Teardrops and Waterfalls: Holding Space for a Friend

Every teardrop is a waterfall.

― Coldplay

It’s almost a commonplace that it helps to talk things over with someone. From Time to Talk Day to ITV’s current Take Your Mate on Date campaign we’re encouraged to reach out when we need support and to be there for friends who need us. Fran and I are passionate advocates for mutually supportive friendships. We know first-hand the value of sharing openly and honestly with people we trust.

As important as the message is it overlooks one fact. It’s not always easy to be there for someone who’s going through difficult times, especially if it’s someone we know well and care about. It can be hard to listen without interrupting or offering suggestions and fixes. We may also find we’ve taken some of the other person’s stress, anxiety, or worry onto ourselves. These responses are understandable but in general they’re counter-productive. They get in the way of providing genuine help and support.

Fran and I were discussing this a few weeks ago. Fran mentioned that she worries she puts people off by oversharing, and this affects her response when other people want to talk to her about their issues. It’s true that oversharing can be problematic, as can being vulnerable with people unable or unwilling to accept the gift of trust it represents. On the other hand, the benefits of holding space for someone are often overlooked. For me, it’s invariably a positive experience. I almost always learn something about myself in the process.

I invited Fran to think of it as a valuable social service, rather than something to be wary of. “Being an empathy buddy or space holder,” I told her, inventing those terms on the fly, “isn’t about taking the other person’s problems onto yourself. What they’re sharing doesn’t have to fall on you or stick to you afterwards.” I thought for a moment about the term holding space. We use it a lot, but I’d never really considered what it means. “The idea,” I continued, “is to hold a space open for everything that’s being shared to flow into.”

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

Depending what and how much is being shared, you can hold a smaller or larger space between you and the other person. Everything they are sharing flows into that space, like the pool below the waterfall. You both get to acknowledge it, observe it, then allow it to flow away. It was a small insight but we both recognised its importance. Before we finished our conversation I knew I’d blog about it, to develop the idea and share it in the hope others might find it helpful too.

Whatever their size, waterfalls demonstrate the transformational potential of movement. Waterfalls aren’t static features of the landscape. They are the result and embodiment of changes they’ve played a role in shaping and continue to shape. Likewise, our thoughts and emotions are part of the process, the flow, of what we’re living with and through. Sharing them is the equivalent of taking a friend by the hand to visit a secret waterfall we’ve found hidden away in the landscape of our life.

And if we’re changed in the process, this is no cause for regret or fear. In the words of poet and author Munia Khan, “Do not feel sad for your tears, as rocks never regret the waterfalls.”

 

Photo by Jared Erondu at Unsplash.

 

The Art of Friendship: Exploring the Portland Museum of Art and the Laing Art Gallery With My Best Friend

Laing Art Gallery, Newcastle upon Tyne, England

Fran and I enjoy sharing our lives as much and as richly as possible. That’s not always easy, given that we live three thousand miles apart, but few things are out of scope if you approach them with a little creativity! We often meet on video calls while we’re out and about, either locally or when we’re on vacation. The sounds of traffic and bird song. The trees and flowers, houses and gardens. Public transport and passers-by. All these and more take on a fresh vitality when shared with a friend, especially one who lives on the other side of the world. In this post I‘d like to share visits we‘ve made to the keynote art galleries in our respective cities: Portland‘s Museum of Art, and the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle upon Tyne.

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Robert Indiana's Seven outside Portland Museum of Art, Portland, Maine

The Portland Museum of Art

Earlier this year, Fran took me to visit the Portland Museum of Art. It wasn’t the first time we’ve visited an art gallery together, but it was my first time at the PMA. Fran showed me most of the exhibits. I enjoyed the wide range of paintings, including land and seascapes such as Georges Island, Penobscot Bay, Maine by Newell Convers Wyeth, and the drama of Winslow Homer’s Weatherbeaten. No less interesting were more modern pieces, such as Cheryle St Onge’s Untitled from the series Calling the Birds Home in which she documented her mother’s descent into dementia. Bernard Langlais’ collection of bird and fish sculptures brought our visit to a delightfully quirky close.

Bernard Langlais, Untitled

Outside, we paused to appreciate Robert Indiana’s impressive steel sculpture Seven. I was interested to see it because a few years ago Fran and I read The Isolation Artist, an account of Indiana’s final years at Vinalhaven in Maine, written by arts writer and storyteller Bob Keyes. Bob interviewed us in 2019 for the Maine Sunday Telegram to discuss our book and our experiences as long-distance friends.

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Laing Art Gallery, Newcastle upon Tyne, England

Laing Art Gallery

I was able to return the favour a few weeks later when I visited a new exhibition of work by English artist J. M. W. Turner at the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle. It was my first trip into the city in more than two years, apart from my covid jab late in 2022 and two opticians appointments last year. I made the most of the adventure, treating myself to breakfast at my favourite city coffee shop, and a drink down by the Quayside before heading home. The exhibition was the main focus of the day, though. I’ve been fascinated by Turner since watching Timothy Spall’s mesmerising performance in the title role of Mike Leith’s 2014 drama Mr Turner.

Because of the five hour time difference between Newcastle and Portland, I had chance to explore on my own before connecting with Fran. It’s fair to say that I was initially frustrated because it was difficult to get close to the keynote work The Fighting Temeraire due to gallery staff being filmed talking about the exhibition. I do think that could have been done before opening to the public! That said, there were plenty of other works to look at, and filming had completed by the time I went back with Fran. Note to self: maybe don’t go to a new exhibition on the first day, within an hour of the doors opening!

J. M. W. Turner, The Fighting Temeraire

The fact that I’d looked around first helped me describe some of the highlights and background to Fran. HMS Temeraire played a key role in the Battle of Trafalgar. Turner’s painting shows her at the end of her life, being towed up the Thames by a steam tug to be broken for scrap. The exhibition includes models of the ship made by prisoners of war.

Many of the paintings and sketches in the exhibition are on maritime themes, which connects Turner’s masterpiece with the north-east’s proud history of shipbuilding and seafaring. The Temeraire was built in Chatham, but the tugs which towed the ship to its final resting place were from this region. Her fame reflects the fact that she was the only ship mentioned by name in Vice Admiral Lord Collingwood’s despatch from Trafalgar after the battle. Collingwood was Nelson’s second-in-command. He was born in Newcastle and is commemorated by a striking monument at Tynemouth which overlooks the mouth of the river. The Laing houses Chris Killip’s photography exhibit The Last Ships which documents the decline of shipbuilding in the region in the 1970s and is well worth a visit.

John Martin, The Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah

I enjoyed taking Fran round the rest of the gallery too, pointing out pieces I knew from when I used to visit far more regularly. We sat to experience John Martin’s epic painting The Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. At the touch of a button, we were immersed in crashing sounds and flashing lights that echoed the thunder, lighting, and chaos depicted in the painting. Fran was fascinated by a large, intricately carved piece by Gerrard Robinson depicting a boar hunt. Nearby, I pointed out her silver Best Friend Award which, sadly, must remain in its display case as it’s too large for me to mail to her. (It’s possible the piece has a different provenance, but to me it will always be Fran’s Best Friend Award!)

Two powerful modern works engaged our attention. Shot Boy by Ken Currie is a tragic yet hauntingly beautiful painting which depicts the body and spirit of a teenaged boy killed in a firearms incident. Beside it hangs Dysphoria by local artist Lizzie Rowe. I’ve long been fascinated by this work. The large (8ft by 8ft) canvas is hung somewhat claustrophobically in a corner near one of the doors, which makes it difficult to study for any length of time without having to step aside to let people past. The vague frustration and unease this evokes is in keeping with the painting’s theme.

Lizzie Rowe, Dysphoria

Seeing the painting for the first time in years was made all the more poignant because the artist died in December 2023. While researching this post I came across a beautiful celebration of Lizzie Rowe’s life and work on Fiona Mcandrew’s Coffee Crafts and Chats YouTube channel. It’s clear that Lizzie was very well-loved. The tribute helped me feel I knew her just a little. It also reminded me of what Fran and I hope to portray in all we do: the importance of friendship, caring support, and connection.

Turner: Art, Industry and Nostalgia is on at the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle until September 7, 2024. Admission charges apply.

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Over to You

Being in a mutually supportive friendship isn’t just about being there for each other when times are hard. It’s about sharing the good things too! In this post l‘ve related two recent occasions where Fran and I spent time together despite living thousands of miles apart. We invite you to try it out, if you‘re not already doing so. We‘d love to hear your thoughts and experiences, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photos and video call screenshots by Martin Baker.

 

It's Time to Talk. But What If You Don't Want To?

Sometimes I don’t want to talk about it. Not to anyone. No one. No one at all. I just want to think about it on my own. Because it is mine. And no one else’s.

— Michael Rose

Falling this year on February 2, Time to Talk Day is one of several awareness days and events dedicated to countering the stigma surrounding mental health. We’re encouraged to open up to family, friends and colleagues about how we’re feeling, and to be there for others wanting to tell us how they’re doing.

These are laudable aims, and fully in keeping with the message Fran and I share in our book and in other writing here and elsewhere. We believe that keeping the channels of communication open is the single greatest contribution we can make to improving the acceptance of mental health issues, and keeping ourselves and those we love as well and as safe as possible.

But what if you don’t want to talk about what’s going on for you? What if our friends and loved ones don’t want to talk to us?

I consider myself a good listener and a supportive friend, but I’m far less adept at sharing my problems and issues. Even with people I trust and feel safe with, I find it hard to open up. It’s easier for me to express myself through my writing. Over the past year or so I’ve explored more of how I’ve been feeling in my weekly blog posts than ever before. Nevertheless, there are things I choose not to share publically. I discussed some of these in an article titled Write without Fear, Edit without Mercy: Eight Questions for the Honest Blogger. There are valid reasons for not sharing publically, of course. I recall mental health writer and coach Julie A. Fast counseling against writing about intensely personal issues and situations while you are in the middle of them. It’s wise advice.

A friend invited me recently to choose a song from my past that meant a great deal to me, and blog about how it made me feel. It was an invitation to be vulnerable and she offered to do the same, but I felt utterly unequal to the task. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her. I did and do. More fundamentally, I realised that I didn’t want to go there, either publically in a blog post or even with her privately. As I explored my feelings about the request, I realised that part of the reason I didn’t want to share was that the memories were intensely personal, and that part of their value to me was precisely that they were private.

I think we’d all agree there are things we want to keep to ourselves but where do we draw the line? Who gets to decide what we “should” share, and what we’re permitted to keep private? And what about the people we trust? Aren’t we supposed to open up to those we hold closest and most dear? Isn’t that a good thing to do? A healthy thing?

The premise of Time to Talk Day and similar initiatives is that sharing is good for our mental health. It can help to talk things over, and it allows us to ask for support, or to offer support to those we care about. If we don’t know our loved one is struggling, how can we help? If we keep our struggles to ourselves, how can anyone help us?

Talking is only one way of handling things, though. It can be an important tool in our wellness toolbox, but it’s more important that we have tools — and use them — than feel we must ask for help every time we start to struggle. My Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) includes a number of strategies that work for me. Keeping in touch with friends is crucial to my wellbeing, but when I’m starting to struggle I’m more likely to go for a walk or explore what’s happening in my personal journal than discuss it all with friends. It’s good knowing there are people I can talk to, but that’s not always what I want or need to do.

There might be any number of reasons why we’re unwilling or unable to talk about what we’re going through. The same is true for our friends and loved ones. Unless we know the person well, those reasons may be unknown to us. And that’s okay. That has to be okay.

We might feel that what we’re going through is too dreadful, shocking, personal, embarrassing, or shameful to share with someone else. On the other hand, we might feel we’re stressing over something too mundane or unimportant to bring to someone else’s attention, especially if they’re struggling themselves. This is something I often feel. I hold back from sharing with others because I imagine they have enough to deal with, without me adding to their burdens.

If it’s something we’ve struggled with repeatedly or for a long time, we might feel our friends will be bored at hearing the same old story. We might be bored with it ourselves, or sick of talking about it. If we discussed it with friends in the past and nothing changed, or we’ve found ourselves back in the same situation, it might seem there’s no point going over the same ground again.

Initiatives such as Time to Talk Day can give the impression that asking for help or talking about our problems is easy. As I wrote in a post for Time to Talk Day 2022, “[o]pening up to someone can be a scary thing to do. It requires a great deal of trust, and there’s no guarantee of a helpful or supportive response.”

We might be too low in energy — physically, mentally or emotionally — to reach out, even when we recognise it would be helpful to do so. This can be the case if we’re depressed, but other conditions can leave us incapable of reaching out, including chronic insomnia, stress, anxiety, or fatigue. Someone who scarcely has the energy to keep going may lack the resources to risk opening up to the wrong person.

I’m used to processing things over long periods of time, either in my own head or in my personal journal. My thoughts and feelings can seem too complex, diffuse, or vague to put into words so that someone else can understand what’s going on for me. The very effort of attempting to do so can put me off trying, especially if the situation seems one without any specific resolution or fix.

Paradoxically, a fear of clarity can also hold us back. Telling someone our problems and issues makes them real. We can no longer deny or ignore them. It’s like Schrödinger opening the box and discovering whether the cat inside is alive or dead. Discussing a situation can crystallise it out in ways that might not have happened if we’d kept things to ourselves. It’s false — and unkind — to suggest that talking things over will always lead to a positive or desirable outcome.

Telling someone brings the other person into our situation, so that they’re now also involved. That can be helpful and reassuring, but it’s also scary. We may be unsure of their reaction. Will they understand, or at least hear us without judgment? Will they jump in with fixes, or bombard us with stories and advice based on their own experience, without checking if that’s what we want?

Can they handle what we tell them? Will they keep the information to themselves? Years ago, a friend told me she felt unsafe talking to me about how badly she was doing. She feared I’d escalate things by alerting her family or emergency services. I explored some of these topics previously in A Friend’s Guide to Secrets.

Even when we trust the person to handle what we tell them, we may worry it will change our relationship permanently, over what might be a temporary problem or situation. We can’t unsay what we have said. Sometimes, I prefer to keep things to myself and deal with them in my own way, in my own time, rather than risk damaging a friendship by opening up.

That brings up another issue, which is having the right person to talk to at a given moment. Depending on what is going on for me, I might feel able to talk to this person but not that person, not because I trust them differently but simply because one is more likely to understand or help me than the other.

It’s important to recognise that a situation or topic may be too personal or triggering for someone to discuss. I once needed to share my concern about a friend’s situation, but had two people tell me they were unable to hear it because it was too triggering for them. I understood completely, but it’s another aspect of the “talk to someone” message that — ironically — is rarely talked about.

All these considerations raise questions of honesty, openness, and trust. Don’t we have a responsibility to be honest about what we’re going through? If we don’t talk, how will anyone know what we need? How can they help make things better if they don’t know we’re suffering? How can we help other people if they won’t talk to us?

In encouraging our friends and loved ones to reach out, we need to avoid pushing them into sharing more than they want or feel able to. The line between encouragement and coersion is subtle and can become blurred. It’s right to want the people we care about to be okay. It’s also natural to want to feel we’re doing all we can to help. It’s easy to cross that line, however, and push people to seek help in ways that appear valid to us, but may be unhelpful or inappropriate to the person concerned.

I can only imagine the pain of losing a loved one to suicide, but I do know how it feels when friends have hurt themselves or put themselves at risk. It’s natural to wish we’d been able to do more, but it’s easy to slip into believing we could have stopped it happening if only we’d known. And from there it’s a small step to blaming them — implicitly or explicitly — for not telling us what was going on or allowing us to save them.

The conversations I’ve had over the years with Fran and others who know the reality of living with mental health issues, including suicidal ideation, lead me to believe that pressure and guilt-tripping is only ever counterproductive, and may be counterprotective. It certainly wouldn’t encourage me to open up, if I found myself in that kind of situation.

With all that said, you might wonder why I choose to mark Time to Talk Day at all, or why Fran and I promote the value and importance of keeping the channels of communicating open. Talking is important, whether it’s talking with friends and family, or with doctors, therapists, counsellors, and other professionals. Having someone there we can open up to when we need to is powerfully protective, as is holding space so that others feel safe sharing with us, when they choose to.

It’s important to recognise, though, that talking isn’t always enough, and isn’t always what we most need. I’d like the message of Time to Talk Day to include a reminder not to put undue pressure on people — ourselves included — to talk if they don’t want to. Nor is it helpful to judge people if they can’t, if they choose to talk to other people instead of us, or if they have other ways of handling what they’re going through.

I’m going to close with a conversation I had with one of my friends in March, which in many ways inspired this post.

Martin: My latest blog went up today, about keeping secrets. I was pondering what to write about next. Possibly about some of the reasons someone might not want to talk to friends and others about how they are doing or feeling.

Roiben: There are lots of those.

Martin: Maybe too many to explore in a blog post.

Roiben: No, it’s a great idea. Especially if you can group them to enable people to stop and think. That can be a good thing to do sometimes, from both sides. Because if they are a friend, then that stop and think may help the friendship develop.

Martin: You mean from the perspective of the person sharing (or not sharing) and the person who might be there to listen?

Roiben: Yes. From the side of the listening friend so they understand why they may not be the go-to person right now, and that the space needed doesn’t mean they are not a friend. Also from the side of the person who is struggling, to help them understand why they are finding it hard to open up, as sometimes the reasons are automatically implemented as a reflex. If both sides can understand and respect the other side then their friendship will be stronger and more enduring for it.

Martin: You have given me a new perspective. Thank you.

I’m grateful to Roiben and the many other people whose thoughts and insights have contributed to my understanding. It’s an important topic, even if it has taken me ten months to bring my treatment of it to fruition.

Further Reading

Here are links to a few related posts which discuss supportive friendships, communication, and openness (or the lack of it).

• Supportive Disengagement: How to Be There for Your Friend When They Need Space
• Faking Fine: Why We Fib about How We Are
• Team Marty (Because No One Can Be Everything for Everyone)

For more information about Time to Talk Day, check out the Time to Talk and Rethink Mental Illness websites. If you or someone you know is struggling right now, we list a number of international crisis and support lines on our resources page.

Over to You

In this article I’ve explored some of the reasons we might have for not talking about what’s going on for us. I’ve endeavoured to include the perspective of those on the outside, who are willing to listen and to help but who may not be aware of what’s going on.

Have you ever wanted to talk to someone but felt unable or unwilling to do so? What were your reasons and how did you resolve them, if you did? How do you feel if you realise someone you care about didn’t confide in you about how they were feeling? Where does the responsibility lie for taking care of ourselves and others?

Fran and I would love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 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.

 

Let It Out! How to Vent Powerful Emotions Safely

Let it go, let it go.
Can't hold it back anymore.

(Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez. “Let It Go.”)

In a previous article I discussed three kinds of conversation you might encounter in a mutually caring relationship. I call these “My Turn, Your Turn,” “It Will Be Your Turn in a Minute,” and “I Need to Talk Right Now.” Each has its place but the third is arguably the most critical — and perilous — because we’re at our most vulnerable when we allow ourselves to share powerful emotions.

There are times when we want and need to just let the words flow, to “dump” (although I hate that expression), to express whatever it is we are feeling or thinking without being interrupted, questioned, or judged.

In this article I want to explore how to let the words flow — to vent — as safely and productively as possible.

Who, How, When, and Where

It goes without saying that it’s best to vent to someone you trust; someone who can hold space without judging you or trying to stem the flow of what you need to get out. Fran and I write about this kind of trust in our book High Tide, Low Tide:

We believe it is healthier to be open about our thoughts and feelings than to dismiss, hide, or avoid them. We share what is happening with us, discuss things if we need to, and then move on. In doing so, we hold a safe space where we can “let it all out.” We sometimes get upset or angry with each other, but we deal with discord promptly if it occurs, recognising there is no need to fear even powerful emotions when they can be explored safely.

It’s what Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh has called deep listening:

Deep listening simply means listening with compassion. Even if the other person is full of wrong perceptions, discrimination, blaming, judging, and criticizing, you are still capable of sitting quietly and listening, without interrupting, without reacting. Because you know that if you can listen like that, the other person will feel enormous relief. You remember that you are listening with only one purpose in mind: to give the other person a chance to express themselves, because up until now no one has taken the time to listen.

Of course, not everyone wants or needs to vent in person like this. I find it hard to share really strong emotions, even with Fran and other friends I trust and feel safe with. I’m more likely to process strong emotions by writing them out. I’ve kept a daily journal for the past forty-five years and if I don’t have it with me I take notes on my phone. Venting onto the page like this helps me let things out without necessarily bringing them to others who might be affected by what I’m going through. Journaling does carry the risk of disclosure, however, unless you can be certain your words — whether digital or written in a diary or notebook — are secure from being read by others.

When words elude me, walking helps. It’s particularly effective when I’m in a rage or overwhelmed by feelings of abandonment, worry, or anxiety. It doesn’t matter much where I’m walking; what matters is the physical exertion and movement.

When I’m happy, I walk. When I’m sad, or lonely or lost. When I’m hurting, or numb. When there’s too much to think about Or nothing on my mind. I walk.

Walking is so important to me that I included it in my Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP).

Be Clear About What’s Going On

If you’re opening up in person or someone is opening up to you, it’s important you both understand what’s going on. Clarity protects us from oversharing or overwhelm, or what Brené Brown calls floodlighting (not to be confused with gaslighting):

Oversharing? Not vulnerability; I call it floodlighting. ... A lot of times we share too much information as a way to protect us from vulnerability ...

Being clear about our needs gives the other person chance to make space and prepare themselves, or to say they’re unavailable if that’s the case. A close friend messaged me recently:

I could really do with a call. As soon as it is convenient for you if you don’t mind. I’m raging so will need to have the floor at first then it’s all yours!

I was grateful for the heads up. In those few words, my friend gave me the context and let me know how urgently my support was needed — as soon as possible but not necessarily immediately. I cleared space to take her call and was able to hold space from the start without engaging in small talk or asking unnecessary questions. On this occasion, I was aware of the back story but I try not to anticipate what — or why — someone needs to share with me. Fran rarely gives me a heads up but I’ve learned to let her lead when we start our calls in case there’s something she urgently needs to share.

As Long As It Takes

Anger is perhaps the emotion we most commonly need to vent, or that someone might need to vent to us, but it might be any strong emotion such as anxiety, frustration, resentment, despair, jealousy, or envy. Venting safely can form part of a protective strategy which allows us to acknowledge the emotion for what it is without acting in unhelpful or unhealthy ways.

Bipolar anger is a common experience for many who live with the disorder. One friend described it as “bipolar’s go-to emotion.” That might sound like abrogating responsibility, but I find the description helpful. It conveys how hard it can be to handle a triggered response and engage more “reasonably.” My friend takes herself out of the triggering situation if possible. Having someone to vent to — whether in person or on the phone — allows her to handle her anger safely until it has passed.

Holding space for someone in this way can take anything from a few minutes to an hour or so. While my friend is talking I try not to interrupt her, ask too many questions, or offer suggestions. After ten or twenty minutes the flush of anger has passed. She is calmer and can focus more clearly on what needs to happen next.

These days, it’s rare for Fran to vent anger in this way, although it’s happened in the past, particularly when she has been in mania. More usually, it’s frustration at her life situation or something that’s happened within her immediate circle of friends. Letting go might fill one or more of our twice-daily calls. Some deep-seated issues have seen me holding space for up to an hour or so every day for several weeks.

It’s similar when I’m venting to myself in my journal. I might “write it out” for half an hour or so at a time, then set it aside and return to it later if necessary. This might continue over a period of days or weeks if the situation keeps recurring.

Moving Forward

Venting can help us move safely through overwhelming emotion, but it is not a fix for whatever condition, situation, or trigger brought us to crisis in the first place. It might be a one-off, an occasional occurrence, or part of an ongoing pattern. If you’ve held space for someone, consider offering your support in the future. Knowing there’s someone who will listen no matter what you’re going through without judging you or insisting on “fixing things” can be extraordinarily reassuring.

Be the person who won’t turn away when your friend or loved one needs to vent. I’d go so far as to say it’s the single most powerful thing you can do to help someone deal with whatever they’re going through.

 

Photo by Jason Rosewell on Unsplash

 

A Postcard from My Lockdown Vacation

I don’t take vacations away from my friends. I take them with me!

If not for coronavirus this would be the final day of my week away at the cottage in Langrigg, Cumbria. I’d be having lunch somewhere, quite possibly the Beehive Inn at Eamont Bridge. Veggie lasagne and chips, and a half-pint of something. Instead, I’m sitting in my garden at home.

The cottage booking was cancelled, of course. Hire car too. Instead of a week visiting places up and down the east coast — Holy Island, Bamburgh, Alnwick Garden, Morpeth, Belsay, Blyth — and a week in the Lake District, I’ve spent the fortnight at home in lockdown. No car. No trips out. No visiting friends and family. A weekly walk to the supermarket for groceries. Occasional visits to the local corner shop. My daily walk for exercise. The house. The garden.

Before the holiday I’d had three weeks working from home. That wasn’t easy and I’m not looking forward to getting back to it. It was all so new, strange, and scary. The country — indeed much of the world — in lockdown and no idea how long our lives would be put on hold. It’s the end of the fifth week of lockdown here in the UK and to use an overworked phrase it has become the new normal.

But five weeks and one staycation in, I can honestly say I’m doing okay. As I write that I feel a sense of embarrassment. Guilt. Shame, even. How can I be “doing okay”? This is a global pandemic. People are getting sick and dying every day. Many have lost jobs, homes, loved ones. Education at all levels is in stasis. Parents are trying to keep their children safe, entertained and learning while dealing with their own issues. People are short — some desperately so — of money, food, and hope.

And here I am, on the final day of what has turned out to be a rewarding and peaceful fortnight at home.

I’m aware of how privileged my situation is. I may not want to go back to work on Monday but I have a job to go to that is as secure as any are these days. I’m healthy and not in need of anything essential. I’m classed as a key worker and I know I’m playing my part but like many others, I wonder if I’m doing enough.

One of my best friends enrolled for the NHS Volunteer Responder scheme and has been supporting people from home while she is in isolation. I considered doing the same but it would mean pulling back from the friends and loved ones I’m already supporting — and who support me — on a daily basis, pandemic or not.

I’ve written elsewhere about how important it is to me, and for me, to keep in close touch with people. As well as — hopefully — helping others navigate these times, it’s vital to my wellbeing. I’ve shared photos from my holiday on social media as I would have done if I’d been out and about each day visiting familiar and new places. It’s been a challenge at times to find things to photograph about the house or in the garden or on my daily walk, but it’s also been fun. I think it’s honed my photographer’s eye, and brought to my attention things I might otherwise have overlooked.

I’ve made notes in my memory journal as I normally do on holiday and kept my regular diary of course. On the face of it, there’s not been a lot to record. Days in lockdown are inevitably similar but there have been some genuine highlights that have meant a great deal to me. I’ve especially enjoyed video calls with friends, sharing the sights and sounds on my evening walks, visits to the shops, and birdsong in the garden. In turn, friends have brought me into their homes, gardens, and lives.

These are simple things and I was sharing like this with people before coronavirus hit. But I think we’re all more aware now of what really matters to us, and are doing all we can to connect and stay connected. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, of course. Some of the conversations I’ve had recently have touched on darker themes including depression, anxiety, suicidality and self-harm; money and employment worries; concern for family, friends, and loved ones including beloved pets; healthcare; politics — and of course the pandemic itself. We must be able to acknowledge these and the emotions and thoughts that accompany them. Acknowledge them, and share with people we trust.

A friend told me this morning she’s keeping going by staying busy and supporting and encouraging others. Another friend described how she’d connected with someone whose story gave her the courage to share her own. Another supports her best friend, the way Fran and I are there for each other. Talking isn’t always enough, of course, and I look for other ways to help where I can.

I’d wondered if there was much point taking these two weeks of annual leave when I’d be stuck at home, but I’m glad I did. It’s been a valuable time for me. No matter how things go in the weeks and months ahead I will look back on this fortnight with gratitude. I always say I don’t take holidays away from my friends; I take them along with me. That’s never been more true than now. Thank you for being with me on my lockdown staycation.

 

"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