charity (twice), a live radio interview, being a podcast guest, or reading from our book in front of an audience. Those were scary, but manageable. Social events of any kind are different. I'm much more comfortable one-on-one or in very small groups. I'd be well-prepared for the weekend on a practical level. I'd have everything laid out ready to go, the route mapped, and timings confirmed. Inside, I'd be a wreck, seriously looking for ways to back out. As Fran put it, I'd be shaking like a leaf. (I was literally shaking the first time we met in person after two years as transatlantic best friends, at the QEII Cruise Terminal in Southampton back in 2013.)

But there's more to Fran's question than that. By asking me to consider how I'd feel, she invited me to appreciate the reality of her situation. It helped me connect with her more deeply than just responding to her uncertainties and fears. It connected me with how it's been for me in the past when I'd felt scared or daunted by what I was about to do. Situations and scenarios I can imagine myself handling, and those which would unnerve me to the point where I would freeze up inside.

The question also reminded me of the differences and similarities between us. Fran's social anxiety is real but she'll find ways to work with it in the name of adventure. She's told me in the past she's better at getting along with "new people" than folk she's known a long time. I think she's a little unfair to herself regarding established friendships, but she's certainly better around people she doesn't know than I am. It's part of the reason she loves traveling so much. As I write this, she's away on her MOAC weekend. I'm confident she'll return with a few new friends and some great stories. I'd come back having spent most of the time by myself at the edge of things, observing what was going on, more or less content but failing to engage meaningfully with anyone. Neither approach is necessarily right or wrong, but despite similar anxieties we handle social situations very differently.

There's one more dimension to what Fran did. By asking me how I would be feeling, she reversed our roles. She gave herself the opportunity to have someone share their anxieties and uncertainties with her. Regarding her trip my feelings were hypothetical, but she nevertheless got to see things from someone else's perspective. It might seem a small thing, but for me that was the most significant aspect of our exchange. We've come up with various tools and approaches over the years. They help us explore how we're feeling and navigate through uncertain times to firmer ground. This was a new one. It's valuable in itself, and a great reminder that there's always something new to learn from and with each other. The photo I chose for this post is particularly appropriate because I bought Fran a mug just like the one depicted for her weekend away. The simple message — The Adventure Begins — reminds me that there's adventure to be found in our lives whatever we choose to do with our time, be that hiking the woods of Maine with people we don't know or sitting in a coffee shop in Kingston Park writing about it.

 

The Maine Outdoor Adventure Club (MOAC) is an all-volunteer member organization in the state of Maine, USA. Outdoor activities range from peaceful and relaxing to challenging and full of excitement. For details, check their website.

Photo by Freddy Kearney at Unsplash.

 

Do More of What You're Good at and Keep Good People Close: What I've Learned about Prioritising Mental Health in the Workplace

Organised by the World Federation for Mental Health, World Mental Health Day is celebrated each year on October 10. The theme for 2024 is “It is time to prioritize mental health in the workplace.” Rather than writing generically about the topic, I’d like to share some experiences from my working life over the past four decades.

A few weeks ago on social media I came across a New Yorker cartoon by Kendra Allenby. The cartoon shows a boss talking to an employee about a promotion. “At this point in your career,” he says, “your only possible promotion is to management, where you will stop doing the work you love and use a skill set you don’t have and we don’t teach.”

It hit hard and I shared it on, with the status “Been feeling this one a lot lately.” A friend and colleague replied that he’d felt the same, and had to take a leap “into the great unknown.” That’s a really positive response to career stagnation and I wish him well. It’s not one I’m motivated to take, however. At the age of sixty-three, I don’t have many years left in my current employ. As I told my friend, “I’m just waiting my time out now, to be honest.”

It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way. I’ve rarely felt I was in the right place or role, and the only way to progress involved moving further away from using my skills and knowledge effectively. I’ll return to my present situation, but I want to start by sharing what was going on for me back in 1985 when I was seriously considering giving up on the work I was doing at the time. I was as frustrated and despondent as I can remember being at any point in my life, before or since. Not all the reasons were work related, but most were.

I was twenty-four years old, roughly halfway through a three-year post-graduate research post in London. I enjoyed living in London but it didn’t take long to realise I wasn’t cut out for a career in research. I wasn’t the only one to notice. A colleague I respected enormously informed me she didn’t think I was a proper scientist and should be doing something more creative instead. Another colleague who became my unofficial mentor and a dear friend, told me I was a better engineer than a scientist. I couldn’t disagree. I found it hard to engage with the work, and lost any belief I’d held concerning its value beyond securing the department a research grant and the publication of a few scientific papers.

What frustrated and upset me most, however, was the interminable bickering, game-playing, and pettiness that had taken hold. I often found myself stressed, irritable, judgmental, and prone to verbal outbursts. Looking back, I can see how toxic it was. One colleague put in a formal complaint about how the department was being run. My mentor friend was treated so poorly it threatened her career. Others confided in me that working there was seriously affecting their mental health.

Things came to a head for me in the autumn of 1985. Several colleagues I knew, liked, and felt able to confide in were leaving for new roles elsewhere. With a year still to complete, I would be left almost alone and unsupported to face the office politics and factionism. I knew I couldn’t remain if things didn’t improve, and was seriously considering resigning. I raised my concerns with the head of department and was told: “If you don’t like it, we don’t want you.” Needless to say, this didn’t help much.

The next day, I played truant and spent the afternoon walking on the beach with a long-time friend. The day itself will be the subject of another blog post, but somewhere on the shore and in the words I shared with my friend something changed for me. I wrote to her afterwards.

Eloping with you gave me the opportunity to find some calm, and to remember that there are more important things than whether or not I’m 100% happy in work. Like people.

A few days later as I was packing to move from my bedsit to the flat vacated by two friends who were “abandoning” me for a new life elsewhere, I had the revelation that kept me in London for the remainder of my contract. The following is from my diary.

In the midst of it all I was struck with the following almost instantaneous sequence of thoughts:

idon’twanttohavetodoallthisagainifileave : idon’twanttoleave

I stood, utterly convinced of my conclusion yet also utterly unsure of why, or what it meant. I have not irretrievably decided to stick it out in the Department, but I think I will.

I’d lost or was about to lose most of the people who’d made life in the department bearable, but I had other friends in and around London. Resigning might mean having to relocate and I didn’t want to lose them too. As I wrote to my beach walking friend, “If I stay, it will not be just because of you [...] but I think if I did leave, I would be turning my back on a lot.”

It wasn’t enough to simply decide to stay. I had to figure out how to do that in a different way, one that protected me from the chaos. Taking a leaf out of my mentor’s book, I focused on the work and withdrew as far as possible from engaging on a personal level with the people around me. I wrote in my diary, “Part of my pact with myself is that if I stay, I do not become entangled in the lives of the others in the department.”

I started going in early and at weekends, when there were fewer people around. I planned my work diligently, often weeks ahead, and consulted with my mentor to keep me on track. The change didn’t go unnoticed. Asked several times what had caused such a transformation in my attitude, I replied it was easier to survive in the department if I removed myself as much as possible from the politics and people, even though that might lead to me being considered antisocial. It wasn’t plain sailing and not everything went to plan. Nevertheless, at the end of the year, I could look back with some satisfaction, recognising the support and care shown to me by my friend and mentor.

I am not and never will be in her eyes a scientist, but I have won her respect, friendship, and confidence. I am perhaps more grateful to her than anyone else for this past year. She was not instrumental in my decision to stay, but without her it would have been easy to renege on that commitment.

That final year was hard. I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do, I wasn’t good at it, and I had little in the way of support. I was unhappy, but one way or another I held things together and completed my programme of work. I’d spent many months on my thesis but ultimately — and against the advice of my mentor — decided not to complete it. I don’t regret staying, but I’m not sure it was the best decision I ever made. I lost an opportunity to change direction and address the real problem, the mismatch between my skills, aptitude, and interests, and my working environment.

I left London at the end of 1986 and moved north to Newcastle upon Tyne to take up another research post. The nature of the research was quite different, but I was no more suited to it than before. I was frustrated and unfulfilled, but didn’t know what to do about it. I completed my contract, then found myself out of work. It took several more years, a retraining course in business computing, and a spell working for a screen print firm, to land the IT job I’ve had ever since. There have been many ups and downs. More than once, I despaired and felt close to throwing it all in and leaving. For one reason or another — not least the care and support extended to me by my colleagues and managers — I’m still here. Last year I completed thirty years of service, which I explored in Getting a Living, Forgetting to Live. It was hard to feel much sense of achievement

[T]he experience left me feeling demotivated. Demoralised. More than anything else, I felt sad. Thirty years working for essentially the same employer — and in essentially the same role — doesn’t feel much of an achievement to me. It feels like what happens when you never pushed yourself to find something better.

Another year on, and not much has changed. I’m sixty-three. I don’t have an exit plan but retirement won’t be too far off. I’ve no ambition to go further up the ladder. To do so I’d have to pretend to be someone and something I’m not and have no interest in becoming. It would mean more money — a not insignificant consideration — but it wouldn’t make me happier. I can’t claim to be poorly paid and there are more important things than job roles and grades. That’s what my time in London taught me. I’m fortunate to work in a great team where I feel able to contribute. There’s no hint of the politics and petty squabbles I knew all those years ago in London. I may be “waiting my time out” but it’s not a bad situation in which to spend my final years of employment.

Fran said something to me recently which struck me as important. I was talking about some of the side projects I’ve been working on lately, developing scripts and utilities to streamline tasks the team performs on a daily basis. She said it was good that I’ve been able to carve out a role for myself. I’d not thought of it like that, but she’s right. Programming isn’t really part of my role. I’m not a developer. I work in application support. The team’s responsibility is keeping live service running and managing incidents, problems, and changes to make sure it stays that way. Nevertheless, my boss welcomes my ideas and encourages me to find ways to make our team’s tasks easier and more straightforward to perform. I’m learning new things in the process, mostly self-taught as and when I need it. It’s creative. It’s fun. It’s good for my job satisfaction, mental health, and wellbeing.

The title of this blog post — Do More of What You’re Good at and Keep Good People Close — captures what I’ve learned about navigating the workplace safely and enjoyably. Figure out what’s important to you. What you’re good at. Do more of that. Do more of what brings satisfaction to your working day. Don’t keep frustrations to yourself. Ask for help when you need it. I would never have made it through my final year in London without my mentor friend. Over the past thirty years I’ve been blessed to have a number of managers, colleagues, and friends who’ve encouraged and supported me. I’m bound to miss some names (sorry) but Judith, Loveday, Lois, Debbie, Tony, and Lisa, I’m thinking of you.

It’s also important to figure out what you’ll tolerate, because things will rarely be exactly to your liking. Where are your red lines in terms of pressure, workload, or behaviour? What are you not prepared to accept? Are you able to recognise when you’re becoming stressed, anxious, or overwhelmed? Do you know what to do about it? Can you discuss things with your boss, colleagues, or union representative? If your workplace has Mental Health First Aiders as mine does, consider reaching out to them. Seek your doctor’s advice if things are affecting your mental or physical health.

I’ll close with a piece of advice I was offered, a few years into my present employment. I’d been offered a promotion to team lead twice but had declined each time. I didn’t feel I was up to the additional responsibilities and pressure. A more senior colleague told me he’d felt the same when he was offered the opportunity. He told himself that those above him clearly thought he could fill the role, so he took the money and gave it his best shot. His words gave me the confidence to say yes when promotion was offered one final time. I never felt confident in the team leader role, but I was perhaps not the worst manager my team ever had. If I helped to make their working days more bearable, even rewarding, and encouraged them to find themselves in their role, I’m content. They certainly helped me. That’s what it’s about for me. Oh, and don’t tell co-workers to fuck off, as I once did in London. (Sorry, Mary!) That’s not good.

 

Photo by Carl Heyerdahl at Unsplash.

 

Our Top Posts of the Month (September 2024)

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. It’s Not Enough / Never Enough
2. The Box on the Shelf: A Strategy for Handling Difficult Issues and Situations
3. Shhhhhhh! A Friend’s Guide to Secrets
4. One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy: Encounters With the Absurd Man
5. I’m Weak and What’s Wrong With That?
6. It’s Time to Talk. But What If You Don’t Want To?
7. I’m on My Way: Thoughts Inspired by Ed Sheeran’s “Castle on the Hill”
8. Thank You Anyway: The Gift of Ingratitude
9. I Hope We All Make It
10. IMHO: A Guide for Opinionated Bloggers

Our most visited pages were:

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

 

Photo by Katie Moum at Unsplash.

 

At the Going Down of the Sun: Attending Twilight in the Park With My Best Friend

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

— Laurence Binyon. “For the Fallen.”

Fran and I have shared a great many adventures, trips, and experiences in our thirteen years as friends. Few have been as moving as accompanying her to the recent Twilight in the Park event in Fran’s home city of Portland, Maine. Organised by the Hospice of Southern Maine, Twilight in the Park is a community event to remember and celebrate loved ones who have died, and their families, friends, and caregivers. This year’s event was held on Saturday September 29 in Deering Oaks Park. Fran was keen to attend, and took me with her virtually by video call. The following details are from the hospice website.

Imagine thousands of luminarias glowing warmly at dusk, each light representing someone who has brought love and light into our lives. At Twilight, thousands of luminarias are lit, each one bearing the name of a loved one being remembered, or a special person being honored. Many find this evening to be a profound and transformative experience in the process of healing. Twilight is open to everyone, regardless of whether you’ve had a loved one in our care.

The event was very well attended. People were standing, sitting, or walking slowly around the empty splash pool which was lined with lanterns. We bumped into a lady Fran knew who was there with her friend. Fran introduced me as her best friend from England, and I got to say hello. I’m always surprised at how effortlessly people accept my virtual presence when I’m out with Fran. We found a vantage point on the bridge overlooking the pool. The event began with the song Somewhere Over the Rainbow, followed by a welcome by Mark Jones, Board Chair of the Hospice of Southern Maine. There were further songs, including The Beatles’ Let it Be, and words of remembrance and tribute by HSM Chaplain Larry Greer. The words weren’t always perfectly audible to me over our video call but I recognised Laurence Binyon’s “For the Fallen.”

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Fran found the rendition of Taps by Sgt Bryan Noyes especially moving. The twenty-four note melody was used as call for lights out during the American Civil War. Today it’s best known as the nation’s official Song of Remembrance and is played to remember those who have given their lives in the service of the United States.There was also a reading of the poem “Four Candles.” This was new to me but I found it very evocative.

The first candle represents our grief. The pain of losing you is intense. It reminds us of the depth of our love for you.

The second candle represents our courage. The courage to confront our sorrow, to comfort each other, to change our lives.

The third candle we light in your memory. For the times we laughed, the times we cried, the times we were angry with each other, the funny things you did, the caring and joy you gave us.

The fourth candle we light for our love. We light this candle that your light will always shine. We think of you each day and share your memory with our family and friends.

We cherish the special place in our hearts that will always be reserved for you. We thank you for the gift your living brought to each of us. We love you. We remember you.

— Anon

As the event played out below us, my thoughts were with people I’ve known over the years who are no longer here. My dear friend PJ. My beautiful friend Julieta from Mexico, a talented artist and devoted mother. The lady on whose Facebook page Fran and I first met. The sister of a mutual friend, whose life was being celebrated elsewhere by her family and friends that same day.

I thought too about the end of life and legacy work Fran and I have been doing recently. The blog posts I’ve written (to be published later this month) about end of life planning in general, and how I want to be remembered by those I’ll leave behind when the time comes. It came to me that remembrance needn’t be limited to a single event shortly after someone dies. Lives can be commemorated and celebrated time after time, in different ways and by different people, individually or together. That’s helpful because it alleviates the pressure on those responsible for arranging things once we’ve departed. It‘s not necessary to get everything right and complete in one go.

It was dark by the time the chaplain gave his closing remarks. I walked Fran back to her apartment, each of us lost in our individual thoughts, memories, and feelings. I’m grateful to Fran for taking me with her, and to the Hospice of Southern Maine for putting on the event. If you’d like more details of their work, check out their website.

 

Video call screenshot by Martin Baker.

 

IMHO: A Guide for Opinionated Bloggers

I have lost the freedom of not having an opinion.

— Umberto Eco

“I absolutely looooove how opinionated this is!!!” — that’s how my friend and fellow blogger Aimee Wilson responded to one of my recent blog posts. Her reaction caught me off guard. I hadn’t thought the piece was any more expressive of my opinions than others I’ve written in the past few years. What interested me was the fact she seemed at least as excited by me airing my opinions as by the opinions themselves. She’s one of my closest friends and most ardent supporters, but I can’t remember her responding quite as energetically before. What was different this time? I was keen to explore it further.

Three additional comments Aimee made helped point me in the right direction. She said I do share my opinions, “but perhaps not as often as maybe me or a lot of other people do.” This is a valid point. Aimee has her own incredibly successful mental health blog I’m NOT Disordered. In the articles she posts she’s very open and honest about her experiences, thoughts, and opinions. I don’t think I’m any less honest, but I’m arguably more selective about what I disclose. This raises some interesting questions. How much of our opinion is it useful, wise, or even safe to declare publicly? What is the best way of doing so?

We’re expected to hold opinions on a wide range of topics, especially in the political and moral arenas. Politically left, right, or centrist. Atheist, theist, deist, or agnostic. For or against abortion, access to healthcare, gender rights, sexuality, immigration, criminality and punishment. The list goes on and woe betide you if you don’t know where you stand. I have strong opinions on many of these topics, but in general I’m wary of displaying them publically. There are a number of reasons for this. In many cases, my opinions aren’t well-formed or easy for me to express or defend. My opinion about opinions is that they are essentially arbitrary. If they were based on fact or logic, as we like to imagine ours are, there wouldn’t be so many different opinions on any given topic. It would be clear to at least an overwhelming majority.

In philosophical terms, I’m what is termed a moral relativist. I don’t believe in moral absolutes. For me, morality is important — vital even to the well functioning of society — but it’s a human thing rather than something offered or imposed on us from outside. This is only my opinion, of course, but it’s one which informs my perspective on all other opinions, mine and other people’s. I’m also an absurdist, in so far as I understand the philosophy of Albert Camus. It may be part of the human condition to seek meaning and purpose but I believe the universe has nothing to offer in reply. It is. We are. Dealing with that awareness without falling into despair or resorting to artificial surrogates for meaning — what Camus calls philosophical suicide — is the challenge. I don’t believe in free will, although it appears necessary to act as though it exists. The future isn’t predetermined or knowable, either in practice or principle. Leaving aside quantum randomness, everything that happens or has happened is the only thing that could happen or have happened under those precise circumstances. It’s why I have so much difficulty with the concept of regret. “If I could go back I would choose differently” makes no sense to me at all.

Aside from the difficulty I’d have in expressing and defending my opinions, there’s the question of relevance. Fran and I established this blog to explore mental health and supportive friendships. I treat those topics broadly, not least because they affect and inform our lives in many ways. We discuss friendships and relationships in general, and different ways of supporting ourselves and others. I’ve shared aspects of my own mental and physical health, as well as my take on blogging itself and other topics which interest me such as story writing, shorthand, and music.

In sharing as we do, Fran and I offer our personal experiences, ideas, and opinions in the hope others may find them of interest and value. They work for us, but we don’t expect them to be relevant or useful to everyone. Our thoughts and ideas are informed by our respective world views, but we rarely discuss our opinions in the political or moral arena unless they directly affect the topic in hand. There are exceptions. I’ve declared my atheist stance previously, for example, and explored Absurdism in some detail. I’ve likewise shared my positions on gender identity and toxic masculinity.

Aside from which opinions I might be prepared to share, there’s the question of how best to express them. At first glance, the word opinionated suggests an overly pushy attitude, but it’s clear Aimee didn’t mean it that way. “Sometimes,” she said, “being opinionated can be really distasteful, disrespectful, and hard to hear or read. But you have done it sooo soooo soooo well!” The piece in question discussed the kind of friendship I find most meaningful and satisfying. (Spoiler alert: I need to feel a degree of continuity in the connection. As I put it, “I’m not interested in sporadic news updates of what’s happened to you since we last met. I want to know who you are, not who you were. I want to share with you who I am, not who I was.”) I was honest enough that former and current friends might reasonably identify themselves in what I wrote. Aimee reassured me that I’d done this gracefully, conveying the gratitude and respect I hold for all my friends. It’s nevertheless a reminder to express my opinions with humility, recognising they represent my partial and present thoughts about the matter in hand.

People are sometimes criticised for changing their opinions, as though doing so reflects poorly on the strength of their convictions. I disagree. Many of mine have changed significantly over the years. In this, I’m with William Blake, who declared “The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.” Having no interest in breeding reptiles of any kind, I’ve sought to develop my understanding by watching debates and conversations between people on either side of various issues. I’m especially interested in arguments for and against the existence of god, absolute or relative morality, and free will. Speakers I’ve come to admire for the clarity of their opinions and ability to discuss them include Alex O’Connor, Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, Roger Penrose, and the late Christopher Hitchens. I find myself in broad agreement with most of them, but I also enjoy listening to Canadian psychologist Jordan Peterson and the American Christian apologist William Lane Craig. I have little in common with either of them, but their conviction and ability to discuss their respective opinions is both fascinating and a challenge to my own.

It’s relevant to mention the discomfiture I’ve felt on occasion when I’ve realised people I respect and broadly agree with hold opinions I instinctively and wholeheartedly reject. I’ve had the same reaction to discovering public figures or creatives whose work I’ve admired entertain views that are repugnant to me. It’s a reminder that our opinions and beliefs are not always mutually consistent, and that genuine connection involves accepting each another for the totality of who we are, not just those bits we find pleasant or in agreement with our own.

There’s one more thing Aimee said that I found interesting. Having stated that I’d been more expressive of my opinions than usual, she said “It’s refreshing and honourable to hear you do that. Sort of stepping out of your comfort zone or at least out of the norm for you.” This resonated for me because only a few days earlier I’d encountered the following meme on social media:

Comfort is a drug. Once you get used to it, it becomes addicting. Give a weak person consistent stimulation, good food, cheap entertainment and they’ll throw their ambitions right out the window. The comfort zone is where dreams go and die.

The quotation was anonymous but I’ve seen it attributed to British actor Henry Cavill. I have sympathy for the idea that “the magic happens outside your comfort zone” — likewise Susan Jeffers’ imperative to “feel the fear and do it anyway.” It’s wise to take stock of the stories we tell ourselves from time to time to see if they still serve us or are holding us back. In my case, stepping outside my comfort zone has led to two zipwire slides to raise money for charity, volunteering with mental health awareness campaign Time to Change, performing public readings from our book, and appearing on podcasts and local radio. It’s in this positive spirit that I take Aimee’s assertion that in sharing my opinions on friendship I was stepping outside my comfort zone. I have little time, however, for Cavill’s assertion that comfort is intrinsically negative and addictive. Neither can I agree with his labeling people as weak for preferring consistency over challenge. Far from being the place “where dreams go and die,” the comfort zone — however we might define it — is the place to which we return from our adventures. It’s a refuge from the storms, a place to reflect on where we are and what we want before daring to venture once more beyond the door. It’s home.

Sharing one’s opinions publically isn’t without risk. There are real perils in raising one’s head above the proverbial parapet and declaring “this is what I believe” — especially if those beliefs are controversial or run against societal expectations. I’ve chosen on occasion to withhold my opinion where a vehemently negative reaction could be reasonably anticipated. I will continue to do so. That said, I believe I have a moral responsibility to speak and act where not doing so could be construed as acquiescence or support for views I hold abhorrent or harmful. No longer can I indulge the privilege of withholding opinions on matters because I’m not personally affected by them. In the words of Umberto Eco, “I have lost the freedom of not having an opinion.” This is not an easy situation in which to find myself, but — in my humble opinion — it’s not meant to be.

Over to You

In this post I’ve explored my relationship to opinions, my own and other people’s. I’ve considered reasons for keeping them to myself as well as circumstances in which I feel a moral imperative to speak out. I don’t have all the answers, and I’m sure I’ll want to revisit these topics in the future. I’m interested to hear your opinions concerning this blog post, my opinions as I’ve described them, and the subject of opinions itself. Please consider sharing your thoughts, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Steve Johnson at Unsplash.

 

One Million Thank-Yous: Our Top Ten Blog Posts of all Time

To celebrate reaching one million pageviews (thank you!) here are our top ten most viewed posts of all time, most popular first.

1. How to Write the Best Acknowledgement Page for Your Book
2. The Miracle of Light: An Open Letter to My Friend Marty
3. 2021: My Year in Photos and Blog Posts
4. Shhhhhhh! A Friend‘s Guide to Secrets
5. The Box on the Shelf: A Strategy for Handling Difficult Issues and Situations
6. An Open Letter to My Bipolar Best Friend
7. How Can I Best Help My Bipolar Friend?
8. Get It Right When Asking for Help with Bipolar Disorder
9. 10 Ways to Spend Quality Time with Your Friend That Don‘t Involve Talking about Mental Health
10. It‘s Not Enough / Never Enough

 

Photo by Gift Habeshaw at Unsplash.

 

I'm Not That Person Anymore

So many people from your past know a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.

— Unknown

You know how people say they can meet up with someone they’ve not seen in years and it’s as though no time has passed at all? I’ve never been good at that. It’s lauded as the sign of a healthy friendship, but it doesn’t work that way for me. I’m too aware of how much my life, my interests, my understanding, and my very self change over time. There’s a social media meme that expresses this perfectly.

You’ve changed.

I hope so!

If we’ve not been in touch through those changes — mine and yours — then we no longer know each other. The person you think of when you think of me no longer exists. We might reconnect, but unless it’s to re-establish an ongoing, more-or-less frequent connection, there’s little point. I’m not interested in sporadic news updates of what’s happened to you since we last met. I want to know who you are, not who you were. I want to share with you who I am, not who I was. It’s the difference between sharing life’s journey and sending each other occasional postcards from distant lands.

I’ll qualify that a little, because it might sound as though I need to be in constant touch with someone for the friendship to be worthwhile. Frequency is part of it but it’s the sense of being present in each other’s lives that matters most. Each friendship has its natural rhythm. When circumstances permit, Fran and I connect several times a day. I’m in near daily touch with several other close friends. One long-time friend and I exchange letters every week or so. Circumstances might necessitate a temporary pause or change in how often we’re in touch, but in each case the friendship returns to its natural beat afterwards. There are a few exceptions. One friend and I work brilliantly despite going weeks or even months without hearing from each other. I’m not sure how it works so well, but it does! (Hi, Louise!)

I saw a social media meme the other day that read MAKE A HABIT OF REACHING OUT TO PEOPLE JUST BECAUSE THEY CROSSED YOUR MIND. I get the idea, but I don’t necessarily agree. A few months ago I thought of someone I was friends with in the eighties when I lived in London. We kept in touch after I moved north, but it must be thirty years since I last heard from them. On a whim, I found them on social media. They looked happy in their present life. For a moment I considered reaching out to reconnect, but realised how little point there was in doing so. If they accepted my friend request we’d exchange catch-up messages, bullet pointing the intervening decades. Where we’d lived. Where we’d worked. Partners. Family. Mutual friends. Highlights. Lowlights, maybe. Health. Illnesses. But they’re not the person I knew all those years ago in London. I’m not the person they knew.

You may be thinking, but they might have been delighted to hear from you. You’ve both changed, but you could begin a new friendship from where you are now. That’s true, of course. But our past connection is no guarantee we’d get along now. Maybe there’s a reason our friendship lapsed. Maybe they’d rather not be taken back to those days by an out-of-the-blue request from someone whose name they associate only with the past. Reaching out to people because they crossed your mind might be good advice if it’s someone you’ve not heard from in a few weeks, but it can be intrusive — even toxic — in other contexts. I can think of several people I’m pretty sure wouldn’t want to hear from me, despite them often crossing my mind. They’ve moved on. I’ve moved on.

Disengagement happens in many ways for many different reasons. It can happen suddenly, or so gradually it’s hard to detect until some threshold of awareness is crossed. I’m reminded of a poem I wrote many years ago. It describes the creeping changes that confounded the deepest and most significant relationship of my life up to that point.

Without a word we set our backs to oneanother, walked the slopes alone,
our fields and hills pastoral: darker vales disdained, pretending
not to see the forests moving.
Till one night unseen some secrets in the guise of
willows crept into the stream we called our bed,
took root, and in the morning we awoke to find between us
woods impregnable.

— “What happened to the Lovetrees?”

Frequency of contact isn’t everything. A social media post I saw the other day declared that “Real friends keep sending you memes even if you don’t react to them.” There’s a certain truth to those words. Regular low-level contact can keep a friendship going through difficult times when we might be unable to engage more meaningfully. Memes, good morning texts, and such remind us that the other person’s there, that we’re thought of. They’re insufficient to sustain a meaningful connection on their own, however, especially if the frequency no longer aligns with the rhythm of the friendship itself. In that case, what began as a gentle ritual becomes a habit you’re loathe to break for fear there’s little else left. There might also be a reason the other person isn’t reacting. Maybe they’re tired of being bombarded by essentially empty messages. Maybe they’re busy. Maybe they need a break. For these reasons amongst others, I’m wary of formulaic contact. It’s content that matters.

It’s worth pointing out that gaps don’t have to mean a friendship is in danger or at an end. I’ve written about this previously in Supportive Disengagement: How to Be There for Your Friend When They Need Space.

Supportive disengagement is for situations when your friendship is taking a break rather than broken, when disengagement is less than total, and — crucially — where the lines of communication remain open.

I don’t write a friendship off just because there’s been a break or a pause. I’ve picked up again with friends, sometimes more than once, after break-ups lasting anything from a few weeks to many months. Where this has been successful, it’s because we were both committed to reestablishing an ongoing presence in each other’s lives. If there’s been a significant gap, I find it helps to approach reconnection like starting again from scratch, rather than assuming things will pick up again from where you left off.

I’m aware that not everyone views friendship the way I do. I’d venture to say I’m in a minority, based on conversations I’ve had on the subject. Most people seem able to pick up with friends after months, even years, of little or no contact. I envy them a little. I’m sure I’ve missed out by feeling a friendship has ended for me, where others would have kept things going, albeit on a less frequent basis. It helps to explain why I have few very long-term friendships. Of those I consider present in my life today, the longest friendship is some fifteen or sixteen years old. It amazes me that people my age still have friends from school or college! It’s not a case of others being right and me wrong, or vice versa. The point is that people have different ideas about what’s important to them in a friendship, what constitutes a pause or break-up, and how and when to reconnect. On a deeper level, we have different perspectives on who we are, how we change over time, and the significance of those changes to the connections we make with other people who are also changing. Acknowledging these differences can lead to a greater understanding and empathy for others, and indeed ourselves.

I’m grateful to all my friends, present and past, for inviting me into your lives and for being present in mine. Whether we were friends for a short time or many years, what we shared enriched my life. I hope it enriched yours. I’ll close with an exchange I had with someone years ago.

Do I add value to your life?

If you didn’t, you wouldn’t still be in it.

The response caught me off-guard at the time, but I understand now. It helped me become the person and the friend I am now. (Thank you.)

 

Photo by Vladyslav Tobolenko at Unsplash.

 

Beyond the Hotline: New Approaches to Suicide Prevention

If I mention suicide prevention, it’s a fair bet that the first thing you think of is some sort of telephone hotline. The first call to an official suicide helpline was made in November 1953 to the Samaritans. The first US Samaritans branch was established in Boston in 1974. Helplines run by charities and other bodies around the world are a vital part of the safety net for people in crisis or thinking of suicide, as well as offering support to friends and family members.

As vital as they are, hotlines are not enough. World Suicide Prevention Day reminds us of the need to raise awareness about suicide and suicidal thinking. It also challenges us to think how we can do more, individually and collectively, to help people stay safe. In this blog post, we’ll explore a range of approaches to suicide prevention. We’ll see how modern technology, community initiatives, and wider policy changes all play a role in developing more holistic strategies for saving lives. Technological approaches in particular are not without potential issues and we’ll look at those too.

The Role of Technology

Modern technology impacts almost every aspect of our lives, and health and mental health are no exceptions. Information, help, and support are now widely available, often with just a few taps on our phones. It’s important to acknowledge the risks of relying too much on online resources and services, but they can offer significant benefits if used wisely.

Mobile Apps for Mental Health Support

“There’s an app for that” was launched as an advertising slogan by Apple in 2010. It’s been widely parodied, but there’s a truth behind the joke. It would be wrong to imagine any and all aspects of human live can be coded to run our mobile devices, but apps can make information, help, and support available to people living with a wide range of mental health conditions. Text and chat lines offer alternatives to traditional telephone hotlines. These are more accessible for anyone living with speech or hearing difficulties, and allow people to reach out in ways they may be more familiar with, or which feel less intimidating. Text-based services also mean it’s possible to access support without the risk of conversations being overheard.

Despite their convenience, services such as these have some potential drawbacks. The relative anonymity they offer can be a barrier to providing more personalised care and offer appropriately targeted support and guidance. There’s also a risk that we may come to rely too much on such tools, rather than seeking support from professional mental health services.

There’s a growing range of apps which offer a broader support to people at risk of suicide or self-harm. Funded by teenage mental health charity stem4, the Calm Harm app aims to help people manage urges to self-harm by offering coping strategies developed from Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT). Apps such as Better Help act as a front door to licenced therapists who offer online counselling sessions. These technologies are part of a growing trend focused on preventative care to manage mental health symptoms, rather than relying solely on crisis management. Potential issues include the quality and regulation of apps and the coping strategies and support they offer.

The Role of Artificial Intelligence

Artificial intelligence (A.I.) and machine learning are likely to play an increasing role in suicide prevention. Social media providers and search engines are already developing tools to identify people who may be struggling or at risk, based on their online activity. As valuable as such approaches may be, they raise legitimate questions about privacy and the potential for malicious or discriminatory misuse of the information gathered. Setting aside the uncertain distinction between monitoring and surveillance, there are risks of bias and misinterpretation by the A.I. engines themselves. These could lead to people being incorrectly referred to crisis services, or someone at genuine risk being missed. The latter might appear more serious, but the former is no less important. Someone who has been incorrectly subjected to a mental health intervention might avoid accessing information or support in the future, in case the same thing happens again. Not everyone experiencing thoughts of suicide or self-harm, or seeking information about such topics online, is at immediate risk or in need of intervention.

Similar technologies underpin chatbots such as Woebot and Wysa, in which people can engage in chat conversations about how they’re feeling. These apps us A.I. to provide respond in real-time depending on what the person has shared about their situation. These tools are no substitute for talking to a real person — a friend, family member, or professional — but they can offer an outside perspective, especially if the person feels unable to discuss what they’re going through with family or friends. In addition to the risks and limitations already mentioned, these services can only be considered a partial solution. No matter the sophistication of the machine learning involved, a chatbot is unlikely to be capable of responding appropriately in highly complex or emotional situations. This limitation applies to humans too, of course. No matter how much we care and want to support our friends and loved ones, we may not always pick up on the clues or respond in the most helpful or appropriate way. Human professionals are not infallible either.

It Takes a Community

Technology has an important role to play, but human connection will always be at the heart of effective strategies to keep people safe.

Peer Support

Whether online or in person, peer support networks offer space for people to share their experiences and support one another. Groups are often led by professionals or trained volunteers, and counter the isolation many people feel concerning their situation, experiences, thoughts, and feelings. Community initiatives often offer social activities such as local walks or other events, building a sense of belonging in addition to providing emotional support, advice, and guidance.

The Role of Education

There’s an increasing acknowledgment that mental health education needs to start early. Integrating mental health awareness into our schools, colleges, and universities helps combat the stigma and discrimination that still surround mental ill health. It also helps equip young people with the information and tools they need to recognise when they, or their friends and loved ones, may be struggling and need additional help and support. A generation of people brought up aware of and educated about mental health is the best strategy for suicide prevention in the long-term.

Courses such as the internationally recognised Mental Health First Aid (MHFA) certification, Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training (ASIST), and many other mental health and suicide prevention courses are now widely available. These are often provided free or with costs subsidised by employers or other organisations. It’s never been easier to learn more about how to recognise the signs that someone might be struggling, and offer meaningful help and support.

Policy Changes

As important as these approaches are, they do not and cannot operate in a vacuum. Policy changes and advocacy are needed to create and maintain a culture in which mental health is prioritised, with appropriate resources available and accessible to everyone who needs them.

National and Global Initiatives

National governments and international organisations such as the World Health Organisation (WHO) are increasingly focusing on mental health. In many countries, recent policy changes have aimed at improving mental health services by expanding access to care, increasing research funding, and incorporating mental health into their broader public health policies. It remains to be see how effective these changes will be, but it’s encouraging to see initiatives such as the WHO’s Mental Health Action Plan and the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals highlight how crucial mental health is to humanity’s overall health and well-being.

Advocacy and Awareness Campaigns

Awareness events such as Time to Talk Day (February), Mental Health Awareness Month (May), World Suicide Prevention Day (September 10), and World Mental Health Day (October 10) play an important role in changing how we think and talk about mental health and suicide. Social media campaigns like #StopSuicide and #ItsOkayToTalk help reduce stigma and encourage open conversations about what have for too long been taboo subjects. These campaigns often go viral, reaching millions of people and spreading messages of hope and support. Grassroots movements are driving change at the local level. Organizations like To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA) and Project Semicolon have built strong and committed communities around the message that suicide is preventable and help is available.

Drawing it all Together

Preventing suicide needs a broad approach that goes beyond the provision of traditional mental health hotlines. While these will always remain a vital resource for people in crisis or needing immediate support, building a robust and effective safety net for everyone at risk requires us to think and act creatively and on a wider scale. On this World Suicide Prevention Day, let’s recognise the importance of both innovation and caution in developing effective strategies. By supporting comprehensive suicide prevention efforts that include both traditional and modern methods, we can work towards a world where everyone has access to the support they need when they need it most.

Further Reading

You can find details of World Suicide Prevention Day at the International Association for Suicide Prevention. Our resources page includes links to crisis lines, support organisations, training resources, and books. UK mental health charity Mind offers a range of help and information if you need support or are concerned for someone else.

Photo by Jenna Anderson at Unsplash.

In a World of My Own: The Gentle Art of Losing Myself

In what the misusers are fond of calling Real Life, Escape is evidently as a rule very practical, and may even be heroic.

— J. R. R. Tolkien, “On Fairy Stories”

Most of my blog posts are inspired by conversations but this time it was an e-mail. My friend Karl got in touch to let me know he’d achieved his black belt distinction in martial arts. One sentence in his e-mail really caught my attention.

Going to the gym is my “quiet place” where, despite the blasting music, I can shut out the noise of external life and just focus on one thing.

You’ll hear more from Karl because I invited him to expand on what his martial arts sessions mean to him. For now, though, I want to explore that one line. I’ve never been inside a gym and can’t imagine doing so. Nevertheless, what Karl said resonated strongly with me. The focus. The sense of being in a world of one’s own. In my case, it’s not gyms and martial arts, though. It’s coffee shops and writing.

I’m there almost every Saturday. (Here, in fact, because that’s where I’m writing this piece right now.) After breakfast I order a second coffee to see me through the coming hours. I catch up on my diary, then set that aside and assemble my writing station. Android tablet and phone on their respective stands. Bluetooth keyboard and headset. I hotspot my tablet to my phone, open the document I’m currently working on, and begin writing. It’s not uncommon for four or five hours to go by. That’s not four hours writing without a break, but for most of it I’m heads down, lost in what I’m doing. In the past I’ve said that the main reason I write is because I’m scared to stop. Karl’s e-mail helped me realise, however, that there’s more to it than that. I value the process of writing, the getting lost in the moment. My Saturday session at the coffee shop is the highlight of my week. I take days off work and spend them there, in this world of my own.

Now that I think about it, writing has always offered me this opportunity, no matter what I was working on at the time. Poetry, articles, short stories, the books I co-wrote with Fran, and now my blog posts. It happens less with my diary. That may be because that’s focused on the here and now of my life, rather than being a creative escape from it. It hasn’t only been writing, though. I remember my six-month university placement in Norwich, losing myself each weekend in the novels I picked up at the market. In Bradford and London, hours dissolving as I worked on painting portraits of my friends. When I first moved to Newcastle, my house-mate and landlady calling goodbye in the morning as I settled down at the dining table to work on my clay models. She’d return in the evening to find me still sitting there as though no more than an hour or so had passed. In more recent years, I remember losing myself working with Photoshop and web design.

The phenomenon is hard to describe from the outside, because by definition it’s characterised by being divorced from present reality. For me, the key features are an intense focus on what I’m doing, and an environment such that I’m not disturbed or jolted out of it. Although I’m focused on what I’m doing, I’m not consciously thinking about the next step. I’m more or less on auto pilot, following my creative instinct wherever it leads. I find background noise a boon rather than a hindrance. I’ve always found low level sound relaxing, especially conversation at a volume just below my ability to follow what’s being said. The background hum of the coffee shop helps me enter the almost meditative space I need. I’ve tried ambient noise apps but there’s no substitute for the real thing.

I was interested to note that Karl’s experience in the gym takes place in a noisy environment (“despite the blasting music I can shut out the noise of external life”). That probably wouldn’t work for me, although at times I’ve achieved success listening to certain music tracks on my headphones, loudly on repeat. I mentioned that I’d asked Karl to expand on his experiences. He gave me permission to use any parts I found relevant but I want to share it in full.

As a friend put it the other day, my Sensei is my other MH [mental health] doctor. Going to the gym is my “quiet place” where, despite the blasting music, I can shut out the noise of external life and just focus on one thing.

Outside of the gym, I’m a father of two, a husband, a specialist in my role at work, but most of all a 45 year old man who suffers with anxiety, depression, anger and low self worth. Inside the gym, I don’t need to be any of those things. I’m accepted for who I am — I’m eternally grateful to the owners of my small Martial Arts gym, who have fostered such a community amongst their members — but I don’t have to “be” anything. If I want to be quiet, and only speak to the person I’m training with, that’s fine. If I want to interact with the rest of the class, that’s fine too.

All of the stresses of the day, whether they are financial, work or familial, stay off the mats. My own personal rule is that my phone is on do-not-disturb for the hour I am in class. My smartwatch remains on my wrist, but when it is tracking a workout, it blocks notifications. For that one hour, to quote Metallica, “Nothing else matters.”

It’s not even about getting rid of aggression, although there is that too, when needed. It’s the scalpel-like focus required to throw a leg-kick which lands in just the right place to impact the lateralus muscle, but to do it without the force to disable the person you are working with. It’s the challenge of doing something better this time than you did last time.

I recently completed my 1^st Dan Black belt examination, and sparring was part of the assessment. For those who don’t know, that means donning protective gear, extra padded gloves, and fighting one on one with a focus on technique and limited power. One of the instructors, who I also view as a friend, was helping out as a sparring partner and he countered almost every move I tried to make. Every punch or kick was blocked, evaded or answered with one of his own. I spoke to him afterwards, and he told me he was deliberately trying to provoke me, to get me to lose my cool, to get me to be out of control. He couldn’t, because I couldn’t — my training is my escape. I find my Zen in violence.

— Karl Douglass

I’m grateful to Karl, not only for contributing to this blog post, but for opening my eyes to a world I know little to nothing about.

As I check the time, I see that a couple of hours have passed since I began working on this post. For this all-too-brief period I’ve experienced what I call the gentle art of losing myself. I wonder whether it’s myself I lose at such times, or my attachment to everything other than myself. Karl writes of setting aside the roles of father, husband, and IT specialist, as well as labels relating to his health and wellbeing. I share some of those, and have many of my own. All are left behind when I enter my creative space, as Karl’s are when he enters the gym. I am, perhaps, more truly me, myself, and I when I’m in my little world than at any other time.

Several of my short stories — written years ago and unpublished beyond a small circle of friends — relate to people losing themselves in parallel worlds. In “Poser,” the portal to this alternative realm is a rogue computer program. The interplay between physical and virtual reality is explored further in “The Palantir of Josef Betz” and “Homeopathy has a word for IT.” In these tales, the alternative realms are perilous, to say the least. They’re a long way from the kind of inner world I’m describing here. There’s a link, however, in the quotation I opened with. In various ways, my short stories are all related to the fictional world of Middle-earth created by J. R. R. Tolkien. His 1947 essay “On Fairy Stories” was written as a defense of the genre and a repudiation of the derogatory charge of escapism levelled against it. It’s something I might explore further on another occasion.

Another hour has slipped by in the coffee shop, in my little world. It’s time to emerge, to re-engage in the real world. Whatever that is.

 

Photo by Hannah Wei at Unsplash.

 

Our Top Posts of the Month (August 2024)

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. Shhhhhhh! A Friend’s Guide to Secrets
2. The Box on the Shelf: A Strategy for Handling Difficult Issues and Situations
3. It’s Not Enough / Never Enough
4. I’m Weak and What’s Wrong With That?
5. I’m on My Way: Thoughts Inspired by Ed Sheeran’s “Castle on the Hill”
6. I Believe You. It wasn’t Your Fault. You Are not Alone. Being There for a Friend Who’s Survived Rape or Sexual Abuse
7. I Hope We All Make It
8. One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy: Encounters With the Absurd Man
9. Why Bucket Lists Don't Work for Me (But a Things I’ve Done List Does)
10. Thank You Anyway: The Gift of Ingratitude

Our most visited pages were:

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

 

Photo by Nikolett Emmert at Unsplash.

 

Only Partly Clueless: The Secret to Being a Supportive Friend

It’s easy to imagine you need to be a mental health expert to support a friend or loved one who lives with a mental health condition. In my experience, learning about a friend’s diagnosis gives me a better appreciation of what they have to deal with, but no online resource, book, or training course can make me fully aware of their situation.

I was reminded of this recently on a call with Fran. We were talking about people who seem to routinely — almost willfully — misunderstand how things are for her. She’s normally pretty laid back when people get it wrong, because not everyone has personal experience of her physical and mental health conditions. On this occasion, however, she was frustrated because the people we were discussing knew about her diagnoses. At least one of them owned a copy of our book. I joked that I still get things wrong, despite having been her friend for thirteen years.

“That’s true,” she said. “The difference is, you’re only partly clueless.”

I made a note of the expression, recognising its relevance to our relationship and to supportive friendships generally. I took it as an acknowledgement that I have some awareness of how things are for her, but I don’t assume my understanding is accurate or complete. I’m open to Fran updating my understanding or telling me outright that I’m wrong. It’s an important aspect of our friendship and foundational to the trust we have in one another. The same is true of my relationships with other friends, many of whom live with significant physical and mental health conditions.

“Only partly clueless” reminds me that while education is valuable and helps me support my friends more effectively, I’ll never fully understand the challenges they live with every day. It would make a great t-shirt!

 

Photo by Emily Morter at Unsplash.

 

Write When You're in it, Publish When You're Out. A Guide to Blogging About Mental and Physical Illness

As someone who blogs about mental health and supportive friendships, I’m often inspired by what my friends are going through, or my experiences as someone who cares about them. Many of my blog posts begin “This piece was inspired by a recent conversation with ...” In most cases, this occurred within a week or so of my sitting down to begin writing. I don’t necessarily publish straight away, however. I might wait because I already have posts lined up, for example, or hold a piece back for an upcoming awareness day or event. Sometimes, though, I wait because the circumstances I’ve described are still ongoing. This is what I want to write about today. It’s an approach I call Write When You’re in it, Publish When You’re Out. I’ll focus on blogging, but the same considerations apply to sharing in other ways, including posting on social media.

Write When You’re in it

I’m a firm believer in capturing how you’re feeling while you’re feeling it, or as shortly afterwards as is practical. I’ve kept a journal for almost fifty years, so the idea of documenting things as they happen comes naturally to me. My diaries are personal, though. I’m talking here about capturing feelings, thoughts, and events with the intention of using them in your writing. You can edit, rephrase, and reframe at leisure, but you can’t go back to that place once you’ve moved on.

• Write about insomnia when you’re unable to sleep.
• Write about fatigue when you’re fatigued.
• Write about pain while you are in the middle of it.
• Write about mania, depression, anxiety, and psychosis while you’re experiencing those states.
• Write about overwhelm while you’re feeling overwhelmed.
• Write about your thoughts and feelings about what your friend or loved one is going through, while you’re experiencing them.

How you capture things is up to you. Use any and all approaches you’re comfortable with. Here are a few which work for me.

Write things down, on paper or electronically. I use Google Keep, with the shortcut on the homescreen of my phone so I can access it easily.

Photos are a quick way to capture what’s hapening.

Record details of your conversations with friends, family, and professionals. If it was a chat conversation, screenshot or copy and paste snippets into your notes. If it was in person, jot down your impressions as soon afterwards as possible.

Date your notes as you go. This makes it easier to organise them and relate them to what was happening around you at the time.

Save links to websites, articles, and social media posts that resonate with how you’re feeling. Don’t rely on your memory. Weeks or even days afterwards, it will be difficult if not impossible to locate that article you read or that meme you saw which expressed just what you were going through.

Don’t worry about the quality of your writing at this stage. You can refine it later.

Short paragraphs or bullet points will be easier to work with later, but use whatever approach works for you. One exception to the “short is good” maxim is if your writing style varies depending on how you’re feeling. As we discuss in our book, Fran’s writing during episodes of mania is very different to how she expresses herself when depressed or stable.

As for actually writing the piece, some situations might allow you the impetus, focus, and energy to get your notes and ideas in order. Mania or other high energy states might facilitate the creative process. Others, including episodes of depression, anxiety, extreme fatigue, or overwhelm might make it difficult to compose your article. In that case, set your notes aside and return to them later.

Publish When You’re Out

Whenever you write your blog post, I recommend leaving the final editing and proofreading until you’re on the other side of what’s been happening. A little space and time can give you a fresh perspective. This applies both to your article itself and your options for publication. You might decide not to publish at all, or that the time’s not right to do so. I’ve done this myself on a few occasions, and for various reasons. I described some of these in When Blogging Is Hard and What to Do About It.

If your writing style is influenced by your emotional state or symptoms, you might want to revise what you’ve written once your situation is more stable. More generally, the piece might benefit from a broader perspective. Take time to do some research, discuss the topic with friends, or invite other people to contribute their ideas and experiences.

Consider the reaction your blog post might attract. Sharing can be powerful and liberating, but it can be scary too. It’s not only negative reactions you need to consider. A highly successful or popular post might generate a flood of comments, messages, or other approaches from your readers. Positive feedback is very welcome, but you might find the clamour overwhelming if you’re still navigating things yourself.

Maybe it’s not your situation you’ve written about, but that of a friend or loved one. Assuming they gave permission at the time, it’s respectful to confirm that’s still the case once they’re on the other side. This has happened to me. After double-checking with the person concerned, it became clear we had a difference in perspective concerning what had happened. I decided not to publish rather than rewrite my account to meet their requirements.

Waiting might not always be realistic, especially if the condition you’re writing about is long-term, or likely to reoccur at any time. I still recommend allowing a little time to elapse before making the post public. This allows you the opportunity to review what you’ve written, how you’ve presented it, and whether it still feels appropriate to publish.

Over to You

In this post I’ve discussed my approach to blogging about mental and physical health. I’ve described techniques for capturing your thoughts, feelings, and experiences while you’re in the middle of whatever you’ve chosen to write about, as well as reasons for waiting until you’re out of that situation before publishing.

To what extent do you agree or disagree? Have you shared your physical or mental health online and regretted doing so? Do you wish you’d waited until you were feeling better before going public? Is there a case for sharing in real time, rather than waiting until later? Fran and I would love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Timothy L Brock at Unsplash.

 

I Believe You. It wasn't Your Fault. You Are not Alone. Being There for a Friend Who's Survived Rape or Sexual Abuse

TW: Mention of rape and sexual abuse

To encourage someone is to help instil courage in them so that they can stand up and keep pressing forward.

— Kevin Ngo

I’m grateful to Aimee Wilson, founder of the Shake My Hand campaign, for inviting me to write this post. My first thought was, I don’t know what I could say that would be of value to anyone. A moment’s reflection, however, reminded me that several of my friends are survivors of rape and sexual abuse. How do I know this? Because at some point they told me about it. More significantly, they allowed me into their lives, as they live through the consequences and impact of what happened. On that basis and from that perspective, here are my thoughts, ideas, and suggestions for supporting a friend or loved one who has survived similar experiences.

A note on language and statistics

In this article I use the word survivor rather than victim, following the approach of such organisations as Darlington and County Durham’s Rape and Sexual Abuse Counselling Centre and Women Against Abuse. I also avoid gendered pronouns where possible, because rape and sexual abuse affect people irrespective of gender.

Each survivor is an individual who deserves respect and support, regardless of how many other people have been affected in similar ways. That said, here are some numbers to set things in context. According to the UK’s Office for National Statistics, an estimated 1.1 million adults in England and Wales (age sixteen and over) experienced sexual assault in the year ending March 2022 (798,000 women and 275,000 men). The Cambridge Rape Crisis Centre highlights the following harrowing statistics.

• 1 in 4 women have been subjected to some form of sexual violence since the age of sixteen.
• 1 in 6 children have been sexually abused.
• 1 in 18 men have been subjected to some kind of sexual violence since the age of sixteen.
• 798,000 women across England and Wales are raped or sexually assaulted every year. That’s 1 in 30 women.
• 94% of survivors of rape or attempted rape are women.

With all that said, what can I offer to help you support your friend or loved one?

Don’t assume you’ll never need to know

You might think no one in your family or circle of friends has ever been raped or sexually abused. You may be right. I hope you are. But given the statistics, consider the possibility that you simply may not know the truth. That’s okay. You don’t have a right to know what anyone else has been through, no matter how close the connection between you. But being aware how tragically common an experience it is, is the first step to understanding how to help. And then, if someone shares with you, you’ll know where they’re coming from and what’s at stake.

Sharing represents extreme trust and vulnerability

Whatever your friend or loved one shares with you, recognise it for what it is, a demonstration of trust on their behalf. You might be the first person they’ve ever told, or the twentieth. This might be the first time they’ve spoken to you about it, or the hundredth. What matters is the moment. Treat it, and them, with attention, caring, and respect. Suspend any urge you might have to fix things (you can’t), make them feel better (ditto), or tell them you understand. Unless it’s happened to you, you don’t. Even if it’s happened to you, you don’t.

It’s their story not yours

In Men: When Women Talk About Their Trauma, Your Job Is Just To Listen Nia Tipton makes the point that when someone shares from a place of extreme vulnerability, your response needs to be one of attentive listening, not comparison or competition.

When women talk about the mistreatment and trauma they’ve lived through at the hands of men — men should be quiet and just listen.

As a man whose women friends have almost all survived trauma of varying kinds, this hits home. More generally, and no matter who is talking, it’s vital to realise that this is their story. Your friend, loved one, or family member has lived through things that in one way or another have impacted them deeply. It’s their story, in their words. There may be gaps and bits might be unclear to you but it’s a true story. Above all else, believe them. And say the words, so there’s no doubt. I believe you.

You don’t have a right to know the details

It’s natural to have questions, either in the moment or at some later point. In my experience, don’t be afraid to ask, but do so gently and respectfully. Make it clear your friend or loved one isn’t obliged to satisfy your curiosity. It’s not their responsibility to convince you, justify themselves, or fill the gaps in your understanding. It wasn’t your fault doesn’t depend on you knowing all the facts.

Long ago was yesterday

No matter when the abuse or rape occurred, begin by assuming it’s as raw for them today as it ever was. That may or may not be true, but don’t imagine it’s not present for them every day, just because it happened some time ago. You might feel you’d have put it behind you by now and moved on. Maybe you would. Maybe you did. But you don’t get to decide how far along the road to recovery someone is, or should be. Make a point of letting them know you’re not going anywhere, and that your support isn’t dependant on how well they’re handling things.

Don’t second guess the impact

Your friend or loved one may be affected in ways you wouldn’t necessarily expect, especially if you’ve no first-hand experience of what they’ve been through. Rape and abuse can impact people’s emotions, behaviour, and physical well-being. The following is by no means an exhaustive list.

• Physical health
• Panic attacks
• Sleeping
• Mental health, including depression and anxiety
• Suicidal thinking
• Self-harm
• Relationships, including theirs with you

For more details, check out the information for friends of survivors at Cambridge Rape Crisis. The effects may be long-term, intermittent, or appear out of the blue. They might be influenced or triggered by things you — or even your friend — can’t anticipate or avoid. By the same token, don’t make assumptions about how it “must” affect them. Everyone is different and no two people are likely to be impacted the same way.

Be patient and supportive, whether your friend is doing well right now or having a tough time of things. Celebrate milestones and healing steps, if that’s something that’s meaningful to them. If setbacks occur — a return to unhealthy coping strategies, for example — remind yourself they feel far more disappointed and frustrated about it than you do. I’m here. You’re not alone. I believe in you. These are powerful words. Say them.

Behave such that your friends would consider you safe

We’ve all said things we wish we hadn’t. Like or shared some “edgy” social media post that doesn’t reflect our true opinions or values. Nodded along with or failed to challenge an off-colour joke, story, or opinion. The fact we’ve all done it at some point doesn’t excuse us or remove the obligation to do better.

If there’s a part of you thinking “people are way too sensitive these days” or wondering why you should change how you behave just so other people won’t get upset, consider that your behaviour is contributing to the toxic culture of oppression, distress, and fear. Yes, really. To paraphrase a meme that stuck with me when I first saw it, the celebrity whose trauma you mock on social media will never see it. But your friends and family will, and they’ll know you’re not a safe person to talk to about their experiences.

The recent man or bear in the woods meme is the perfect example. If you can’t grasp that it expresses women’s very real uncertainty and fear in the presence of men — in many cases born of personal experience including sexual abuse and rape — then you’re part of the problem. If your response to “We know it’s not all men, but we don’t know who the safe ones are” is to push back because you’re one of the safe ones, you’re not.

Amongst the many responses on Quora to the question What does it mean when a woman says that, “I don’t feel safe with you”? this one resonates for me.

It probably means she doesn’t feel safe with you. She’s not obligated to tell you why she doesn’t feel safe. She may not know. You can work toward being the kind of man who is safe for a woman to be around.

I might have phrase that final sentence slightly differently — you can work towards being the kind of man who a woman will feel safe to be around — but the message is sound. I have women friends who trust me, but I’m not complacent. There are women in my past who definitely didn’t at times, and there may be some now who don’t. I still have work to do. We all do.

It doesn’t go away but it’s not who they are

The impact of rape and sexual abuse on your friend or loved one may never go away, but it’s not who they are. They’re not broken, or less than. They’ve had to deal with things you may never fully understand, but they’re the same person they were before it happened — or before you knew it happened. Like you and everyone else, they have ups and downs, highs and lows, stresses, fears, dreams, disappointments, strengths, weaknesses, successes, tears, joys, and needs. Demonstrate that you’re there for the long term, for the good as well as the not so good, and they’ll be there for you.

You’re important too

The impact of rape and sexual abuse falls firstly and primarily on the survivor. Whatever your thoughts and feelings about it, they’re secondary to those of your friend or loved one. If that seems harsh, consider for a moment that you could, if you chose, walk away. They can’t. That said, it’s not easy to see those we care about working through what happened to them. Your thoughts and feelings matter too. These might include sadness, anger, resentment, frustration, and helplessness. You can’t unknow what you know. You might be concerned it will change your relationship or fear what it means for the two of you. All these feelings are valid, as are any needs you might have for help and support. It’s not unreasonable to be honest with your friend or loved one about how you’re handling what they’ve shared with you, but be careful not to shift the responsibility for supporting you back onto them. Check out the links below for information and resources.

In closing

A lot of what I’ve said might seem heavy. Daunting, even. That’s inevitable, given the seriousness of the matter. You can make a very real difference to those who have been through rape and sexual abuse. You do this by caring, by saying you’ll be there and proving it, by believing not only in the truth of what they chose to share with you, but I’m them too. It’s not always easy, but it’s also not always hard. And it’s always, always, worth it. The friendships I mentioned have been and are amongst the strongest and most significant of my life. These are people I’ve trusted — and trust — with my life, secrets, and heart every bit as much as they’ve trusted me with theirs. It can be that way for you too. Your friends and loved ones deserve it, and so do you. While I was writing this piece I came across a social media post.

In these times you got to have good friends. Not those “just fun to be around” friends. You need those “imma hold you accountable” friends. Those “Let’s talk about it” friends. Those “I’m proud of you” friends. Friends who feel safe.

That’s the kind of connection I have with many of my friends, and it works both ways.

Further information and resources

Shake My Hand Help Directory

The Language We Use (Women Against Abuse)

Victim? Survivor? The importance of the language we use to talk about people who have experienced sexual violence (Rape and Sexual Abuse Counselling Centre)

Men: When Women Talk About Their Trauma, Your Job Is Just To Listen

Tips for Talking with Survivors of Sexual Assault (RAINN, Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network)

Information and resources for friends of a survivor (Cambridge Rape Crisis)

The Survivors Trust

 

This post was previously published at Shake My Hand.

Photo by Meghan Schiereck at Unsplash.