Quiz: How Much Do You Know About Fran and Marty?

Fran and I write a lot about our lives and friendship, so we thought it would be fun to see how much our readers know about us! There are no prizes but we’d love to hear how you got on!

Answers are at the bottom of this post. No cheating!

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THE QUESTIONS

Merry Meetings

Q1. When and how did we first meet?

Q2. We’ve met once in person. In what year? Bonus point for where.

Q3. In which city did Fran wave to Marty on webcam from the deck of the cruise ship Eurodam?

Time and Place

Q4. What is the time difference in hours between Porland, Maine and Newcastle, Tyne and Wear?

Q5. How far apart are we when we’re each in our respective homes? 1,000 miles, 2,000 miles, or 3,000 miles.

Q6. Where was Martin born: London, Norwich, or Liverpool?

Wellness and Illness

Q7. Which of the following is not a type of bipolar disorder? Bipolar 1, Bipolar 2, Bipolar 3, Cyclothymic Disorder.

Q8. What is the term for an inability to define or express one’s emotions?

Who and What?

Q9. Who is Martin’s favourite French-Algerian philosopher? Albert Camus or Christopher Hitchens?

Q10. What colour is the cover of our second book, No One is Too Far Away: Notes From a Transatlantic Friendship?

Of Books and Blogs

Q11. We had each published books before we met. True or false?

Q12. In what year was our book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder first published?

Q13. Why is our blog called Gum on My Shoe?

Photo Round

Q14. Where is this?

Q15. Where is this? Bonus point for what we were doing there.

Who Wrote That?

Q16. Who wrote this, Martin or Fran?

high tide low tide edgeness.. what else is there to do but live life..

Q17. Who wrote this, Martin or Fran?

The measure of us is that I have grown to trust myself with you, and to trust yourself with me.

Q18. Who wrote this, Martin or Fran?

Give people what they need. Not what you need to give them.

And Finally

Q19. What are our middle names?

Q20. What is Marty’s favourite drink?

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THE ANSWERS

A1. Fran and Martin met online in May 6, 2011, on the Facebook page of a mutual friend.

A2. We met in person for the first and only time (so far) in June 2013, at the Queen Elizabeth II Cruise Teminal in Southampton, England. The following is from our book High Tide, Low Tide.

I left the hotel shortly afterwards, and parked at the cruise terminal well ahead of schedule. All my frustrations and uncertainty melted away once I was there. I took photographs of the [RMS] Queen Mary 2, and waited in the terminal building for Fran and her parents to come ashore.

And then, all in a moment, they were there. Fran was there. Not three thousand miles away on webcam, but standing in front of me. We hugged across the barrier. My excitement must have been obvious, because Fran’s first words to me were “You’re shaking!”

A3. This delightful event took place in Halifax, Nova Scotia as Fran was on her way back to the US from her three month trip around Europe with her parents.

It’s recounted in chapter 9 (“A Hero’s Journey: Sticking Together When Things Fall Apart.”) of our book High Tide Low Tide.

Martin: Frannie, I have the ship on webcam! I watched you coming in. The camera is looking down on the ship from outside the terminal.

Fran: Would you see me if I waved?

Martin: Maybe! Are you at a window?

Fran: I could go up top on the back deck..

Martin: Yes do! Let me know when you get there!

Fran: OK.. I’m by the stacks..

Martin: I think I can see you! Walk about a bit.

Fran: I’m right by the railing..

Martin: Yes! I can see you! I am waving!

A4. Fran and I are normally five hours apart. This changes to four hours for two weeks in the spring and one week in the autumn due to the US and UK switching to/from daylight saving time on different dates.

A5. According to one online calculator, Fran’s home on the north-east coast of the United States lies just over 3,050 miles (4,910 km) from mine in the north-east of England. As we like to say, “no one is too far away to be cared for or to care.”

A6. Martin was born in Liverpool, England, in 1961. He spent six months in Norwich while on placement from university. After graduating in 1984, Martin lived in London for three years before moving north to Newcastle upon Tyne where he’s lived ever since.

A7. Different types of bipolar disorder are distinguished by patterns and severity of symptoms. The DSM-V identifies four basic types: Bipolar 1 Disorder, Bipolar 2 Disorder, Cyclothymic Disorder, Other Specified and Unspecified Bipolar and Related Disorders.

A8. This condition is known as alexithymia or emotional blindness. Martin had lived with this all his adult life without realising it had a name. He has written about it in two blog posts: How Do I Feel? Exploring Alexithymia and Emotional Blindness and How Do I Feel Now? Living with Alexithymia.

A9. Martin’s favourite French-Algerian philosopher is Albert Camus. He’s written about Camus’ philosophy of Absurdism in One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy: Encounters With the Absurd Man. The late Christopher Hitchens featured in Martin’s selection of twelve men he admires, published for International Men’s Day 2024.

A10. The cover of No One is Too Far Away: Notes From a Transatlantic Friendship is blue with orange details.

A11. This is true. Fran’s book For the Love of Peaks: Island Portraits and Stories was published by Maine Authors Publishing in 2010. Martin self-published a collection of his poetry, Collected Poems: 1977–1984, in 2008.

A12. High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder was first published in 2016 by Nordland Publishing. The Revised Edition was published by Kingston Park Publishing in 2021.

A13. As our website and Facebook page declare, “Gum on My Shoe is a creative partnership between best friends Martin Baker and Fran Houston.” That’s clear enough — and true — but you might wonder why we chose such an unusual name and what it means. It dates back to a conversation Fran and I had not long after we met in 2011.

“You’re stuck with me now, Fran. I hope you realise that.”

“Like gum on my shoe...”

As for what gum on my shoe actually means to us:

[Gum on My Shoe captures] several important aspects of our friendship. First, that Fran is “stuck with me.” I am not going anywhere. I am here for her no matter what; through good times (there are many) and not so good (there are many). I am the “gum on her shoe” that keeps her grounded, and helps hold her here in this life even — especially — when she wants to leave. It also turns on its head the notion that ill ones are a burden to those around them. I am not locked into a relationship of servitude: we are equals in a mutually supportive friendship.

A14. This is the former STACK Newcastle, one of Martin’s four happy places.

A15. This was taken at live music venue Blue in Portland, Maine. The event was a launch party for our book High Tide Low Tide, and a fundraiser for mental health nonprofit Family Hope. You can watch the event on our YouTube channel: part 1, part 2, part 3.

A16. This was one of Fran’s short form poems, written on Peaks Island in 2012.

A17. That line is taken from Martin’s poem “Friend, how did we come here.”

A18. This important reminder was written by Fran.

A19. Frances Joy Houston, and Martin Keith Baker.

A20. To quote Lorelai Gilmore from the comedy drama television series Gilmore Girls, “Coffee coffee coffee!”

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How Did You Do?

0 – 5: We’re glad you’re here!

6 – 10: You’re clearly paying attention!

11 – 15: We’re seriously impressed!

16 – 18: Fancy writing our biographies?

Over 18: That’s actually a little bit scary!

 

Photo of Martin and Fran by Gary Bakelaar, Beaulieu, June 2013. Other photos by Martin Baker.

 

Six Feet Above: A Conversation With Ellis Ducharme

... at the beginning where I was doing it every day like clockwork, it entirely carried me out of that low spot, and I believe that it saved my life.

— Ellis Ducharme

Fran and I recently shared our experiences visiting the Portland Museum of Art and the Laing Art Gallery here in Newcastle upon Tyne. Continuing the Art of Friendship theme, we’re delighted to showcase photographer and videographer Ellis Ducharme, whose exhibition Six Feet Above showed through June at the Peaks Island library in Maine. The website described Six Feet Above as “a collection of thirty-six photos from a personal project to fight depression and raise awareness of mental health. Ocean themes and many cityscapes focus on finding beauty in places most deem undesirable and ugly.”

Fran lived on Peaks Island for many years. Although I’ve never visited in person, I feel a great affection for the island as Fran’s shared so much of it with me. She still visits regularly and attended several of this year’s PeaksFest events, meeting old friends and making new ones. She spoke with Ellis about his exhibition and how photography helped him climb out of depression. She shared with him her experience living with bipolar disorder, commenting that it was nice to meet “a fellow understander.”

Afterwards, I reached out to Ellis and invited him to share the story behind his work. He described how the project began seven years ago when he was going through a particularly difficult time.

The project started and pretty much concluded as a method to keep my spirits up, and was never really intended to see the light of day. I’ve suffered from severe depression from an early age, and at the time that I started this project I was at an all-time low.

I was working a one-on-one job with an employer who made me feel worthless on a daily basis. Since my wife was working three jobs and my social circles were slim at the time, my employer was the only person I was seeing regularly, and I was very susceptible to her comments about my value. I truly didn’t think I was capable of doing anything right, and I was ready to end things.

Ellis described how his wife suggested a way for him to regain a sense of agency in his life.

Thankfully, my wife could see what was happening to me, and she suggested that even though I was incredibly busy and didn’t have time for much, I had time to go out and take a single photo each day just to prove to myself that I did have the ability to be creative and make my own decisions. Additionally, this was a task where nobody could tell me I was doing it wrong. I had complete control over this one aspect of my life.

So, the next day after work, I just remember walking past my car and out into the little downtown of Biddeford, Maine where my office was. Camera in hand, I just started aimlessly walking through back alleys and parking lots, looking for something to shoot. I settled on the spire of Biddeford City Hall, owing to my love for the architectural style of the area.

At first, I wasn’t very sold on this photo, and admittedly, it is far from the best photo in the set. But I brought it home, retouched it, and posted it on my Facebook along with a brief but honest explanation of my hopeful commitment to do this each day, and why I felt it was important for my well-being. As soon as I posted it, I felt incredibly empowered and clung to that feeling.

I would continue on this schedule for about three years, taking a single photo somewhere in the natural span of my day, retouching it and posting it with a timestamp and where my mindset was that day. I still will occasionally add to this series, but at the beginning where I was doing it every day like clockwork, it entirely carried me out of that low spot, and I believe that it saved my life. I owe that to my wife, Justina.

Ellis’ account reminds me of Fran’s experience when she lived on Peaks Island. Emerging tentatively from a desperate winter-long depression, she’d leave her little house to walk on the shore. As we describe in our book, the haiku poems that came to her on those walks fed the tiny flame of hope that there could be better times ahead.

The wild, personal, and passionate poetry which flowed during Fran’s major episode of mania ceased when she fell into depression. Her creative voice was silenced for months. When it returned it was completely transformed. The haiku forms that emerged as she began to climb out from depression were more than descriptions of the island scenery around her. They were Fran’s attempt to find a reason to go on living.

These poems were written on Centennial Beach, a short walk from where Fran lived at the time. She would return home, show me her latest poems, and then share them on her social media page. It was her way of reaching outward again. As she said later, “I was trying to save my life, to get out of the house onto Centennial and wait for the haikus to come. That was all I had.”

— High Tide, Low Tide

Fran used her fingers to remember the lines until she returned home and could write them down, a memory technique she uses to this day. Despite differences in their situations, Fran and Ellis are describing very similar experiences, each grounded in their creative response to the world around them. It’s clear that Ellis’ project has had a long-term positive impact on his life and wellbeing.

As of today, there are almost 900 photographs, most of which I can still remember what was going on in my life on that day, how I was feeling, and what I was going through. When I started this, I was in a place where I was questioning my own validity and how real of a person I even was. Having this concrete evidence of my mental journey documented in a way that only I can decipher has been very grounding.

Ellis selected five photographs from the collection.

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1-4-17 — Biddeford City Hall, the first photo

1-8-17 — Bailey in the bath

2-24-17 — One of my favorite photos in the set, visually

9-20-17 — Photo taken the day I left the job that made me start this series

4-8-17 — Photo taken on an especially low day

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Fran and I are immensely grateful to Ellis for sharing his story and work so openly. If you’re interested to learn more, check out his website, LinkedIn, Instagram, and Flikr.

Over to You

Does Ellis’ story resonate for you? What activities have helped you with your sense of self-worth when you’ve been going through a difficult time? Fran and I would love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo of Ellis Ducharme at the Peaks Island library by Fran Houston. Other photography by Ellis Ducharme.

 

Lessons of the Night

By Fran Houston

Sometimes I wake up. Sometimes not. I hold onto the bed for dear life. I am familiar with the night and its darkness. As a child I lived in the basement of our house as a mole does in his tunnel and could navigate through the narrow path of jagged, stacked boxes to the bathroom in the dark. The lights didn’t work.

Wrapped in my blanket of night, I am safe and warm. In the night are dreams. Dreams of all the things that can’t be done in my body because of its restrictions of fatigue and pain. I indulge my soul’s longing to fly.

The day hurts my eyes with its stinging brightness. Music hurts my ears with its loudness and overstimulation. I like the quiet of night.

I have chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, and bipolar disorder. They operate as independent sine waves. At any time, I can be exhausted and manic, energized and depressed. Every combination imaginable. The cycles can last for days or months or even years. It’s an odd assortment.

I had a mate. I had a family. I had a home. I had a career. I had a dog. I lost them all.

I made $14,000 in the last week I worked in the real world as an electrical engineer. Now I barely make that in a year. Fifteen years ago, I paid tens of thousands of dollars to get my health back, conventionally and alternatively. It took ten years to get an accurate diagnosis. Treating bipolar with antidepressants makes it much worse. So not fun to have cfs and fibro creep in alongside.

I finally went to the backwoods of Maine for a year and lived in a camp on 189 acres with no running water and no electricity — an attempt to find my baseline, fight my demons and find the night, or die. No TV, no radio, no books, no writing, no nothing. Just me and myself, grapes and garlic. I danced naked in the woods in the pouring rain. I shoveled snow thirty feet out to the outhouse to go to the bathroom. I made snow angels under the full moon. I watched frost form on the windows. I gazed for hours at the cherry wallpaper. I slept twenty hours a day. I dropped each thought as though dropping a hot coal. I’d think the same thought again; drop the thought again, over and over. I would not get up until I felt the internal impulse to do so. I fasted. I had a sauna each week — the only excursion besides getting water from a spring. And successfully navigated men who were intrigued and unsavory. I reached the edge of madness. I waited for the Jesus experience. There is no god; there is just life that flows. There is no hope. That was the beginning. Stop the search. For god. For healing. Just stop. The maple tree doesn’t want to be an oak. They are what they are.

I moved to an island off the coast of Maine in September 2003. My dad died that Halloween night — the night when the veil between the world of the real and the unreal is thinnest. There was an aurora borealis that evening. Beauty without effort.

I lost my mind. Consumed with thoughts of jumping off the boat, a frustrated friend asked, “Why don’t you?” I panicked.

I found the psychiatrist I still see now. He doesn’t see anyone anymore, but the deal was that I agreed to be in a fishbowl where he trained six to eight other psychiatrists for twelve sessions, and then I would have him for life. He is very conservative with meds, which I am very grateful for, although at times it’s enraged me. I think that psychiatrists nowadays are too pill pushy. Meds take a long time before you can see any results. One has to courageously wade through a myriad of side effects. He also is very relationship-oriented, which few are. He is respectful of me as a human being not just as a patient. Also, making an eye-to-eye commitment to him to stay alive has been a critical component of the process.

I began intensive group therapies. I got pissed off a lot. It was a full time job. I was exhausted. I was depressed. Having to do all this work. Needing to do all this work. No hope of getting better. Homework. It was worse than Engineering school. Cognitive Behavior Therapy made sense though. Event. Feelings. Thoughts behind feelings. Change the thoughts. Huh. Seeing others who’d been stuck in their ruts changing. Me changing. Huh. Not so depressed. My mind actually thinking thoughts other than depressed ones. How refreshing.

Chronic fatigue syndrome can mean days or months bedridden. Or can be as simple as feeling like there are cotton balls behind my eyes and mud running in my veins. Pain is always present. I take Advil when it is too much, or something else. I see an osteopath, acupuncturist, and chiropractor regularly. Once when I was at dinner with a friend I fell asleep. They ushered me out of there swiftly. I’ve been propped up in lazy boys in the corner with a blanket at parties just to be able to attend. Then again friends have broken up with me because of my proclivity to say no, or act strange. As a fellow cfs-er puts it, “I feel minimally crappy today.”

Bipolar I is like mowing the lawn in the winter naked. I have bipolar II. An example of my mania is when I was out in front of my home on the phone talking wicked fast with a depressive friend, and I was frantically picking the heads off dandelions while every square inch of countertop in my home was littered with furiously ink-covered yellow stickies full of ideas and things to do and be and dreams. I am like a pit bull with a bone. Another example is when I found out about the United Nations International Day of Persons with Disabilities on December 3. I found out that VSA (Very Special Arts) out of Washington had a video that would be shown in seventeen countries internationally. My mania launched me into a full-blown attempt to notify media and government outlets seeking coverage for this event. I sent cryptic, confusing e-mails and was very agitated. I wasn’t very successful, and thought that those who I contacted thought I was a nutcase. I felt like a mouse when a cat is playing with it and then the mouse just lies there stunned.

Depression was my best friend, the one I was most comfortable with. It’s been a lifelong companion. A favorite blankie. The one I return to for wisdom. Deep and dark. I remember the pain of trying to wash a fork amongst all the dirty dishes in my sink, wrapping myself in a blanket, wearing clothes that hadn’t been washed in a month, then opening a can of tuna and sitting on the cold floor to eat it. I told a depressed, suicidal friend once that it took more courage to make a cup of tea than to kill yourself. I still do have a stash of pills because I do feel that people should have that right, especially when you are old and everyone else is making decisions for you.

The problem/blessing with my illnesses is that they are unseen by the naked eye. “But you look fine,” is the response, as if arguing with me would help. I was going to write my behind-the-scenes story in the Island Times. I talked with a friend about it — a friend who I had “iguana-sat” for during a time of deep depression, where basically the “iguana” saved my life because I had to feed it every day and felt responsible for it, and was therefore not free to commit suicide. The friend was scared of being exposed on the island and advised me to not tell my story publicly. I didn’t. That is the kind of stigma that exists with disability.

I got to go to Hawaii because of a cat. They have quarantine rules and a friend moved there, and was delayed in bringing her cat and asked if I could escort him and stay for six weeks. I didn’t blink twice before saying yes. It was beyond my wildest expectations. Some friends gave me mad money and the deal was that I couldn’t do anything responsible with it, so when I was in Kauai I went for a helicopter ride, in the front seat, right next to the pilot, and you could look straight down. I wanted him to teach me to fly. I was so jazzed. Oh, the cliffs, the valleys, the ocean, the waterfalls, the rainbows. It was magnificent. It was absolutely the most amazing experience in my life. Even better than in my dreams.

The librarian on the island asked me to sit with an elder. So I started sitting with older islanders, and it was wonderful. They told me stories. I lived on the front of the island by the ferry boat slip, a great view. I bought a camera and took pictures of the sunsets.

I was frustrated. I wanted to somehow capture the elders’ stories and share them. I went to an exhibit of black and white photographs and storyboards. My heart lit up with a flame so intense. I had never experienced that before. I knew what to do. I spoke with our little art gallery on the island about doing an exhibit. I spoke with the Island Times about doing a column to advertise for the exhibit. At the June exhibit everyone asked, “Where’s the book?” So that began another journey. Mind you, I could only work a maximum of three hours a day. And I would have bouts of depression throughout. And bouts of freaked-out-ed-ness. I leaned on my friends and the community to help me. I busily interviewed and photographed islanders for another two years. Another gallery on the mainland offered to host the book launch/exhibit. In June of 2010 the book launched. By August it sold out. It’s now in its second printing. I never started out thinking I would write a book. If someone had told me that, I never would’ve started. I would have been too scared. Even as I write this today on Christmas Eve 2010, I have friends who are coming to help me clean my little 18 x 18 home next week because I cannot manage it on my own.

This project was such a community effort. This island has given me so much. When I first got here I was amazed at its kindness towards me. I was broken and it loved me. So I wanted to give back by doing this project. I was surprised to find that again I was the receiver. As I sat and listened to the stories of my “lovies” as I called them, they taught me. Some of them have limited lives, pain, memory loss, reliance on others for care. I learned how to live my life fuller. I learned grace, courage, and how to have a twinkle in my eye. My chronic fatigue syndrome and depression limit me, but I can choose to live as fully as I want within those windows and be thankful. One thing we all do is get old. We can be wise to learn how to live our lives now.

“What’s your next project?” I hated that question more than anything. I hadn’t been able to do anything for ten years and could hardly stand up, let alone conceive of doing anything else for the rest of my life. Nobody really knew what toll this had taken on me, but I present well. My pat answer became, “I’m going to take a lot of naps,” which I did until I went into a major depression for the beautiful month of August. I don’t have seasonal affective disorder. I can be perfectly miserable in gorgeous weather and happy as a clam in the bitter cold or damp fog or pouring rain. That’s clinical depression.

“How are you?” Another hated and seemingly innocuous question. The simple answer is F–I–N–E. F**ked up, insecure, neurotic, emotional. Most friends really don’t want the long answer. This way I can simply smile and be honest gracefully.

I still have chronic fatigue syndrome. I still have fibromyalgia. I still have bipolar. I manage them. They don’t manage me. They are a part of the package instead of who I am. I’ve learned to live alongside them, as esteemed companions, my teachers. Step by step, thought by thought, moment by moment. A little flame, follow it. Lessons of the night. I have this very simple view of life now. The good and bad come and go. Don’t hold onto anything. I love the moment. Every bit of it. That’s all I have. Heart wide open. It doesn’t matter if someone kicks you; just point yourself in the direction you want to go. As far as god, I don’t know. How can there not be?

The edges of the night are the best. Sunset, when the light slips below the horizon. That one moment taking the light over the rim of the earth, and rest comes. After which, the colors swell and dreams begin.

Fran Houston
Peaks Island, Maine
December 2010

 

Postscript

This was the first piece I ever wrote, and chronicles some of my journey of illness and how my creative endeavor helped me emerge from the hole, to know and experience a bigger life of possibility and change. Months after it was written I experienced my most delirious mania, followed by the most hellacious depression ever. Thankfully I had a hand to hold.

 

Photo by Tyler Clemmensen at Unsplash.

 

The Currency of Friendship

Fran and I were on one of our daily calls when she said something that gave me pause for thought.

“Friendship is my only currency.”

We were discussing friendship in general, and a few issues we were each having with friends at the time. I asked what she meant. Fran explained that she has only her friendship to offer people. She has no car for rides, day trips, or excursions. No spare money to lavish on expensive meals or treats. She has a nice apartment, and a timeshare, but no second homes in exotic locations for friends to visit. Her only coin is herself. Who she is. It was clear she was wondering if it was enough.

I understood, precisely because I do have more to offer than just myself. I have a driving licence which means I can supervise learner drivers. I don’t own a car but I rent sometimes. When I do, I can take friends to appointments, visit them at home or in hospital, or go out for trips. I have money to lend or gift when it’s needed, to treat friends to gifts or meals or drinks out when we meet. My friends don’t expect to be paid for all the time, but I can afford to pay my share and maybe a little more. I have skills and experience I’m happy to put to use to help others. I’m able and willing to make time for friends when they need me. I have coin — literally and figuratively — other than just myself.

But what if I didn’t? Would anyone still want to be my friend? What would I have to offer? Who am I, in fact, without these coins in my pocket? Fran may question if what she has is enough, but she has good friends who want to spend time with her, people she cares about and who love and care about her. She may doubt herself at times but it’s hard to dismiss the evidence that she’s a valuable and valued friend. What about me?

Friendship as Exchange

Whatever their nature, relationships are transactional. You offer something and I offer something in return. The currency might be practical help, money, companionship, a listening ear, shared activities, support of various kinds, space, or simply time spent together. This might seem odd to you, a little mercenary perhaps, or wrong in principle.

Hearing that I was writing this article on the “currency of friendship” my friend Erik Anderson of Maine observed that, for him, “Friendship is priceless, BUT, like money, it has to be earned, and just as easily can be spent and lost.” This is something I’d not considered, but I like Erik’s take on the subject. Another friend, Paul Saunders-Priem, got into the spirit, declaring with characteristic humour, “Buy me coffee and cake and I’ll be friends with anyone for life!”

Joking aside, there’s nothing unusual or unhealthy about the idea of friends coming together to meet each other’s needs. Eleanor Roosevelt asserted that “[u]sefulness, whatever form it may take, is the price we should pay for the air we breathe and the food we eat and the privilege of being alive.” I’ve explored this previously in Please Wait Here Until You Are Useful. It’s natural and healthy, as long as you don’t lose sight of your needs in the process.

The [danger] comes from placing too high a regard on how others see us, and imagining that we’ll only have value to other people if we’re useful to them. “No one will like me just for me,” the voice of insecurity asserts. “But if I’m useful they will like me, and need me.”

I found a great example while I was researching this article. In response to an Instagram post about self-esteem and being “low maintenance,” someone commented, “You don’t believe you can be liked so you settle for being useful.”

What Do I Bring to the Party?

I’ve found myself in this situation at times, doubting what I have to offer beyond the role of resourceful and steadfast friend. “You truly are someone I can rely on in an emergency and at all other times” remains one of the most genuine, heart-felt, and valued tributes I’ve ever received from anyone, but what else is there?

My world seems small in many ways. I tend to live through the lives and experiences of others. I have a few close friends, my work, my writing. Occasional day trips. Vacations once or twice a year. I rarely have much in the way of exciting news to relate — or even boring news! Why would someone stay friends with me if they don’t need or want the other stuff? This isn’t a pity party. These are genuine questions grounded in experience. I’ve had friendships falter, drift, and ultimately end, when what I had to offer — my currency of friendship — was no longer wanted, or was provided elsewhere. That’s okay, but it leaves the fundamental questions unanswered.

What do you do if you feel you have little to offer, or doubt the transactional value — the exchange rate, if you like — of the coins you hold? If you feel able to, ask your friends and loved ones why they want you in their lives. In our book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder there are a few examples of me asking Fran what I contributed most to our friendship.

[One time] she gave me the image of an oak tree, standing strong and tall. On other occasions, she has likened me to a rock or anchor, a still point of reference amid the uncertain tides of illness. I act as a buffer between her and the world, and balance her thinking, which tends to be mercurial, dogmatic, and strongly polarised.

I discussed this again with Fran recently, in relation to this blog post. “What’s my currency?” I asked. “What do I bring to the party?” After jokingly (I hope!) saying she couldn’t think of anything, she said talking with me helps her navigate her relationships with other people, which is an area she struggles with at times. She also values my “simple talk” where I share my walks and food and blogging, because they help ground and stabilise her. That meant a lot. It helped me recognise that the very mundanity of my life has value to Fran. It gives her something to hold on to when her life feels changeable and uncertain.

Another close friend, fellow blogger Aimee Wilson, offered to write something about what I bring to our friendship, which I could include in this article. I hoped for a couple of sentences, but she came back with a full blog post, which I’ll publish separately. I’ll highlight a few things here, not to “big myself up” but because it helps me recognise what I bring to the people in my life.

The part of my life [Martin] is probably the most important for is in everything to do with blogging [...] My blog (I’m NOT Disordered) has been absolutely monumental and fundamental in my mental health journey and has gone on to help my career life too; so it’s incredibly important to me that there is someone in my life who truly understands that. [...] He’s massively loyal — once he supports someone then he’s all in. He’s thoughtful and kind [...] He’s funny too — in the way where we both even end up saying the same thing at the same time because I found it funny too! And, most important of ALL of this ... he’s a BIG fan of my local pizza takeaway!

I’ve focused on the things I have to offer, but what do I look for in others? What am I happy to trade for my coins of friendship?

What Currency Do I Value?

It would be nice to have friends with transport who want to take me out places, or with money to treat me extravagantly! But really, those things count for little. What counts is feeling safe to share openly and honestly what I need to, no matter what it might be. I don’t always have a lot to talk about, and my issues often seem mild or modest compared to what my friends are dealing with. When I do want to talk, though, I need to feel my thoughts and feelings will be treated seriously and that I’ll be heard. The confidence that issues that might arise between us will be addressed promptly and directly is also important. Friendships are tempered by misunderstandings, disagreements, and problems that have been navigated successfully.

What Aimee said about me supporting her blogging resonates strongly. It’s part of why her friendship is so important to me. I publish a blog post every week, so whatever I’m writing about is on my mind almost all the time. It’s important that I have people I can share my thoughts and ideas with. It’s no accident that many of my posts are inspired by conversations I’ve had with friends. The contributions I’ve included here from Fran, Aimee, and Erik, are testament to that.

On that note, I’ll close with another of Fran’s insights about the currency of friendship.

“Presence is the most important thing.”

“Presents? Like gifts?”

“No. Presence. Being present.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Over to You

In this post I’ve shared my thoughts and ideas about what I call the currency of friendship. What is your currency with the people in your life? What is their currency with you? Do you feel friendship is or should be transactional? If not, what are your relationships based on? Fran and I would love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Image by rc.xyz NFT gallery at Unsplash.

 

My illnesses get to be here too

By Fran Houston

I have found when I not only allow but gently accept my feelings — especially the difficult ones — I get to integrate all parts of myself. My illnesses get to be here too. Pushing them into silence only hurts. And when I share these inner experiences I find kindred spirits who long for that same honesty, freedom, and wholeness.

Hiding behind closed doors in our hearts and allowing others to hold the key is the essence of stigma, throwing us into invisible institutions that are more dangerous than the physical ones that existed not so long ago.

Let’s replace silence and stigma with openness, awareness, and kindness.

 

Originally posted on Facebook Aug 23, 2016.

Photo by Ales Maze at Unsplash.

 

Joy not jealousy

By Fran Houston

Joy not jealousy. Not so long ago being jealous was part of my repertoire. I saw people eating deliciously. I saw warm luxurious homes. I saw travels that made me ache. Mostly I just ached for simple invitations which never came. Not liking how I felt I decided to be glad for everyone in all their blessings and endeavors. When jealousy came I invited joy. I began doing things by myself, then inviting others, then planning trips. I found myself in a life I love. I found myself in joy.

 

Originally posted on Facebook Aug 12, 2016.

Photo by Preslie Hirsch at Unsplash.

 

It's Not Boring! An Open Letter to My Best Friend on Our 10 Year Anniversary

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. (Anais Nin)

Sunday, May 2, 2021.

Dear Fran,

I’m writing this sitting on the bench that’s been my regular stopping / thinking / journaling place since we first went into lockdown last March. I’ve had calls with you here many times, and I’ve taken you along on my walks — sharing my world in photos and chat, and voice and video calls. We’re three thousand miles apart but we still use all the tools and means available to us to bridge the distance and keep our friendship and lives vibrant, aligned, and alive.

Ten years ago we’d not yet met. That was still a few days into my future and yours. (It’s a constant reminder that transformational change can appear at any moment.) And then that evening came — May 6, 2011 — and I posted seven words to a friend’s Facebook wall. A friend who was struggling. In pain. Suicidal.

Flooding light and love into your world.

Unknown to me, you were there too, at the same time on the same Facebook wall. How my naive words, intended to soothe our mutual friend, enraged you! Had my words been less hopelessly inadequate, you might not have been moved to respond as you did.

Sometimes, even too much love can be overwhelming.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Had I shown even a little more empathy and care, you and I would never have met. Likewise, if I’d not dared to post on her wall at all. How easy it would have been for me to just click away. It’s a scary thought. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. It is upon such moments that our lives turn. Our friend isn’t here to share our anniversary with us. She knew of our meeting that night on her page, though. It pleased her, I think. She is not forgotten.

You’ve told me many times that you’d not be here if it wasn’t for me. If not for us. I take you at your word, and there are no words to express what it means — how it feels — to believe you. And I do believe you. I would be here today, even if we'd never met. But the person I am today — the man sitting here writing to you — did not exist ten years ago. Or perhaps he was always there, but not yet awake.

“Does anyone call you Marty?” you asked. No, I replied. And in that moment the new me was born. I didn’t save you (No pedestals!, remember!) but we have helped each other save ourselves. To become, together and apart, who we truly are.

Most days, we meet for evening calls, but today you’re out visiting friends on Peaks Island. Your life on the mainland is much richer, but I miss those days on Peaks. Your little house. Walks on Centennial and around the island, me following along in photos, words, and the tracking app we used to use. We’ve come a long way since then. So much has changed, and so much hasn’t. We are here for each other as much now as back in those early days. We’re stronger. We have grown, in trust, and in maturity.

I was looking back over our ten years to pick out some highlights. Our first and only day together in person, in Southampton, is right up there, but there are so many more! Many of our moments and memories are private but a good deal of our friendship has been lived out on a wider stage. I’m writing this letter, for example, with the intention of sharing it on our blog. And it is ours, even though these days it’s me who provides most of the content and maintains the site itself. Pretty much everything we do in the wider mental health space is “us.” Teamwork makes the dream work, as they say. Gum on My Shoe is our creative and public platform, and it’s an important part of our story and journey together.

I know there’ve been times when you regretted suggesting I write a book about what it’s like to be friends with someone living with mental illness — but you did suggest it, and I (we) did write it! As you reminded me once when I was doubting myself: “You wrote a book.. A whole fucking book.. Don’t you give yourself credit for that?” High Tide, Low Tide is our great endeavour and achievement. I will always be proud of that. I refer to it a lot myself, to remind me of things we got right — and things we got wrong! Republishing it this year (and our book of blog posts) was an act of pure love.

Our blog. Our two books. Our online presence on Facebook, Twitter, and elsewhere. I’m deeply committed to them all. But they are not us. They share our story and our message of hope, but we know the stories, tips, strategies, and techniques we write about because we have lived them. Day in. Day out. Ten years. 3,653 days. (And yes, I looked it up, to be sure I had the leap years right!)

I’ve loved it all, Fran. Not always liked it or found it easy — we’ve had our share of hurt and darkness, some of it our doing, some of it not — but I’ve always loved being with you. I told you once “I never don’t want to be here,” and that’s still true, no matter what is going on for you or for me. That commitment has kept our friendship strong and endlessly reinventing itself. The dark times and the light, the low and the high, the well and the unwell; they are all part of what we’ve shared and continue to share. As I’m sure I’ve said once or twice along the way, it’s not boring, being your best friend!

Thank you, Fran, for every one of the 3,653 days we’ve shared. Here’s to the next 3,653!

Marty

 

Announcing a New Edition of No One is Too Far Away: Notes from a Transatlantic Friendship

Some of you may recall the publication in 2018 of our second book, No One is Too Far Away: Notes from a Transatlantic Friendship, in which Fran and I shared the very best of our blog posts and articles. The title has been out of print for a while, but we’re delighted to announce that a new edition will be published soon by Kingston Park Publishing.

“Friendship is a beautiful part of life and an important component of long-term wellness. When Martin Baker met Fran Houston online he never imagined they would develop a friendship that transcends time zones and international boundaries.

“In No One Is Too Far Away they share essays from their blog which show the deep-rooted value of shared experiences. Through their writings, they demonstrate that mental illness needn’t be a barrier to meaningful connection; indeed it can be the glue that holds people together.”

The new edition presents sixty selected posts (originally published on our blog between March 2014 and October 2018) in chronological order, with a new introduction. Working on it has evoked many memories and emotions — and not always the ones I might have expected. If things go well, there may well be a volume 2, bringing the collection up to the present day.

Watch this space for updates. We don’t have a publication date yet but it will be available in print and for Kindle from Amazon, and in print from Barnes and Noble and other booksellers.

 

SpeakUp4MentalHealth: My Interview with Amy Gamble

Last week I joined motivational speaker and mental health trainer Amy Gamble on her Speak Up 4 Mental Health podcast. We talked about my friendship with Fran, our book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder, and a number of other mental health topics. You can watch the interview here. Amy’s podcasts are also shown on West Liberty University Television (WLU-TV 14).

Amy and I first connected in 2017 and she guested on our blog shortly afterwards. Her interviews normally go out live at 11:30 am EST (4:30 pm here in the UK) but she kindly agreed to a time more convenient for me (6 pm EST, my 11 pm). We connected on Zoom twenty minutes ahead of time to check everything was working. We’d never spoken before but Amy immediately put me at my ease as we discussed how the interview would go. There was a short pause as she connected us to her Facebook group — then we were live!

After introducing me to the audience Amy invited me to share how Fran and I first met. I talked about how we found ourselves in May 2011 on the Facebook page of a mutual acquaintance who was feeling suicidal. You can read more about our meeting in this excerpt from our book:

I could have clicked away to another page and put [this lady] out of my mind, but I chose to stay. We were not friends, but I knew something of her situation. I felt involved, but what could I possibly contribute that would be meaningful to her, if indeed she was there to read it?

Finally I posted something: “Flooding light and love into your world.”

The words sounded trite and inadequate, but they were the best I could manage. Someone by the name of Fran Houston responded almost immediately: “Sometimes even too much love can be overwhelming.”

My friendship with Fran begain in that moment. Amy observed that with all the social media and online contact we have these days it’s not unlikely to find ourselves in a chat room or Facebook group and realise someone is really struggling. She suggested that not everyone would have reached out as I did. That might be true but there’s an irony there. If I’d posted something more appropriate to the situation Fran would have felt no need to respond and we might never have met.

Amy asked if there had ever been a time when Fran was in crisis and I had to intervene. The question took me back to 2013 when Fran was travelling in Europe and we — jointly — invoked her wellness plan and contacted her professional support team back home. Amy and I briefly discussed WRAPs (Wellness Recovery Action Plans). You can discover more about WRAP plans here and read my personal Wellness Recovery Action Plan on our blog.

About twenty-five minutes into the interview Amy mentioned that someone called Aimee Wilson had commented on the Facebook feed:

Just wanted to say hi! I’m one of Martin’s best friends and I think it’s amazing that you’re shedding light on the incredible work he does!

I was delighted she was watching! Aimee is a dear friend and a very successful mental health blogger in her own right (check out her blog I’m NOT Disordered). I gave her a little shout-out as my “blogging bestie.” It’s fair to say she loved being mentioned!

Amy was interested to know about the UK anti-stigma campaign Time to Change. I described how I’d first connected with the organisation (shout-out to another dear friend, Angela Slater, who at the time was regional community equalities coordinator for Time to Change) and a few of the occasions I’ve volunteered with them, including for Newcastle Mental Health Day and at Northern Pride. We talked a little about the Time to Change Employer Pledge and my role in the mental health and wellbeing team at BPDTS Ltd.

All too soon we were out of time. Thirty minutes had passed so quickly, but Amy suggested the possibility of a further interview in the future, either on my own or with Fran.

It’s no secret that at times I doubt myself and my place on the wider mental health stage, but as the interview ended I felt included. Amy reminded me I have a voice and something of value to share. That means a great deal and it’s something I’ll carry with me against times when the doubts return, as they do from time to time.

You can watch our interview on Amy’s Facebook page. Contact Amy Gamble on her website, on Facebook, and on Twitter.

 

Chapter and Verse: A Few Thoughts on Poetry, Creativity, and Mental Health

I met up recently with fellow blogger Aimee Wilson and we got talking about poetry and mental health. She showed me the blackout poem she’d created at a writing class run by Northumberland Council.

Watch it
permission
rather
I would
demanded
tolerance was not to be tested
increasingly restricted
reality reliving   particularly happy distracting
not dared to return
approved of
given up hope

Poetry is a new avenue for Aimee but she writes prolifically for her blog I’m NOT Disordered. As she says, “I find writing so beneficial for my mental health.”

We agreed there can be a close relationship between mental health and creativity. I shared with her how Fran had never written or been interested in poetry until she met me in May 2011. At the time, she was highly manic. Our early emails and online chat conversations were full of wordplay and had a free-flowing stream of consciousness quality that I found intoxicating. Sparked by that, and my own poetry which I shared with her, Fran began to write.

She wrote prolifically. Her poems were long; sometimes rambling, often brilliant. She wrote blisteringly of her experiences as a woman living with serious mental and physical illness in a small island community that did not understand her or what she was going through. She posted most of her work on social media. She held a live book reading and went on the radio. We talked of finding her a publisher.

Fran’s mania was eventually reined in by a change of medication, precipitating a winter of crippling depression and suicidality. Her creativity ceased as suddenly as if a switch had been thrown. It took months but eventually she began to re-emerge. The following description is from our book High Tide, Low Tide.

The wild, personal, and passionate poetry which flowed during Fran’s major episode of mania ceased when she fell into depression. Her creative voice was silenced for months. When it returned it was completely transformed. The haiku forms that emerged as she began to climb out from depression were more than descriptions of the island scenery around her. They were Fran’s attempt to find a reason to go on living.

boat on the water
slicing the calm
foaming leftovers..

quiet day
loud heart
stillness..

high tide
low tide
edgeness..

what else is there to do but live life..

These poems were written on Centennial Beach, a short walk from where Fran lived at the time. She would return home, show me her latest poems, and then share them on her social media page. It was her way of reaching outward again. As she said later, “I was trying to save my life, to get out of the house onto Centennial and wait for the haikus to come. That was all I had.”

As her mood stabilised Fran found less of an impulse to write poetry and it’s been a long time since she did so. This saddens me because I loved the insight and wisdom her poems expressed, but they are red flags for mania and her health is more important to me than poetry.

Aimee’s principal diagnosis is borderline personality disorder (BPD) but she could relate Fran’s story to her own mood instability. We agreed it will be interesting to see if she adds poetry to her options for self-expression and self-care.

I don’t have a mental health diagnosis but my writing interests and outputs have changed a lot over the years. A collection of my poetry was published in 2008, but I stopped writing poetry much earlier at the age of twenty-three. Since then I have written only two poems. Ironically, the first arose in response to a period of writer’s block. The second was inspired — triggered, really — by attending my mother’s funeral in 2018.

Wandering
Wondering

How do I feel
What do I feel

Release
Relief

Re birth

Stillness
Silence

Un known
Un homed

Un tethered

Still
Calm

Centred (thank you

— Liverpool, March 26, 2018

Between 2001 and 2005 I wrote articles and short stories in the fantasy genre for Reunion: The Alternative Tolkien Society. Most are still available on the society’s website. In recent years my work has been in the mental health arena; our two books High Tide, Low Tide and No One Is Too Far Away, and our blog.

Do you write poetry or prose, or do you have a different creative outlet? Has your creativity changed over time? Does it follows your moods or aspects of your mental health? We’d love to hear your experiences.

 

Friends in Deed: An Interview with Bob Keyes

Bob Keyes and Martin Baker

I want to tell stories that convey personality and place. I like writing about artists, writers and performers who take risks with their work and are persistent in their passions. I’m curious about their motivations, inspirations and dreams.

— Bob Keyes

Fran and I recently had the pleasure to meet with award-winning arts writer and storyteller Bob Keyes when he interviewed us for the Maine Sunday Telegram. Given the distances involved we held the interview online using Skype. Bob and Fran were in Portland, Maine; I was three thousand miles away in Newcastle upon Tyne, England. The set-up was perfectly in keeping with the international nature of my friendship with Fran and our key message that no one is too far away to be cared for or to care. It was a novelty for Bob, though; he said it was the first time he had interviewed anyone this way.

We talked about how Fran and I first met, how we “do” our international, mutually supportive friendship, and our work in the mental health community including our two books High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder and No One is Too Far Away: Notes from a Transatlantic Friendship.

A couple of weeks later we had a photo shoot with photojournalist Derek Davis. I was visiting our friend Aimee Wilson at the time. Aimee has been interviewed many times here in the UK about her lived experience and her hugely successful mental health blog I’m NOT Disordered. She was delighted for us and fascinated to be involved behind the scenes.

It was a lot of fun pretending to have a regular Skype call with Fran, with Aimee off camera at my end with her cat Emmy and rabbit Pixie (which wasn’t at all distracting, honest!) and Derek moving around Fran’s room to capture her talking to me on her laptop.

It’s fair to say Fran and I were both excited — and a little nervous — as publication day drew nearer. How would the photos come out? What would the title be? Did we cover everything we wanted to? We needn’t have worried!

The article was published in both print and online editions of the Maine Sunday Telegram on October 20, 2019, as “Friends in Deed: Overseas confidants co-write books about being a supportive friend.”

You can read the article in full here.

Among many generous comments, this by Tl Adams stands out for us:

What an excellent article! I think you both are extraordinary. An amazing example of what a true friendship is and should be. As others have commented, you both deserve a lot of attention for how you have helped others, like me, in learning about having a good relationship/friendship with someone who struggles with mental illness. You guys are awesome! I hope this article will be seen all over the world. SO many people need to read it and read your books.

We are grateful to Bob, Derek, and the Portland Press Herald / Maine Sunday Telegram for the opportunity to share something of our lives, our friendship, and our message of hope to a new audience. We hope everyone who reads it feels Bob met his aim to write about people “who take risks with their work and are persistent in their passions.”

 

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You can find Bob Keyes on his website, Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn.

Derek Davis is showcased at the Portland Press Herald. You can find him on Twitter and Instagram.

Aimee Wilson blogs at I’m NOT Disordered. You can also find her on Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube.

 

Six People I Admire in the Mental Health Community

I was recently gifted a copy of Diana Fox’s 365 Blog Topic Ideas: For The Lifestyle Blogger Who Has Nothing to Write About by fellow blogger Aimee Wilson. As I looked through the suggested topics one leapt out at me. I couldn’t believe I’d not thought of it before.

Talk about your mentors and people you look up to in your niche

Choosing who to include wasn’t easy, but one way or another each of the six people I’ve selected is making a difference by actively combating stigma and discrimination, by sharing personal stories, or by supporting people with lived experience, their friends and loved ones. They are presented in the order we first connected.

Fran Houston | Darren Hodge | Julie A. Fast | Sarah Fader | Steve O'Driscoll | Aimee Wilson

 

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Fran Houston

What is your connection with Fran?

Fran is my best friend and co-author of two books: High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder and No One is Too Far Away: Notes from a Transatlantic Friendship.

How and when did you meet?

We met in May 2011 on the Facebook page of a mutual friend who was feeling suicidal. I posted a really dumb comment which Fran immediately picked me up on. We have been best friends ever since.

What do you admire most about Fran?

Fran lives with bipolar disorder, chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS/ME), and fibromyalgia. We’ve been best friends for over eight years and spend up to three hours a day online in each other’s company. There’s very little we haven’t talked about and we have few illusions about each other, which makes for a very deep connection. I admire Fran’s emotional honesty, her resilience, and her determination to keep moving forward even when she seems “stuck,” emotionally or otherwise.

What have you learned from her?

What haven’t I learned?! All the mental health work I am doing in the workplace and outside, all the amazing people I’ve met within the mental health community both online and locally, our two books and the blog posts and articles I have written — none of that would have happened if it wasn’t for Fran.

I have learned a great deal about myself that I never would have explored if we’d not met. Fran has the ability to hold a mirror up to me so that I see myself clearer than I have ever been able to do on my own. She challenges me to be the best version of myself I can be. That hasn’t always been easy for either of us but I’ve learned a lot about commitment and resilience along the way. I am a far better person for knowing her.

What one thing would you like Fran to know?

I’m not sure what I could say to you, Fran, that you don’t know already! But just in case you’ve forgotten, you’re stuck with me now!

 

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Darren Hodge

What is your connection with Darren?

We are friends and fellow ASIST-trained Mental Health First Aiders.

How and when did you meet?

We met at a local Time to Change networking event in November 2013.

What do you admire most about him?

I admire Darren’s calm and gentle manner no matter what is going on, and his service to others which often involves helping people in need. I asked if he could sum his roles up for me:

I am a server and help with communion in church (there is a really grand name but no one would understand what it means!) We do our best to make everyone welcome and care for people who are on the edge. I have been involved in the voluntary sector for over thirty years. I am really drawn to Taize / Northumbrian Saints such as Aidan — they gently walked alongside people. I am often seen with people on the edge and learned British Sign Language (BSL) to communicate with a deaf friend. I also speak a bit of Urdu to build bridges with Asian friends.

What have you learned from Darren?

Darren recommended I take the Mental Health First Aid course, which I took in 2014. We met up again later that year at an Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training (ASIST) workshop. His experience in crisis situations is second to none and I’ve learned that it’s not about having all the answers. Offering your presence in a non-judgemental way can be exactly what someone needs.

What one thing would you like him to know?

Darren, you were hugely supportive a few years ago when I was going through a really rough time. I have never told you how much that meant to me. Thank you.

 

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Julie A. Fast

www.juliefast.com

What is your connection with Julie?

We are friends and fellow mental health authors.

How and when did you meet?

Julie and I met on social media in August 2014. I knew of her as the author of Loving Someone with Bipolar Disorder and had followed her on Facebook and Twitter for a few months. I’d not had much response but I figured she was a busy lady.

One day Julie ran a Q&A session on Facebook and I asked a question about how to query agents and publishers. Julie’s response showed how much she had appreciated my approach.

You liked my Tweets and passed on my tips, sent encouraging messages and asked intelligent questions. You were not intrusive and were understanding if I didn’t actually answer your questions in a timely manner — if at all. I call this hooking your wagon to a star. If you truly care about promoting someone and your work is in alignment with theirs they will naturally want to work with you.

We have been friends ever since.

What do you admire most about her?

Julie has a wealth of knowledge and experience based on years living with bipolar disorder and her work as a family coach. She’s clear about her opinions but she’s respectful of those who might have a different perspective. Above all, Julie is a generous and steadfast supporter of other writers and has been incredibly supportive to me and Fran.

What have you learned from Julie?

From Julie I’ve learned there is something positive to be drawn from any situation, to believe in the value of one’s story, and to never give up. Her mantra “treat bipolar first” helps me support Fran and other friends when symptoms of bipolar disorder and other mental health conditions come to the fore.

What one thing would you like Julie to know?

Julie, you are a dear friend and an inspiration to me on so many levels. I love working with you and look forward to wherever our next collaboration takes us!

 

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Sarah Fader

www.sarahfader.com

What is your connection with Sarah?

Sarah has guested on our blog several times and interviewed me and Fran for her podcast. She is co-founder and CEO of Eliezer Tristan Publishing who published our second book, No One Is Too Far Away: Notes from a Transatlantic Friendship.

How and when did you meet?

Sarah is CEO of Stigma Fighters, a campaign platform that encourages individuals with mental illness to share their personal stories. We connected in 2015 when I submitted my story No one is too far away to be cared for, or to care.

What do you admire most about Sarah?

Sarah is one of those people who seem to let nothing stand in their way. Think feisty, gutsy, determined. Things are often hard for her but she refuses to let life stop her being the best person she can be. She’s passionate about what she believes in and fiercely supportive of those she cares about. She is 150% herself with absolutely no pretensions.

What have you learned from her?

As someone without lived experience or a mental health diagnosis there are times I doubt my place in the mental health community. By accepting my story for the Stigma Fighters blog and later publishing it in their second anthology, Sarah gave me the confidence to believe I have something worth sharing and the courage to do so. I’ve also learned that great things can happen if you believe they can and are prepared to go after them wholeheartedly.

What one thing would you like her to know?

Sarah, you are a force of nature and I love you!

 

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Steve O’Driscoll

What is your connection with Steve?

Steve works with several mental health groups and initiatives in and around my home town of Newcastle upon Tyne.

How and when did you meet?

We met through Time to Change at the Newcastle Mental Health Day event in February 2016.

What do you admire most about Steve?

Steve is another of those 150% genuine people. What you see is what you get. He is very open about his lived experience which he shares to support and educate others.

What have you learned from him?

In October 2018 I attended a self-harm awareness session led by Steve at Newcastle Recovery College. His knowledge and honesty opened my eyes and gave me a degree of insight I otherwise would not have had. I later wrote:

Steve shared his personal journey, much of which was new to me. Those who know me and Fran know we have a “no pedestals” policy, meaning as far as possible we treat ourselves and others without elevating anyone to hero status. That said, I was deeply moved by Steve’s story and respect him immensely for the honesty with which he lives his life. It takes courage to turn a lifetime of hard experience to the service of others.

What one thing would you like him to know?

Steve, you’re one of the most genuine guys I’ve ever met and I’m proud to know you. Despite my lack of lived experience you’ve always treated me with respect and that means a lot.

 

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Aimee Wilson

www.imnotdisordered.co.uk

What is your connection with Aimee?

We are friends and fellow mental health bloggers.

How and when did you meet?

Aimee and I met at a Time to Change session for Newcastle Mental Health Day in February 2016.

What do you admire most about her?

I was rather in awe of Aimee when we met and for a good while after because she seemed (and is!) so professional at what she does. We’ve grown to be great friends and I’ve taken her down from that pedestal, but my respect is undiminished.

I admire Aimee’s courage in writing so openly about what she lives with which includes borderline personality disorder, self-harm, and suicidality. Her blog posts tell it how it is and they can be challenging to read for that reason, but honesty is the only way to shift perceptions and foster wider understanding. I also admire how Aimee is building a rich portfolio of skills, connections, and experience. This has inspired me as I look for opportunities to expand my mental health role in the workplace and beyond.

What have you learned from Aimee?

I joke that I learn something new every time we meet, so it’s quite a list! Some are small things like ensuring I always have business cards to hand, and social media tips like using time-lapse videos to capture the essence of an event or moment. I’ve also learned to celebrate every achievement and make the most of each moment because you don’t necessarily know what’s coming up next. Aimee’s blog posts challenge my assumptions and help me “get it” a little more clearly.

What one thing would you like her to know?

Aimee, when I was struggling over my role in the mental health community the open letter you wrote me helped me see there’s a place for me even if I’ve not quite found it yet. We’ve been there for each other a few times and I’m learning lots but it’s not all about learning and support. We’re friends and fellow bloggers! I look forward to us working together lots more in the future and can’t wait for our next bloggers’ day out!