The Joy of Missing Out: Not Doing Things Is a Thing I Do Now

I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.

— Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

A few Fridays ago, I found myself contemplating the weekend ahead of me. Aside from a few chores I was free to spend it any way I chose. I turned options over in my mind. A trip to the coast? Tynemouth, maybe. Whitley Bay. Cullercoats. South Shields. A day in the city? A walk down to the Quayside. Eldon Square. The library. The natural history museum. Caffè Nero. Further afield, perhaps? Durham. Hexham. These were all places I used to visit regularly. None of them stirred interest or excitement. Not even a little.

I ask myself this question almost every week. The answer seldom varies: coffee and scribbles. It’s worth the time it takes to check in with myself, though. To make sure that writing for four or five hours at the coffee shop is how I want to spend my day, and not simply a routine I’ve fallen into. There are a few exceptions. Every month or so I meet up with my friend and fellow blogger Aimee. Twice a year in April and October I take time off work and rent a car for days out. In the summer, a week in the Lake District. A handful of other day trips or events. If you’re looking for me on a Saturday, though, it’s a safe bet I’ll be at Costa Coffee. It’s where almost all my blog posts are written, this one included.

It wasn’t always this way. Until 2020, I went out every weekend. More often or not, I’d catch the train into Newcastle city centre, but any of the places I mentioned earlier would have been on the cards. I enjoyed meeting up with friends, but I was more than happy being out on my own. The pandemic reset things for me. I got used to not going places, and found meaning in activities that didn’t require traveling far, if at all. I made an effort to pick up the threads once restrictions lifted, but with very few exceptions the allure had evaporated. I wouldn’t necessarily say covid taught me what was truly important to me, but I discovered that many things I’d cherished previously were no longer on the list.

It’s fair to say I saw it coming. I blogged right through the pandemic, exploring what was happening and what might lie on the other side. Two posts are especially relevant to what I’m discussing here. Prescient, even. I shared my early thoughts and feelings in A Postcard from My Lockdown Vacation. It was April 2020, a matter of weeks into the first UK lockdown. I was accutely aware of my privileged situation. My job was secure and I could work from home. I had no significant health or money worries. That said, it was a time of extreme uncertainty for me, as it was for everyone. All plans and expectations for the year ahead had been upended, with no idea how long the disruption would last or how things would be afterwards. I was nevertheless able to write that “five weeks and one staycation in, I can honestly say I’m doing okay.”

A year later, the impact of the pandemic was becoming clear. In What If I Never Do All the Things I Used to Do? I described some of the changes covid had wrought in my life. These were trivial on a global scale, but significant personally. Several of the places I used to go and the things I used to do were beyond recall. A favourite restaurant closed, never to reopen. A much loved holiday cottage taken off the market. Other activities and venues had survived but things weren’t the same. How could they be? I was sad, but holding on to the past wasn’t a healthy option. As I wrote, “I don’t have a list of things I want to do again. Like it used to be or like we used to do are false hopes, illusions, to my current way of thinking at least. Instead, I will hold myself open to whatever is possible, available, present, and real.” Three years on, those words remain valid.

I’ve written previously about living vicariously through the experiences of others. A few weeks ago I accompanied Fran on a video call as she walked from her apartment down to the water front of Portland. Photos, messages, and calls keep our 3,000 mile friendship strong. As we’ve long asserted, no one is too far away to be cared for, or to care. The same is true of other friends, whether they live abroad or here in the UK. I take great pleasure in the photos friends share of places I used to visit. I simply have no interest in revisiting them myself. I’m less interested in exploring the physical world and more interested in exploring the inner realm of my thoughts and feelings.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, though it might raise concern in others. Losing interest in things that previously brought joy, meaning, and value is a classic — and valid — indicator for depression. I’m not dismissing the possibility. On the contrary, I’ve written extensively about feeling low at times, of lacking a sense of purpose and direction. That’s not what I’m exploring here, however. I use the word explore deliberately. I use it a lot in my blog posts, regardless of the topic under discussion. It’s what I’m doing, internally, when I’m not out there doing stuff. Doing stuff can be fun, exciting, and healthy. It can also be a distraction from what’s really going on. Slowing down, withdrawing from doing and going, offers me the opportunity to examine what’s important to me and what isn’t.

I’m reminded of something a friend shared with me once, about living life as if it’s an expedition. So, what’s my expedition? What am I exploring? In addition to my mental health, I write on a range of topics that are relevant to me personally. These include toxic masculinity, the creative tension between wanting to communicate and wanting to hide, alexithymia (finding it hard to express one’s feelings in words), and the absurdist philosophy of Albert Camus.

How and where do I engage in this kind of inner exploration? For most of my life, I’ve taken myself off for a good long walk if I had something on my mind. During my teenage years in Liverpool I’d regularly go for local walks, as well as day-long hikes around the country with my favourite aunt. At university in Bradford I’d do the same. The nearby park and abandoned railway line were regular haunts, but I’d occasionally head out of the city if I needed more time and space. Prior to 2020, I valued the twenty minutes it took to walk to and from my office from the train station. It gave me the chance to unwind, to think through whatever was going on for me, or set things aside and not think at all. Throughout the pandemic I took two or three local walks a day. I’ve let that lapse, but I might start again, especially now it’s spring and the weather is improving. My point is that walking helped me explore things internally. That was its primary purpose and value to me. Typing away for hours in a coffee shop might not be as good for my physical health, but it affords the equivalent scope for inner exploration. One that feels more in tune with my life currently.

The term I used in the title of this piece — the joy of missing out — warrants explanation. Often abbreviated to JOMO, it stands as a counterpoint to FOMO, the fear of missing out. How do I feel about this situation in which I find myself? Does spending almost all my free time not doing things and going places still bring me joy? In a word, yes. I feel at ease, content, able to focus my attention where and how I wish. It brings satisfaction, value, and peace. Lucy Maude Montgomery, author of Anne of Green Gables, captured this perfectly.

I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens, but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.

— L. M. Montgomery

I’m not missing out by living my life in this way at this time. On the contrary, I choose to “do things and go places” when they’re important or valuable to me, rather than out of habit or as a distraction. It’s about choosing, not isolating. I’m not taking this inner journey alone. My blog posts may be the public account of my adventures, but they are are inspired by — and contribute to — the life I share with friends and family. I’m blessed to have people who invite me into their lives and enjoy an active role in mine. I rarely feel alone, and almost never lonely. In the words of American poet and essayist Kathleen Norris, “Anything, everything, little or big becomes an adventure when the right person shares it.”

 

I’d like to thank photographer Ishan Gupta. It took longer than usual to find the perfect image for this article, but the moment I discovered Ishan’s gallery at Unsplash I knew my search was over.

 

Pathologically (Covid) Positive

If you follow me on social media you’ll have seen that I’m currently on a fortnight’s holiday from work. I rented a car for the first week and took little excursions and day trips here and there in the northeast of England. Alnwick. Bamburgh. Belsay. Otterburn. It was good to be behind the wheel after more than two years, and to revisit places I’ve not seen since the start of the pandemic. My modest adventuring stalled, however, when I developed a cough late last week. I took a lateral flow test on Saturday which confirmed I’d picked up a coronavirus infection from somewhere. It was bound to happen at some point. I’ve had all my jabs but that was never a guarantee I wouldn’t catch it.

I can’t say where, when, or from whom I contracted it. I imagine it was one of the restaurants or coffee shops I visited last weekend or at the start of the week. I’m not mad at whoever passed it on to me. Maybe they were asymptomatic and had no idea they were contagious. Maybe they thought it was just a cold. Maybe they suspected what it was but figured they were unlikely to pass it on. Maybe they planned to take a test but couldn’t get to the shops or pharmacy. None of us is perfect. I’ll own my share of the responsibility. I’ve continued to wear a face mask when grocery shopping or on public transport, but I’ve become less strict about wearing a mask in other settings, social distancing and other measures since England officially emerged from its pandemic regulations. Maybe I’d have avoided catching it if I’d been more careful. My main concern now is not to pass it on to anyone else.

The first thing I did was cancel the plans I’d made for the weekend and for this week. It’s a shame to spend the second half of my holiday keeping as much to myself as possible, but fortunately my symptoms have been relatively mild. I’ve a cough, a sore throat, and was very fatigued and “wiped out” for a couple of days, but it’s not been too bad. I’m grateful for the vaccination and booster shots which make it — for me so far at least — little worse than a heavy cold. So, instead of grumbling (too much!) about the things I didn’t or won’t get to do while I wait it out, I’ll focus on what I was able to do last week, what I can do this week, and whatever positives I can take from the experience.

My holiday fortnight began two Fridays ago with a lovely evening out with friends in Newcastle. Before falling ill, I managed three trips to the Blacksmiths cafe at Belsay, an afternoon at Alnwick Garden, a trip to Otterburn Mill, breakfast at The Barn at Beal, a visit to Bamburgh, and meals out at several local pubs and restaurants Other wins from the first week of my holiday include learning how to use the WAZE navigation app on my phone to replace my ancient TomTom satnav device, and the book giveaway Fran and I ran for World Bipolar Day. Over five days we gave away 150 Kindle copies of our books (130 copies of High Tide Low Tide, and 20 copies of No One Is Too Far Away). It’s good to think of all those new folk reading our words for the first time and — hopefully — finding something there to help and inform them.

Despite needing to isolate as much as possible, there are some things I can look forward to this coming week. I can take local walks — weather permitting! I can maybe arrange some nice video calls with friends, to make up for not being able to meet in person. (As I said to one of my friends the other day, “You can’t catch covid from an e-hug!”) I can practice my Teeline shorthand, which I’ve been meaning to pick up with again. I can also write, if I’m not feeling too run down.

I’m smiling to myself as I jot down all these things I have to be grateful for and look forward to. I remind myself that it’s okay to feel rough, ill, sad, disappointed, or annoyed. I don’t have to “look on the bright side” all the time! That’s true, of course. Being overly optimistic or positive isn’t a healthy trait. It is part of my psychological DNA, however. The title I chose for this post is a gentle reminder that Fran used to call me pathologically positive, and she didn’t mean it as a compliment! I’ve written about this before, including in this article about things I’ve found hard — but necessary — to hear from Fran and other friends who live with illness.

Fran calls me pathologically positive and it’s not meant as a compliment. We only met at all because she was furious at my inept response online to someone in suicidal distress. I’ve always been a positive person, but mostly I deployed it defensively to avoid facing up to how shitty life gets. It’s been hard to accept this was hopelessly naïve and prevented me engaging fully with life and with other people. [...] I’m learning that courage isn’t about being relentlessly positive. Real courage is dealing with the shittiness of life when you’re unable to set it aside or run away from it.

I explored the idea further in an audio piece you’ll find on our YouTube channel. Recorded the morning after the UK general election in December 2019, I discuss my pathological positivity in relation to politics and privilege. Listening to the recording again today as I write this latest blog post (in between coughing and sipping at my mug of Lemsip) I’m reminded how privileged my life has been throughout most of my life — and still is.

I have covid right now. It’s not a fun experience, but I’m fully vaccinated and able to take time to rest and attend to my symptoms. My general health is such that a week with covid is unlikely to pose any dangers. It sucks being ill when I’m on holiday (could this not have waited until I was back at work?!) but I’m fortunate in having a job at all. I get paid holidays, and paid sick leave. Falling ill is inconvenient but my job, home, income, and livelihood are not at risk. I can afford — literally and figuratively — to be positive about my present situation, but it’s important for me to remember how privileged a position that is, and hold myself open to hearing, helping, and supporting those who find themselves in less fortunate circumstances.

Pathological or not, that’s one positive I can take away from this experience.

 

Mental Health for All in an Uncertain World

Organised by the World Foundation for Mental Health (WFMH) and observed each year on October 10, World Mental Health Day (WMHD) is an opportunity to raise awareness of mental health issues and to mobilize efforts in support of mental health. This year’s theme is “Mental Health for All: Greater Investment — Greater Access.” In the words of WFMH president Dr Ingrid Daniels:

Mental health is a human right — it’s time that mental health is available for all. Quality, accessible primary health care is the foundation for universal health coverage and is urgently required as the world grapples with the current health emergency. We, therefore, need to make mental health a reality for all — for everyone, everywhere.

You can read Dr Daniels’ full statement and find further resources including a downloadable information pack on the WFMH website. A joint release on WMHD 2020 by the World Health Organization, United for Global Mental Health and the WFMH is here.

Individuals and organisations will mark WMHD in their own way. Here in the UK, mental health charity Mind’s Do one thing campaign invites us to take one small step towards fostering a more inclusive and open attitude to mental health:

Making positive change can seem so hard, especially during uncertain times. And sometimes, it can be hard to know where to start. Whether you want to take the first steps towards getting some help or learn more about helping those around you. [...] Whether it’s going for a walk, learning a new skill or doing something creative, taking the first steps to[wards] getting support for yourself, or reaching out to someone else; take the opportunity to do one thing this World Mental Health Day.

This blog post is my “one thing.” As I write I’m thinking about what mental health means to me, my role in the workplace and beyond it, the impact coronavirus has had on me and those I care about, and what the future might hold for us all. Two words characterise it all for me: uncertainty and change.

Whatever our individual situations it’s fair to say very few of us were prepared for the impact of coronavirus. Our lives have, quite simply, been turned inside out, and there is little certainty about what lies ahead. I’m fortunate that my job in the IT sector has not been at risk and I’ve been able to work from home. It’s not been easy but compared to the many whose lives have been severely impacted — including some of my closest friends — I have been lucky. No, that is incorrect. I have been and remain privileged, to enjoy a degree of relative security.

Nevertheless, lockdown and the ongoing restrictions have affected me more deeply than I imagined they would. I’ve had far more voice and video calls than before lockdown but I sorely miss meeting friends in person. I’ve only managed to meet one of my local friends, once, since the start of lockdown in March. I missed my local coffee shop desperately when it closed for lockdown. That might seem ridiculous but it was very much part of the fabric of my life. I used to visit seven days a week and count several of the staff as friends. I’ve spent two lockdown vacations at home instead of going away, and am about to begin a third.

More fundamentally, I’ve struggled with working from home, especially when it became clear things are unlikely to return to how they were before the pandemic. I became more stressed and anxious than I remember being in many years. As restrictions eased, I’ve returned to the office three days a week. This has helped my mental health enormously but there’s no guarantee I can continue doing so indefinitely. Like everything else, it is contingent on events beyond my control — beyond any semblance of control at all.

An unforeseen change was announced at work last week. It has nothing to do with the pandemic but it will affect everyone in the company. I found it interesting how colleagues responded to the news. Some, myself included, approached it as something which may bring positive change and opportunity. Others reacted with dismay, as though the future holds nothing but distress, disruption, and harm. It’s not that one response is right and the other wrong. For each of us, reality will probably lie somewhere between those two extremes. It was nevertheless a lesson in how our response to unforeseen events can affect how we — and those around us — feel and behave.

I’m writing this at a table in the coffee shop I mentioned earlier. I’ve just been chatting with my friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson of I’m NOT Disordered.

Hi Marty. What are you up to?

Hello! I’m working on a blog post for WMHD.

I am too.

I’d be very surprised if you weren’t!

Lol good point!

I’m going to mention last year’s WMHD event in Cullercoats that I went to with you. Who could have imagined so much would change in a year?

I know. It’s a little bit scary

It is, yes.

Organised by Launchpad North Tyneside, the Cullercoats event was “planned and developed by a dedicated group of volunteers made up of service users, survivors, carers, workers and people with a general interest in mental health.” I attended with Aimee and members of LEAPS (Listening Ear & Positive Support) which she chairs. There was a full programme but the highlight of the day was Aimee’s talk. As I wrote in my blog of the event:

Almost the entire room was quiet and focused as she shared her lived experience, the success of her blog I’m NOT Disordered, the benefits and pitfalls of social media, and how all of us can play a role in supporting those we care about.

That day meant a lot to me. For months I’d faced doubt and uncertainty about my role at work and beyond. I found it hard to remain positive, as friends who helped me through those times can attest. The event, and Aimee’s talk in particular, renewed my focus. For the first time in a long time, I felt I had a place and a voice amongst people working for change in the mental health arena.

I’m fortunate to work for a company that is committed to building a compassionate, diverse, and inclusive culture. I co-lead the mental health and wellbeing working group and contribute to the company’s broader diversity, inclusion, and wellbeing initiatives. As I wrote in February for Time to Talk Day, “my involvement in the mental health and wellbeing working group has become the single most rewarding aspect of my job, eclipsing the technical role in personal significance.” With support and engagement from the very top of our organisation, we responded creatively and passionately to the challenges lockdown brought to our company and colleagues. I’m proud to have played a part.

This might all seem a long way from WMHD’s aim of “[making] mental health a reality for all — for everyone, everywhere.” It’s true that workplace initiatives of the kind we’ve championed are no substitute for professional mental health and support services. That said, I believe that encouraging a more open, inclusive, and caring culture takes us in the right direction. This is more important than ever with so many of us working from home, connected by phone and video calls but lacking the social dimension we’re used to in the workplace.

It is not only in the workplace, of course, that the impact of coronavirus is felt. Individually and as societies and nations, we are only beginning to grasp the long-term consequences for our mental health and wellbeing. We all have a role to play in mitigating the dangers, in supporting each other, in caring for each other. The challenges can seem overwhelming but we each bring our lived experience, talents, and gifts, to the game.

My nine-year transatlantic friendship with Fran has taught me a great deal about relationships that never or rarely include meeting face-to-face. I believe this has stood me in good stead handling lockdown and the ongoing restrictions that prevent me from meeting my local friends, family, and colleagues in person. I miss face-to-face contact but I know that connection and caring are not measured by how many times we get together in person.

I’ll close with Fran’s message of challenge and hope from the epilogue to our book:

It may not be easy but you can help someone make a life worth living. Maybe even save a life. One little bit by one little bit. A smile, a wink, a hello, a listening ear, a helping hand, a friendship all work together to interrupt the grasp of illness. Be open and honest, with your friend and others you meet. Judge not, for misunderstandings abound. Acceptance, understanding, and kindness can pave another way. Let’s.

Caring is one thing we can all do. You. Me. Everyone. And not just once a year on World Mental Health Day, but every day.

 

Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash

 

Bipolar Stability, Keeping It Silly and Moving Forward during the Coronavirus Pandemic

In this video best-selling mental health author Julie A. Fast talks about living life with bipolar disorder, a psychotic disorder, anxiety and a head injury during the coronavirus pandemic.

She shares how being silly and creative helps her get things done even when depression and anxiety make her want to isolate in her room in front of the television. She hopes that her hair bouquet makes you smile and brings some joy to your day.

Here are the additional links Julie mentions in her video:

• Super Strategies for Super Anxiety
• Ending Bipolar Depression Isolation
• Mania: Am I Having Too Much Fun?

Julie says, “I love Marty and Fran’s work. Their focus on friendship is life-changing. I love the newsletters and the posts from people around the world who remind me that I’m not alone. We are in this together.”

Julie is the author of Get it Done When You’re Depressed, Take Charge of Bipolar Disorder, Loving Someone with Bipolar Disorder and The Health Cards Treatment System for Bipolar Disorder. You can find her on Facebook at Julie A. Fast and on Instagram @JulieFast.

 

"Remember When?" - Building Shared Experience in Unprecedented Times

We are going through the pandemic together.
— Fran Houston

In our recent article for Diane Atwood’s award-winning blog Catching Health, Fran and I shared how the coronavirus lockdown is affecting our 3,000 mile friendship. The title we chose — Stay Home, Stay Safe, Stay Connected — highlights our commitment to staying in touch with each other, other friends and loved ones.

Fran: Marty and I meet every day on Skype to hang out and process what is going on in the world and relax watching movies together. I talk with other friends on the phone.

Martin: Connection is also really important to me. I can’t meet friends in person but I’m keeping in touch with as many as possible.

I have friends I talk or chat to every day, coronavirus or not. But since the lockdown I’ve also been reaching out to folk I contact less frequently, or who I’ve not heard from in a while. Fran is doing the same. I’m sure it’s true for most of us. I was thinking about this the other day. It occurred to me that we’re doing more than checking to see people are okay. We’re supporting each other, yes. But even more than that, we’re sharing our experiences in what truly are unprecedented times.

Those experiences are different. Some are undeniably harder than others, but all are valid. Maybe you’re a key worker on the front line or support someone who is. Maybe you’re working because you have no choice, are furloughed, or have been laid off. Maybe you’re in quarantine; caring for loved ones; volunteering time, energy or resources; or simply following the imperative to stay home. However this pandemic is affecting you, your experience is unique and your contribution matters. You matter.

We are living through times none of us anticipated or prepared for. We didn’t choose to be here but are here nonetheless. There is no road map to guide us safely to the other side, no book of instructions, no guru with all the answers. We are navigating as we go, discovering what works for us and what doesn’t. The pandemic has not only changed our circumstances, it is changing our lives, our relationships, our very selves. Some of the changes are subtle; many are more fundamental; others devastating, even brutal. The full impact may not become clear for years, but it’s certain none of us will emerge unchallenged or unscarred.

The people we hold close now will forever be part of our coronavirus experience. We will turn to them in months and years to come for comfort and to validate what it meant to live through these times. “Remember when?” will help us make sense of it all. That is something powerful and profound, and worth preparing for.

Here are a few suggestions to help build shared experiences that will last far longer than the pandemic.

1. Who are your people? Who is there for you and with you through all of this? Who are you laughing with, crying with, listening to, singing to, watching movies with? Who’s there for you and allows you to be there for them? Family, colleagues, friends new and old, neighbours, or former strangers, these are your people.

2. What memories are you building? Good or bad, these days are part of our lives, our individual, shared, and collective memory. We cannot un-live this, as much as we might want to. Much of it will be hard to look back on, especially if we’ve lost loved ones, jobs, money, education, or opportunities. Those who have accompanied us will be those we need in times to come. What stories have you listened to and told? What laughter have you shared? What tears have you shed together?

3. What are you learning? What are you discovering about yourself, your family and friends, and how the world works? Maybe there are things — or people — you took for granted, or things you thought important which don’t seem so vital now.

4. How will you remember? You might think there’s no way you’ll forget what you’re living through right now, but memory doesn’t always work the way we’d like it to. Build shared experiences you’ll cherish in years to come. Photos are an obvious starting point, but be creative. Screenshot fun times you’re having with friends on Skype or Zoom (with their permission, of course). Share recipes and swap photos of the results! Send someone a video message. If you’re able to, mail a greetings card or letter, a small gift, or self-care package; it will be something tangible for them to treasure.

5. Not everything needs to be shared. Some things will be too personal to share, even with those you trust and are closest to. Consider starting a journal or mood diary, or write a letter to yourself in the future. Be as honest as you need to be. This is your life. These are your thoughts and feelings.

There will be tears and pain when we look back on the pandemic of 2020. But there will also be joy and laughter, and the comfort that comes from surviving dark times in good company.

 

Photo credit: Edwin Hooper at Unsplash

 

How to Deal with Early Recovery during the Pandemic

By Daniel Wittler

We are in the midst of a very difficult time. Covid-19 has taken away many of the luxuries we have in life and have taken for granted. Of course, many of these things are materialistic and possible to live without. There are certain groups of people that are being much more affected than most. I can’t tell you how many times a day I wonder how people in early recovery are doing while this is going on.

I think about myself in early recovery and there were days where the biggest thing I needed was to go to a meeting and talk to somebody about the giant funk I was in that day and what I could do about it. There is a lot of power in simply talking to one another in recovery. Someone in early recovery feeling trapped and stuck from the outside world is a terrifying thought.

Thankfully, with all of the advances of technology we are not truly alone. We are able to connect with our friends and family through internet/webcam services. Sure it’s not the same as being with someone in person but it sure is much better than being all alone! For those in early recovery, let’s go over some ways to still build your recovery.

Zoom / Skype meetings

A big trend has been online meetings for everyone stuck at home, I have even heard of IOP programs doing webcam meetings to keep everyone who is part of the program connected to each other and able to get therapy still. Let’s be real, the absolute worst for anyone in recovery, new or long-time, is to isolate and not talk to anybody. When we do that our minds begin to take over and things can get ugly quick. This is the last thing we want to happen.

The beauty of online meetings is that you can still hear a message of hope, and can also share the struggle of being stuck inside while trying to maintain your sobriety. Remember you are not the only person struggling in early recovery during this pandemic! Sometimes, sharing your struggle and hearing people relate to it really gives a great perspective and can help you get through the day.

Meditation / Affirmations

I am a big believer of starting your mornings with some type of ritual. For me personally, when I wake up, my head is filled up with a lot of negative thoughts. I don’t know what it is about sleep but my head becomes completely negative even after having a very positive day the day before.

For a long time in recovery I would just roll out of bed and head to work with little thought about getting in the right frame of mind. About a year ago I began waking up at least an hour and a half before work and practicing some things such as the following.

• Meditation — It is very simple to get started, but hard to master. Meditation means just getting your mind still and quiet for a small amount of time. The effect is extremely powerful and benefits range from peace of mind to major inspiration.
• Positive Affirmations — We can be our own worst enemies; sometimes it’s necessary to sit down and tell yourself what you like about yourself. Starting your morning by telling yourself what you like about yourself may sound silly, but it has a powerful effect.
• Pen and Paper — There is a lot of power in pen and paper. Get an empty notebook and after meditating sit and write anything you are inspired to. I’ll take a few minutes to write stuff down every morning. Sometimes it’s affirmations, other times it’s my plan for the day. It can be anything that you feel like doing. It’s a simple and powerful tool; make it your own.

Find Your Gratitude

Gratitude does not come to most of us naturally, unfortunately. I am very prone to self-centered and negative thoughts. Once we get sober and develop some self-awareness, we must catch ourselves in that negative state of mind and pause. When you pause, think about what you are truly grateful for now that you are sober.

To be perfectly blunt, imagine how much harder it would be to continue your addiction during this whole pandemic crisis. The fact that you made the decision to get sober in an extremely troubling and scary time should be something that gives you a real boost. Remind yourself of what you are grateful for throughout the day, even if it’s the same handful of things. Reflecting on gratitude is like a shot of positivity every time we go over it.

Above all during this troubling time, remember that you are absolutely not alone. Do what you need to do and go that extra mile to strengthen your recovery. Whether it’s reaching out to people on the phone or online all day, developing a nice practice and ritual for yourself or simply focusing on what you are grateful for. Every new day sober should feel like a new victory, every tough moment you survive will strengthen your soul. You can do this.

About the Author

Daniel Wittler is a writer in recovery and mental health advocate. He has been living with depression since he was a teenager and has found ways to live and thrive with it. Daniel is a regular contributor to Pax Riverbend.

Photo credit: Dustin Belt via Unsplash.