Only Partly Clueless: The Secret to Being a Supportive Friend

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

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

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

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

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

 

Photo by Emily Morter at Unsplash.

 

Five Reasons Being My Friend Means You Have Permission to Get Things Wrong

This blog post was inspired by a recent conversation with my friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson. We’d been chatting for a while when I asked for clarification about something she’d mentioned a few minutes earlier. Aimee replied, pointing out that she’d told me already. I thanked her and we continued chatting. I didn’t think any more about it until she messaged me back a little later.

Are you angry I told you I’d already said something you asked about?

No! I can’t really imagine you doing something that would make me angry! (This is not a challenge to you lol)

Hahaha kinda took that as a dare.

I thought you might!

That little exchange is typical of our friendship, with its mix of respect, care, and humour. On reflection, what I told Aimee was incorrect. I can imagine her upsetting me or making me angry. It’s happened before, just as there’ve been times when I’ve upset or angered her. What I meant was — and I know Aimee understood perfectly — on this occasion you didn’t upset me at all, but even if you had, it would be okay. We’d be okay. The idea that being friends with someone gives you both permission to get things wrong is something I’ve long believed but haven’t really explored. Here, in no particular order, are five reasons I believe this is true and what it means.

I Trust You Not to Hurt Me Deliberately

For me there’s a big difference between issues that arise between friends and those that arise with people outside my friendship bubble. The same hurtful thing might be said or done, but with friends I trust that they didn’t intend to upset me. Being friends doesn’t mean I trust you to never hurt me. It means I trust you not to do so deliberately or carelessly. With friends, my default is to assume no harm was intended.

No One Is Perfect

If two people are close, honest, and open with each other there are going to be times when something’s said or done that the other person doesn’t like or takes exception to. I don’t enjoy upset and conflict but I’ve learned that it’s okay to feel frustrated, cross, or even angry. Upset isn’t something to fear or run away from. I spent much of my adult life afraid of anger and upset, but that’s not a healthy attitude. Turning a blind eye to how we feel means irritating attitudes or behaviour go unchallenged and unresolved. Walking on eggshells isn’t fun, as anyone who’s been in that kind of situation knows. Accepting that no one is perfect is far more honest and ultimately more healthy.

Not Every Upset Is a Big Deal

Giving my friends permission to upset me doesn’t mean I can’t challenge them about it. It actually makes it easier to do so because I trust that challenging them won’t put our friendship at risk. I get to decide whether I want to do so, when, and in what way. It’s tempting to believe that being honest means challenging every little slight and disagreement, but that’s refusing to take responsibility for our reactions. More often than not, what happened was innocuous and doesn’t need me to challenge it at all. Maybe my friend spoke a little thoughtlessly. Maybe they were too caught up in their own situation to fully pay attention to mine. Maybe it was a simple misunderstanding or momentary lapse. In such situations, I can acknowledge that my upset reaction is valid without needing to do anything about it. I can take a deep breath, “drop the hot coal” (a lesson I learned from Fran) and move on.

A Red Line Is Still a Red Line

All that said, friendship means respecting boundaries. Sometimes, challenge is appropriate and necessary. I don’t do this very often, because it’s rare for my close friends to cross my red lines, but I have done so in the past and reserve the right to do so again. It’s important not to think of such challenges as a problem or a failure. Bumping each other’s boundaries — and even crossing them at times — is inevitable and healthy. It’s the only way you can discover where and what they are. It’s never fun to be told you got it wrong, but I want and need my friends to challenge me where my attitude or behaviour has crossed their red lines. If you take it in that way it can be a positive experience, for you personally and for your friendship. I’ve written in the past about a few occasions where I’ve got it wrong with friends including Fran and Aimee.

Our Friendship Is More Important to Me Than Our Disagreement

Every friendship — every relationship of any kind — has its ups and downs. Times where things are going brilliantly and times where either or both of you are struggling. Maybe you doubt whether the friendship is still working for you. Maybe you’ve moved on, or your friend has moved on without you. Maybe you’ve had a big argument or bust-up. I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with friendships adapting in response to change, or even coming to an end. Things happen. Life happens. But I also believe in the resilience of my friendships and their potential to weather difficulties and continue, stronger and more honest for having done so. My most valued friendships have survived break-ups and disagreements that appeared serious, even terminal, at the time. As Aimee said after one such moment in our friendship, “It wasn’t an argument, [really]. It was a misunderstanding. And I think it made us stronger.”

I want to be very clear that the “permission to get things wrong” I’m talking about does not include tolerating toxic or abusive behaviour, whether that’s psychological, physical, sexual, financial, or any other kind. If you are in that kind of situation or know someone who is, consider seeking professional help. The NHS provides information and support links for the UK. Wikipedia has an equivalent listing of global resources. If it is happening in your workplace, there should be a reporting process for bullying or harrassment.

Over to You

In this post I’ve talked about how being friends means granting each other permission to get it wrong sometimes. What do you feel about that? Do you agree? How do you approach disagreements and difficulties in your relationships? Do you find it easy to challenge other people’s behaviour or do you find yourself walking on eggshells, scared to bring issues into the open? How do you feel when friends challenge you on your behaviour? What are your personal red lines and boundaries? Fran and I would love to hear your thoughts, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Guilherme Gomes Dos Santos at Unsplash.

 

I'm Sure I Was Somewhere. Do I Get a T-Shirt?

What if you were there already and didn’t realise because there was no big red YOU ARE HERE arrow on the map; no neon sign or text alert saying “This is it. You’ve reached that place the others were talking about.” There should be a kiosk selling BEEN THERE T-shirts or badges. Then you’d know. And others would know too.

They say if you’ve never experienced something for yourself, you can’t understand what it’s like. I get the point, but it’s not precise enough for me. How similar must my experience be to yours, for me to understand what you’ve been through? Exactly the same? Somewhat similar? Who gets to decide?

This is not a trivial question. Depending on the circumstance, it can affect friendships and other relationships. In the health sphere, it can affect access to services, care, and support. Peer support in particular is predicated on the concept of shared experience:

Peer support brings together people with shared experiences, and these experiences can vary. For example, you might share a diagnosis of a particular mental health problem or similar personal interests. Or you may have shared experiences, such as hearing voices, identifying as LGBTIQ+ or having a shared cultural background. (Mind)

What counts as shared experience, though? Some things are pretty black and white. Redundancy. Marital breakup. Homelessness. Sexual or physical abuse. The death of a spouse or child. These have either happened to you or they haven’t. But not everything in life is as clear cut as that, mental illness included. Even if you’ve experienced something, does that automatically mean you understand how it would be for someone else?

The “What if you were there and didn’t realise” paragraph at the top of this post came to me as I was thinking about how low I’ve felt of late. Looking through my journal, there are things I’m used to hearing from others, but have rarely felt — and even more rarely expressed. Have I just been feeling low or is it something more serious? I tend to assume my experiences, dark moods included, scarcely register compared with what others go through. But what if I’ve reached somewhere they would recognise. How would I know?

Frequent readers of this blog might answer on my behalf. Talk to someone you trust, Marty. Share how you’re feeling. Above all, believe that your experiences and feelings matter and are as valid as anyone else’s. I smile as I write that. I love having my own words and ideas bounced back to me! Good friends do that. Sharing can certainly help. It’s the basis of the friendship Fran and I have grown over the past ten years. Above and beyond the value of having a safe space in which to vent, sharing helps us baseline what we’re going through. It can be profoundly validating.

Sharing also allows the other person into our world. This is important because it addresses a question I’m sometimes asked about me and Fran: “If you’ve never been depressed or manic, how can you know what it’s like?” Fundamentally, I can’t know what it’s like, and it’s important I never lose sight of that. There are certain advantages to not understanding another person’s situation, but an informed awareness of what it means to live with illness helps me support Fran more effectively. As I’ve written elsewhere:

With that in mind, I try and learn as much as possible, by talking with Fran and with others, by reading widely and by taking all the training courses I can find. I work on the basis that Fran is doing her best to share with me the reality of her situation, and share my own understanding with her. In this way we honour each other and grow together.

Some experiences are too powerful or devastating to comprehend unless you’ve lived through something similar. I can listen to someone’s story of abuse or rape, for example, but I’ve experienced nothing that even approximates to what they’ve been through. A friend expressed it perfectly:

If I met someone and we talked about trauma, I can acknowledge their experience but not much more, other than hold space. I need to respect their journey. I can empathize but do I truly understand that experience? I don’t think so.

Furthermore, everyone responds to events differently and is affected differently by them. Another friend told me she knew of others who’d gone through what she had in the past, but that didn’t mean they’d had the same experiences.

In the mental health arena, a clinical diagnosis is the closest thing to a BEEN THERE badge or t-shirt, because it implies a certain shared history, symptoms, or behaviours. People with the same diagnosis may also have medications, therapy, or other treatments in common. My friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson was originally diagnosed with all nine criteria for borderline personality disorder (BPD). She says this gave her insight into others she’s met who satisfied fewer criteria when they were diagnosed. (A diagnosis of BPD can usually be made if you answer “yes” to five or more of nine questions.)

Even so, two people diagnosed with the same mental health condition will experience it differently. Aimee is the only person I know well who has a diagnosis of BPD, but I have three friends diagnosed with bipolar disorder and their lives are impacted very differently by it. Knowing Fran’s support needs, for example, doesn’t mean I necessarily know what my other friends need. I consider myself fortunate that I have a broader awareness of what bipolar disorder can mean for someone, from seeing how it affects these friends in different ways.

A word of caution is needed when it comes to sharing. Oversharing, or sharing inappropriately, risks overwhelm and rejection. Having someone’s unexpurgated experience thrust in your face can be unnerving, awkward, or even triggering, as a friend of mine discovered recently. She agreed with me, however, on the principle of shared experience. In her words: “The idea that to be empathetic we have to have gone through the exact same thing as someone else is unrealistic, really. It can be helpful and make for a stronger connection, but it’s not necessary.”

Returning to my original “what if you were there” scenario, there’s no certain way of knowing where we are. No YOU ARE HERE sign painted on a wall or the pavement. No GPS coordinates or what3words address we can share so others can say “Ah yes, I’ve been there too,” or find us if we lose our way. All is not lost, however. We can talk to the people we meet along the way. We can compare itineraries and histories, exchange contact details and do our best to keep in touch when our paths diverge. And if there’s no T-shirt stand, maybe this one will do.

 

Photo by Fallon Michael on Unsplash

 

How To Understand People and Be Understood

One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship is to understand and to be understood.
(Seneca)

Someone once told me we have no right to expect others to understand us. She was adamant about that. Angry, almost, that anyone could imagine otherwise. The most we can expect, she said, was to be heard. I was reminded of this recently when a close friend said it felt like I didn't know her at all. I got to thinking about what it means to know someone or be known by them.

To Know or to Understand?

What exactly do we mean by knowing or understanding one another? Is there a difference between knowing someone and understanding them? Ephrat Livni drew a distinction in his article It’s better to understand something than to know it:

“Knowing” and “understanding” are related concepts, but they’re not the same. Each is a distinct mental state involving cognitive grasp: Knowing is static, referring to discrete facts, while understanding is active, describing the ability to analyze and place those facts in context to form a big picture.

Livni was discussing these concepts in a business and scientific context, but I think the distinction is useful when we’re thinking about our awareness of ourselves and others. Our friendships and relationships are not static things we can ever fully grasp or know. They are dynamic. They wax and wane over time. They deepen as we learn more about each other. Sometimes they fracture or end. They may pause or stall for a time but their nature is to change. The same applies to us as individuals.

We might seek to know each other at any point in time, but for me, the fundamental need is to be understood at a deeper level. Our lives are incredibly complex and interlinked, and our understanding can only ever be partial, Nevertheless, it is this yearning that underpins our need to understand and to be understood, and our pain when that need is unmet.

Is It a Healthy Need?

I disagree with the person who said we’ve no right to expect understanding from others, but am I right? Is it a healthy need? The Center for Nonviolent Communication (CNVC) includes the need to understand others and be understood in its needs inventory. I’m no means an expert but NVC’s approach to communication makes a lot of sense to me. Fran and I have used it when we’re exploring issues that arise between us or with others. Ralph Nichols, “Father of Listening” and author of Are You Listening, went further. He claimed “The most basic of all human needs is the need to understand and be understood. The best way to understand people is to listen to them.”

What Do We Want People to Understand about Us?

A few months ago a friend asked me twenty questions she’d found in an online “How Well Do You Know Me” quiz. It was fun and we had a good laugh at some of the questions — and my answers! I surprised myself actually, in getting more right than I’d imagined. Understanding is more than a game of twenty questions, though. What do we want others to understand about us? It will be different for everyone but here’s what I’d like people to understand about me.

• My likes and dislikes
• My values and red lines
• My plans, hopes, and dreams
• My issues and triggers
• What scares and delights me, what makes me smile and cry
• What I need when I’m sad or struggling

It may be a tall order to expect someone to understand me on so many levels, although Fran comes close. On the other hand, I believe it is possible to have people who understand certain aspects of me really well. What counts is whether someone is willing to engage, to learn, and understand — and allow me to do the same. Taylor Swift captures this commitment in her song Stay Stay Stay:

You took the time to memorize me
My fears, my hopes and dreams

It’s worth remembering that no matter how close the relationship there will always be things we choose not to share; aspects of ourselves and our lives we wish to hold secret from most, if not all, others.

What Does It Take to Be Understood?

We can’t hope to understand or be understood if we’re not prepared to truly communicate; in NVC terms, to listen with empathy and express ourselves honestly. We all like to imagine we’re open and honest with everyone, but this is perilous work and not to be undertaken lightly. Allowing people in close requires trust and courage, and the more we engage the more vulnerable we make ourselves. Psychoanalyst Thomas Moore describes this well in his book Care of the Soul:

We need people in our lives with whom we can be as open as possible. To have real conversations with people may seem like such a simple, obvious suggestion, but it involves courage and risk.

It’s very important who we choose to open up to, as Brené Brown makes clear in her book Daring Greatly:

You cannot be vulnerable with everyone. It is important to build trust and boundaries before being vulnerable. Otherwise, more times than ever, you will end up getting betrayed and hurt.

This is especially true where experience has taught us not to let people in too close as a defence against betrayal, abandonment, and loss. Psychic and life coach Jamila White expresses this powerfully in her piece Ultra-independence is a trust issue:

You learned along the way that you just couldn’t really trust people. Or that you could trust people, but only up to a certain point.

Even without such issues, connecting clearly and cleanly is not as straightforward as we sometimes imagine it to be, as Fran and I discuss in our book High Tide, Low Tide.

Perhaps the greatest obstacle to communicating effectively is the belief it should be easy. When you think about it, it is amazing anyone manages to communicate anything meaningful at all. Each of us has our unique mix of thoughts and feelings, hopes, fears, joys, pains, plans, worries, and views about how the world works. We scarcely understand them ourselves, yet we hope to share them with someone who has their own mix to contend with. And the only tools we have are the sounds we can utter, and the marks we can make on paper or a computer screen. It is no wonder we struggle at times!

Given the potential for misunderstanding and hurt, why do we risk it? Why do we want to be understood at all? This can only be a personal thing but for me there is a deep joy in feeling known in the moment, and understood at a more fundamental level. It’s expressed beautifully in an anonymous quotation which inspired a previous blog post of mine.

Imagine meeting someone who wanted to learn your past not to punish you, but to understand how you needed to be loved.

The fact that this understanding can only ever be partial and temporary doesn’t lessen the reward. On the contrary, it deepens it. The gap between what I understand of myself and what my friend understands of me is fertile ground. Any difficulties that come up are part of the journey towards understanding, rather than problems to be avoided or shunned.

It’s worth saying that being understood can be uncomfortable. My friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson shared this with me recently:

I feel like you know me through and through, Marty. Sometimes that’s annoying and I don’t like it, but ultimately I think it helps our friendship.

In what way is it annoying?

It’s like if I say something and you’ll be like “I thought so.” I’m in no way saying I don’t want you to do that anymore, just that in a funny way I’m like “fs he knows me so well.”

I find it disconcerting when someone can tell how I’m feeling before I’ve told them, sometimes before I’m fully aware of it myself. Fran does this a lot and it’s not always what I need, especially if I’m faking fine — pretending I’m doing better than I actually am.

Getting it Wrong

Understanding someone doesn’t mean never getting it wrong. In fact, we’re more likely to get it wrong with people we feel we understand because we tend to act on the basis of what we know, or believe we know. That’s what happened with me and my friend who said it felt like I didn’t know her at all. We’ve moved forward since then, but it was a valuable reminder not to become complacent or assume I understand people better than I actually do.

Another friend contacted me the other day. She wanted to talk but I was working from home and couldn’t pay her the full attention she needed. I told her so and we agreed to see how we got on, but it didn’t work and we soon ran aground. She messaged me later:

Understanding is hard and requires patience, which is in short order these days. To understand and be understood takes time. It’s [about] understanding when your friend has a lot to do, and also understanding when your friend is three days without sleep. It’s picking up on cues that can be silent, and not missing much when you’re with your friends …

Although unpleasant, mistakes like these can be valuable because they offer the opportunity to grow in understanding. I’ve written in the past about other occasions when I’ve worked through disagreements and issues honestly with friends. Aimee and I have had our share of misunderstandings, but we’ve been honest about them and emerged stronger:

I’m not sure if you agree, Aimee, but I’d say we understand there are times we will get it wrong, and that’s OK. It might not feel OK at the time but it will be when we are able to step back a little.

Definitely! And I think more and more we’re learning not to feel like total failures if we do get it wrong, and not blame one another for it.

I’ll close with another short passage from High Tide, Low Tide. Fran and I believe profoundly that the secret to understanding is honest and ongoing communication.

Approach your friend on the basis that you are each doing the best you can. Be gentle with yourself and with each other when things are not flowing well, and celebrate when they are. Good or bad, keep the channels open.

Do you feel understood by your friends and loved ones? Do you have a good understanding of those you’re close to? If not, you wish you did? Fran and I would love to hear from you.

 

Afterword

Writing this article has made me realise how fortunate I am to have friends who understand me — not perfectly, perhaps, but well. They understand what makes me who I am; the things that are important to me, my hang-ups, frailties, and strengths. They get it wrong with me sometimes, of course, just as I get it wrong with them. But they get me, and that’s a really good feeling. Oh, and the person who told me we’ve no right to expect others to understand us? Ironically, she believed she had a really good handle on who I was. She was invariably wrong.

 

Photo by Diego Sanchez on Unsplash

Where the Magic Happens: A Few Thoughts on Friendship, Difference, and Understanding

“Friend, how did we come here down such different roads?” (Martin Baker)

I’ve always delighted in the differences between people. The gaps in thinking, experience, and outlook offer enormous potential for growth, learning, and understanding. They are where the magic happens. This isn’t always easy, of course. No matter how much we care, significant differences in attitudes and opinion can get in the way of communicating effectively. It takes patience and commitment on both sides to handle difference creatively but I believe it’s possible if both parties are open to doing so.

Difference manifests in many areas of our lives. The following differences (and more) may be present in any given relationship.

Differences in age, gender, and sexual orientation; nationality, race, and culture; marital status; wellness and illness; financial and material security; education, skills, and abilities; life experience; worldview, political and religious beliefs; employment status and history.

It’s largely on the basis of such information that we make up our minds about other people and they make up their minds about us. It’s how we describe ourselves to a new friend or on our resume. The greater the match between our profiles the more at ease we feel. Conversely, too great a mismatch can put us off and get in the way of exploring deeper. If so, we are missing out, because this kind of information says very little about us as people. We rarely describe or introduce ourselves in ways that reveal our true selves, at least not up front or all at once.

Hi! I’m Marty. I get a bit carried away by new people sometimes so you might want to watch out for that but I’m a loyal friend. I didn’t know how to cry for most of my adult life but these days I cry easily so bring tissues! I have come a long way but I haven’t stopped growing, or learning, yet. I value honesty and openness and being called out on my shit so if you’re good with that let’s grab a coffee!

If we shared this kind of information more readily — our frailties, our fears, what delights and motivates us (who we are rather than what we do or what we have) — we’d see we have more in common with one another than we might otherwise realise, and begin to see the potential for understanding that our differences represent.

I believe this is what Fran detected early in our friendship:

“Fran, I have never thought of you as someone with bipolar or chronic fatigue or fibromyalgia, just as you.”

“And that is the point! It’s how you are with me. You treat me no less. People do not treat me that way once they know I have illness. It is a powerful thing. And it has helped me see how I am. That I am not just my illness, I have value and gifts to give.”

She didn’t mean, of course, that I was blind to her illnesses or their impact. They represented — and represent — significant differences between us as friends and between the life Fran lives and the life she would prefer to live. But difference of any kind does not define us, and whilst it can be a source of misunderstanding, complication and difficulty, it can also provide an opportunity for exploration, awareness and growth.

 

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash.

 

It's Okay If You Don't Know How to Help Me

Came to you with a broken faith.
Gave me more than a hand to hold.
Caught before I hit the ground.
Tell me I’m safe, you’ve got me now.

(Jess Glynne, “Take Me Home”)

Listening to Spotify recently I came across Take Me Home by Jess Glynne. In the artist’s words, “This is a song about the need to have someone who cares when you are at your most vulnerable.” I’m fortunate to have people like that in my life. People who are there for me and allow me to be there for them. You might imagine this kind of support means always knowing how to help, but that’s not the case at all.

It feels good when you’re able to offer what someone needs; be that words of comfort or advice, or practical assistance. But there are times when you will have neither the words nor any clear idea of what to do. It is important to recognise and accept when this happens without feeling a failure to yourself or the person you want to help. As I’ve written elsewhere:

Don’t feel paralysed or useless if you can’t think of anything that could possibly help. If you are present and engaged, you are helping. Often, that is precisely — and all — that is needed. You’d be surprised how rare a gift holding space for someone can be.

The same applies when you’re the one in need of support. I’ve been feeling low for a while now. A number of things are contributing to this; chief amongst them is a deep-seated uncertainty about what direction to move in career-wise. A good friend of mine, mental health blogger Aimee Wilson, messaged me after I’d told her I wasn’t doing too well.

“Are you still struggling, Marty?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Want to talk about it or no?”

I appreciated the gentle way she invited me to share. Nevertheless, I hesitated. I wondered what she might think if I unburdened myself about something I’d previously only mentioned to her in passing. I needed to share with someone, though and took the plunge. Aimee waited while I explained how the workplace role I’ve held for decades is coming to an end. There are opportunities to retrain but a new technical role isn’t what I want at this point in my life and career. The mental health and wellbeing work I’ve been involved in over the past two years interests me far more but there are no full-time positions of that kind where I work. I stopped typing and waited for Aimee’s reply.

“I won’t pretend that I understand the work side of your struggle but the little bit you said on mental health ... I think that as long as you aren’t pretending that you know how the service user feels and are always advising from your carer’s insight then you definitely know what you’re talking about. If I met someone struggling with their carer role then I’d definitely pass them on to you. I’m that confident that you understand and it’s something you’re very good at.”

I agreed with what Aimee said. I’m a mental health first aider. I’ve had many people tell me I’ve helped them, including carers who support friends and relatives. The book I wrote with Fran has received some great feedback. The problem is I don’t know how to turn this into a paid role in the workplace. We continued chatting and Aimee suggested a few options I might explore.

“Aimee, thanks for asking how I am. I’m pretty much at sea career-wise right now and your support makes a difference.”

“Glad I can be helpful! It’s that thing again about not wanting the friendship to be one-sided. I want you to know that as much as you’re there for me, I’m here for you.”

I knew what she meant. It’s important to both of us that our friendship is mutually supportive. That doesn’t mean things are equal all the time but in any healthy friendship there is balance and the trust that each can rely on the other. On this occasion, Aimee knew just what to say. She invited me to share if I was ready and offered support and encouragement. A few days later I checked in with her and asked how things were going. She said she was okay. There was a pause, then she asked:

“Are you okay, Marty?”

“Not so great.”

“Why?”

“The work thing, mostly. I feel really stuck.”

There was another short pause, then:

“I don’t know how else to help.”

It was an admission that in another context might have seemed like failure. Maybe Aimee felt it that way. But I reassured her that she was helping because she cared. I messaged her the next day:

“Thank you for checking in with me last night. In a funny way, you saying you didn’t know how else to help really helped. Because what it said to me was, ‘I don’t know what to do or say right now, Marty, but I’m here.’”

There have been plenty of times when I’ve not known how to help Aimee. We were out one day last year when Aimee was suddenly taken with excruciating pain. We spent five and a half hours at the hospital A&E department while nurses and doctors attempted to deal with Aimee’s pain and establish what was going on. There was very little I could do to help. If I'm honest I felt pretty useless. I remember saying, “I wish I could take the pain away, Aimee, but I can’t so I’ll do what I can.”

She wasn’t up to talking much until the pain was brought under control but I sat with her. Asked the medical staff for updates when they seemed to have forgotten us. Watched Grey’s Anatomy with her on her iPad. At one point she was concerned that the battery pack for her phone and iPad would run out of charge if she had to stay overnight, and she didn’t have her plug-in charger.

“If they keep you in, Aimee, I’ll lend you mine.” I paused for effect. “That's how much I love you!”

I was rewarded with a smile, which was a blessing in the circumstances.

I want to close with an excerpt from High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend's Guide to Bipolar Disorder which I wrote with my best friend and co-author Fran Houston:

The most important role you can fill is that of someone your friend can rely on, feel safe with, and trust to be always there. Fran has friends “who are designated to be the string of my balloon.” We keep her grounded in times of mania and prevent her from sinking too deeply when she is in depression.

It is a cornerstone of our friendship that I am available for Fran no matter what is happening. We have spent many hours together when she has felt depressed, manic, anxious, afraid, or suicidal. There is little I can do to help on a practical level, but I can listen and talk with her. Above all, I can simply be there so that she knows she is not alone.

I think that says it pretty well. It’s okay if you don’t always know what to do or how to help. Of course, it’s also okay to ask your friend or loved one what they need!

 

Have there been times when you wanted to help someone but didn’t know what to do or say? Have you asked for help but the person you asked didn’t know how? How did it feel? Was it a problem for you and the other person? Fran and I would love to hear from you so please leave a comment.

#TimeToTalk: Thank You for Not Assuming I'm OK

This year’s Time to Talk Day is Thursday February 6, 2020.

I wrote recently about feeling flat which is something that happens from time to time. Many of my friends live with significant mental health issues and it would be easy for them to dismiss my accounts of when I am feeling low. It is a testament to them and the nature of our friendships that I feel safe sharing how I feel no matter how mild that might be compared to what are often dealing with.

My friend Aimee Wilson blogs at I’m NOT Disordered about her lived experience with serious mental health issues including borderline personality disorder, self-harm, and suicidality. My moods, issues, and problems are mostly trivial in comparison to hers but Aimee has always treated me with respect and empathy. The following exchange is a great example of this. It meant a lot that she did not assume I was okay but checked to be sure.

Martin: Hiya. I’m making some notes towards answering the questions at the end of your travel post. The ALL THINGS TRAVEL & MENTAL HEALTH one.

Aimee: Awesome! Some very big questions!

Martin: I was feeling a bit flat this morning actually, so this new piece inspired by yours has given me a little boost.

Aimee: Why flat?

Martin: Dunno exactly. Getting bogged down with the writing is part of it (but also the writing gets stuck when I’m not feeling so great so it’s not always clear what’s going on).

Aimee: Catch 22?

Martin: Definitely. I’ve come to recognise that I get this way every now and again. It mostly passes in a day or so.

Aimee: Hmmm. I guess rough days are kinda normal. It’s hard because being in mental health I hear things like that and instinctively think you’re struggling, but actually a lot of people have hard days and don’t have a mental health diagnosis. Just so long as you’re safe.

Martin: Thank you for not assuming I’m OK, if that makes sense.

Aimee: Of course! Just because you’re usually the support doesn’t mean you don’t need it yourself sometimes! And I’m here for you just as you are for me.

Martin: I feel better already! OK, I guess I’d better get some work done. Catch up later.

I checked back with Aimee a little later:

Martin: Our chat really helped motivate me and lift me from feeling low. Thank you.

Aimee: I’m glad it helped.

What Aimee did and said might seem simple — even commonplace — but it is precisely such “simple” conversations that are so important. As I’ve written elsewhere:

It’s extraordinarily valuable to me that I have several people who I know I can go to. I trust them and I trust myself with them. These are the people I know I’m safe with, that I can be vulnerable with if I’m feeling under the weather or something’s going on for me.

No matter who we are or what we are living with, we all need to feel that our feelings and problems are valid. It doesn’t take a lot to offer that sense of validation to someone. We can all do that. You can do that. Time to Change, the UK’s largest mental health campaign challenging stigma and discrimination has chosen the party game “Would you rather?” as the focus of this year’s Time to Talk Day, which is Thursday February 6, 2020.

Mental health problems affect one in four of us, yet too many people are made to feel isolated, ashamed and worthless because of this. Time to Talk Day encourages everyone to be more open about mental health – to talk, to listen, to change lives. We know that talking about mental health can feel awkward, but it doesn’t have to. This year, we’re using the popular game ‘Would you rather?’ to help break the ice and get the conversation flowing.

To get involved check out the Time to Change website. Share why you’re choosing to talk about mental health by using #TimeToTalk on your social media posts. Follow #TimeToTalk on Twitter and Instagram, and reply to and share posts.

 

Four Things It's Hard for a Mental Health Ally to Hear (And Why It's Important to Listen)

I’m going to talk about a few things said to me over the years by people who have what I do not: lived experience of mental illness.

They’ve been hard to hear but I’m grateful because I’ve learned something valuable each time.

“You don’t understand”

They say we all have mental health but as Fran and I describe in our book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder there’s a fundamental difference in experience between someone like Fran who lives with mental illness and someone like me who never has.

Well or ill, we are all people. Nevertheless, it is naive, disrespectful, and dangerous to downplay the impact illness has on those affected by it. Those who are ill […] have particular life experiences, perceptions, expectations, and needs. To use Fran’s terminology, she is the ill one in our relationship; I am the well one. Nothing more or less is implied by our use of these terms.

High Tide, Low Tide, Introduction

So when someone tells me I don’t understand what it’s like for them or I can’t help because of that gulf in understanding, it hurts precisely because I get it. How can I understand what Fran is going through when she is manic or in the depths of depression, or when suicidal “stinking thinking” plagues her? How can I empathise when another friend is hallucinating and is convinced reality is other than I perceive it to be? How can I know what it means to self-harm or overdose?

I can’t. Not really.

Rather than allowing myself the ego defence of hurt pride and self-righteous indignation I’ve learned to accept “you don’t understand” as a simple statement of fact. I can’t always join my friends where they are. And that’s okay.

I’ve also learned that although our perspectives are different – indeed because our perspectives are different – we can complement and learn from each other.

I am a better person for knowing Fran. I have a greater understanding of my strengths, values, weaknesses, and vulnerabilities than ever before. I have learned more about mental and invisible illness, suicidal thinking, stigma, determination, courage, and responsibility since we became friends than in the fifty years before we met.

High Tide, Low Tide, chapter 10, “A Life worth Living”

“Don’t be so bloody positive!”

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.

There are healthy aspects to it, of course. I can help Fran counter her illness-skewed thinking but I must never allow myself, consciously or unconsciously, to invalidate her experience or attempt to bully her out of her feelings. It also helps keep me grounded when those I care about are struggling. This is part of what my friend Aimee Wilson meant when she wrote, “I’ve seen how many people you support through social media. It’s inspiring to think of the strength you have in order to be there for so many people.”

I’m grateful to all who are patient with me as I open to a deeper understanding. 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 don’t need you right now”

For me, mutual caring is an essential part of any meaningful relationship. The word mutual is crucial. I may be the “well one” and Fran the “ill one” but we each have issues, hang-ups, and needs. We support and care for each other, and the same is true of my other key friendships. That’s not to say both people will give and receive equally all the time, as this anonymous quotation attests:

A relationship isn’t always 50/50. Some days your person will struggle. You suck it up and pick up that 80/20 because they need you. That’s love.

I would add — and sometimes your person will be doing okay and need less of your support, time, and energy. This is hard for me. In our early days as friends I’d react with fear and panic to any suggestion Fran was pulling away from me. It caught us both by surprise when it first happened. It took a while for me to acknowledge what was happening and accept that Fran needing less of my support didn’t threaten our friendship or mean she no longer cared about me. I’ve learned a lot about co-dependency since then but there’s no place for complacency and we remain vigilant.

Fran values the support of “well ones” when she is poorly but I also have friends for whom the opposite is true. When they’re struggling they’re more likely to seek professional help or reach out to people with comparable lived experience. This can be hard because I want to help too. One friend became understandably frustrated having to explain to me how things were for her when she was struggling and I offered to help. What she needed were friends who understood without having to ask. It was a painful lesson but one I hope I have taken on board. Aimee shared her perspective on this in a recent blog post:

I also wanted to say that if someone you know does have a mental health crisis and doesn’t reach out to you; don’t feel offended or useless. Other people aren’t usually the first place I turn in a mental health crisis — for many reasons — but I appreciate that there are a number of people in my life who could be so helpful at those times and I just don’t give them the chance. This isn’t anything against them.

What matters far more than my bruised ego is that the person finds those best placed to provide the care they need.

“Leave me alone”

Friends part sometimes. Relationships end. Where mental health appears to have played a part in the break-up it would be easy to justify myself by recalling how unreasonable their behaviour was, or how imbalanced the relationship had become. It would be easy — and untrue. I can’t think of a single friendship which ended for such reasons.

So what happened? As I wrote a few years ago, hardest for me is where the other person acted in their best interests by severing what had become for them a toxic connection:

A friend on Twitter shared a link today to her blog article about needing to let go of unhelpful, toxic people and relationships. Her words brought me face to face with the realisation that there have been times in my life when, for one reason or another, someone has needed to let go of me. It’s not an easy thing to admit to myself […] yet there are those who choose to remain distanced from me, and who would reject any attempt I might make at reconnecting. I must respect their need to do what they need to do, and to accept responsibility for my role in what has happened.

Not every friendship ends like that, of course. Sometimes it’s simply that the person’s needs or situation have changed. Perhaps they found others better suited to support them or they no longer need to rely on me as much as before. This can be hard to hear, especially if I’ve been doing my best and would like the opportunity to learn how to become the friend they need. Ultimately, though, it’s not my decision to make.

The most I can ask is that we part with honesty, in which case there need be no lasting guilt, recriminations, or regret on either side. I am grateful to those who have parted with me on such terms. We cannot be all things to all people.

Over to You

I’ve described some of the hardest things I’ve heard as a mental health ally. If you live with mental illness I would be interested to know your thoughts about what I’ve written. If like me you have no lived experience of mental illness but have friends or loved ones who do, what are the hardest things you’ve heard and what have you learned about yourself in the process?

 

I Wasn't Disappointed in You When

I wasn’t disappointed in you when your weight went up because you ate all the girl scout cookies. Although maybe it seemed that way when I suggested you throw them away or gift them to someone next time, and lectured you about average daily calories. As though that would fix your relationship with your body.

I wasn’t disappointed in you when you told me you cut yourself. Although maybe it seemed that way when I said remember I’m here. Don’t ever feel you’d be a burden or that I’d be too busy or asleep. As though I can make the demons go away.

I wasn’t disappointed in you when you went back to sleep after our prearranged wake-up call. Although maybe it seemed that way when I started calling a second time or a third to make sure you were up. As though your day starts better in my hands.

I wasn’t disappointed in you when you told me there’s no hope, no job, no friends for you so why bother trying. Although maybe it seemed that way when I pushed suggestions in your face you’d tried a hundred times before. As though my blazing positivity could make a difference this time.

I wasn’t disappointed in you. But maybe you were. And I didn’t honour that. I didn’t allow breathing space for that.

I need to sit with this a while.
Breathe it in. And out again.
Because I’m disappointed in me.

 

The Things That I Want A New Friend To Know

By Charlotte Underwood

Creating and maintaining new relationships is incredibly hard for me. I am so used to people leaving me or even taking advantage. It seems that it can prove a real task to find someone who is willing to take the time to listen, to understand and to develop something more than having you as the person they only talk to when they are bored or need advice. I do not think I am an amazing friend, I don’t see myself as a special person but I am someone who can see the way people respond to me. This is what I want them to know, if a friendship is to grow:

1. I Am Introverted

I am a born introvert, and while I certainly had better years with more confidence, I have always thrived in my own space. I like the quiet and emptiness of my own home sometimes. I get overwhelmed with social events, they exhaust me so please understand I need to recover. I don’t like phone calls and even messaging a person can stress me out. I know I am bad at replying but it’s not personal. My energy levels go up and down and some days I am more willing to go out than others. If I cancel, it’s likely not your fault, I just need to prevent a relapse. I am not a people person, I never will be, but my friends mean so much to me, even when I don’t show it.

2. I Have A Past

When we meet, you may recognize my name, you may remember my face. Maybe we have mutual friends or I was mentioned in your past. Please know that I do have a past, just like you do. I am not entirely proud of my actions but they happened and all I can do now is learn from them. I’ve not had an easy start to life, I still am trying to find settled seas, so when I act in a way that bothers you, or I offend you, talk to me and let me know. I have a lot of trauma to adjust to and recover from. It has shaped me and I fight back on it every day, but I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t judge me for my past and who it made me to be. I mean well and if you let me, I can show that you that I am more than what happened years or a decade ago.

3. I Am Still Human

I can be difficult sometimes because of my depression and anxiety. I may do or say things that you do not understand. I can be compulsive and erratic and need you more than you need me. But as much as I may have to fight the shackles of my mental illness, know that I am still human. I am still me. I am more than my bad choices, I am more than my relapses and I am more than the label that is attached to me. The only label that really matters, is that I am your friend and I intend to be a good one. Just know that real friends can see more than just the person on the outside.

I think the most important thing of all, is that I am loyal, I am empathic and I will give my friends everything they give to me and more; but it’s a two-way street and no relationship is worth harming either person’s mental health.

 

About the Author

Charlotte Underwood is a twenty-three year old from Norfolk, UK. She is a growing mental health advocate and writer who aims to inform and education on mental health. The goal is to be a friend to those in need. She believes no one should feel alone. Charlotte blogs at charlotteunderwoodauthor.com. You can also find her on Twitter and on Facebook.

 

Let’s Talk about Talking: Three Conversation Types for a Mutually Caring Relationship

I am grateful to Vikki Beat for our recent conversation at Caffe Nero which led to me writing this up.

It’s no secret that Fran and I spend a lot of time talking together but it took a while for me to recognise that not all conversations are the same. Different people have different ways of talking, of course, but aside from that there are distinct types of conversation depending on what the people involved need at the time. Here are three distinct types we have found useful. I’d love to know if they resonate for you – or if they don’t! Let’s talk!

“My Turn, Your Turn.”

This is the type of conversation that comes most naturally to me, whether face-to-face (in person or on a video call), on the telephone, or in online chat. It consists of short alternating exchanges, one person speaking for a moment or two then letting the other take a turn. It works well (at least for me) where you are “shooting the breeze”, making plans, or sharing things on a fairly surface-y level. What I had to learn is there are situations where it isn’t necessarily appropriate or helpful.

“It Will Be Your Turn in a Minute.”

The “my turn, your turn” approach doesn’t work for Fran if she is trying to share something detailed or important. From her point of view, my wanting to speak every minute or so means I am constantly interrupting her train of thought. Once interrupted, she finds it next to impossible to pick up again.

This was especially so early in our friendship when Fran was in mania. It was hard enough for her to slow her thoughts to a pace and into an order where she could share them with someone else. She needed me to let her speak for a while without interrupting. Then I could take my turn, whether to comment on what she had shared, ask a question, or take things in a new direction.

This felt very unnatural to me at first – and I still find it hard sometimes – but I’ve learned that slowing things down like this (essentially conversing in short monologues rather than exchanging sentences) can be incredibly valuable whether you have difficulties marshalling your thoughts or not.

“I Need to Talk Right Now.”

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. It is what Thich Nhat Hahn 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. (Thich Nhat Hanh)

This is important work and carries a degree of responsibility. As the listener you may feel any number of things: pain, hurt, joy, pride, love, anger. You might yearn to interrupt with advice and suggestions. It’s okay. You get to feel it all – and you get to keep it to yourself. Your input, suggestions, and opinion may be welcome later but right now your role is to be wholly present, to STFU, and to listen. It is NOT easy. At least, I do not always find it so. Persevere. It is perhaps the greatest gift you can offer another human being.

Vikki and I joked how maybe we ought to make some flags we can hold up to let the other one know what type of conversation we want or need. That might be taking things a little too far (though it would be fun!) but it is important in any relationship that both people can express what they need in the moment. As far as conversation types go this can be as simple as holding up your hand to indicate you’ve not finished talking yet, or saying “I need you to listen right now while I get all this out, okay?” Our ability to do this – and to accept that we still sometimes get it wrong – is why Fran and I work so well.

When two people are open and honest with each other and come together to share words, space, and time, it can be a truly beautiful thing.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.

~ Rumi

 

Not to Punish but to Understand

Sometimes it happens that you read or hear or experience something so sharp, so surprising, so out of left field, so TRUE that it stops you in your tracks. That’s what happened the other day when I came across this quote on social media.

Imagine meeting someone who wanted to learn your past not to punish you, but to understand how you needed to be loved. (Author unknown)

There is personal relevance in the words, for me and others in my life right now. But that’s not what I want to write about. What I want to explore — and I am writing as much for me as for you, dear reader — is why it would ever be otherwise. Why are those lines so shocking? Ought not every person we meet — certainly every person we allow in close — approach us in such a way?

Perhaps. Well, yes, in fact. But for a whole heap of reasons silence and stigma and shame remain powerful forces in society at large and in the smaller, more immediate communities in which we live out our lives. Wherever we meet — in our families, schools, colleges, places of work and of worship — the response to us, to our stories and histories, so often falls short of the caring curiosity for which we yearn.

Sadder still, we punish ourselves for what we have done or said, or failed to do or failed to say; the times we believe we have let ourselves or others down. How rarely do we approach ourselves with compassion?

What would it feel like if we did? How would it feel to explore our own stories wanting not to punish but to understand how we need to be loved?