New Beginnings

What mental health needs is more sunlight, more candor,
and more unashamed conversation.

Glenn Close

My experience is as much a part of who I am as my eye colour and by speaking about it, I may inspire others to do the same. To reach out and take the first step towards creating a better and healthier future. There is hope. One step at a time.

This is my story.

LIFE WITH STUART
One Personal Battle with Depression

Hell is the lack of hope.

When I was 21, I stood at the edge of the abyss and looked into the void with longing. I’d had enough of the emotional and mental torment that had haunted me for as long as I could remember. The path to freedom from pain lay ahead.

“This isn’t right.” A small voice, somewhere deep inside of me, whispered. There was something soothing in the calm and confident manner in which the words caressed my troubled mind. I stepped away from the edge, but it wasn’t until eight years later I finally sought help.

For most of my life, I lived with a mental illness that wasn’t clinically diagnosed until I was in my late twenties. Depression with a social anxiety disorder. The anxiety stems specifically from the depression. Basically, I had a nasty little voice inside my head that liked to take completely innocuous events and twist them into a negative narrative of self-hate. I call that voice Stuart.

Stuart liked chaos. Stuart liked pain. Stuart hoarded perceived offenses like treasure, displaying them as evidence of his twisted reality. Stuart was, to put it simply, an asshole. For a long time, Stuart controlled my life and it wasn’t pretty. Stuart’s sadistic narrative blamed my internal discord on those around me who took advantage or just didn’t care, regardless whether or not it was true.

The fun twist in my mind was that, as much as I railed against this perceived mistreatment, I believed I deserved it. I was somehow “wrong” – unlovable, stupid, ugly, damaged. Stuart had proof! As a child, I couldn’t properly express what was happening within me. Unable to communicate the darkness that permeated my consciousness, I lashed out. I was told I was being over-dramatic. I was told life’s not fair and I just had to get used to it. I was accused of being jealous of others. My pain was dismissed.

Stuart loved this. He would dance a gleeful jig as he collected this ammunition to use against me at a later date. Stuart’s twisted perceptions became a self-fulfilling prophecy. In my self-loathing, I destroyed relationships, thus feeding the hell-fires that burned within me. It was the loss of one of those relationships that led me to move beyond the stigma and seek help.

Talking to my doctor was my the first step to long-term management of my illness. I had to change the internal narrative. I had to learn how to communicate how I was feeling in a manner that didn’t alienate others, that didn’t cast blame or induce guilt, but allowed for dialogue and understanding. I had to learn to challenge my perceptions and knee-jerk reactions to determine whether they were valid or based on the sadistic narrative Stuart had created. I had to challenge my own thought processes and find my own “proof” to counter Stuart’s arguments.

Stuart wasn’t part of the therapy. Stuart was my own creation. If I was going to challenge my screwed up perceptions, I needed someone with whom to argue that wasn’t the me I wanted to be. Stuart appeared, all awkward limbs with spiky blonde hair and glasses. He was as innocuous a caricature as I could create. And we argued. Sometimes these arguments would go on for months, a boxing match with a block for every punch. There were many occasions I had to retreat to my corner, battered, bruised and exhausted. Those were the times I would check in with the doctor for a little a serotonin boost to get me back in fighting shape. As the years passed, however, it has gotten easier to the point where the battles are rare moments and don’t last. I know all Stuart’s arguments and I don’t buy them anymore. I’ve created a new narrative.

Most people I meet are surprised when I tell them about my illness. To the outside world, I appear confident and capable and contented. Those who knew me from before know how far I’ve come. Stuart’s still there, poking around, looking for ways to be relevant again. Sometimes I let him ramble on, then ignore what he says and go on with my life while he sulks off into a dark corner of my mind. He doesn’t control me anymore. He knows I’ll fight and he knows I’ll beat him. I have no choice. My life is at stake.

If you struggle with depression or anxiety and are looking for practical tools to manage your illness, visit my website to arrange a Discovery Session and we can begin the conversation to see if coaching is right for you.

Life Lessons from Camino de Santiago

If you focus on the enormity of the marathon ahead, it’s easy to become intimidated and overwhelmed by all that has to happen to get from where you are today to where you want to be tomorrow. You want the see change and you want it NOW!

The key to achieving your long term goals is to break it down into bite-sized pieces and create smaller goals that will move you towards the large one. Focus on what you can do today that will bring you closer to your destination. Every step you take, even a small one, creates momentum that will propel you forward.

By setting your sights and energy on achieving the small goals, you will eventually get to where you want to be.

I couldn’t walk 800 km, but what I could do was walk 5 to the next village. Or 10. Or even 20. One step at a time.

Don’t wait until you’ve reached your goal to be proud of yourself.
Be proud of every step you take toward reaching your goal.

Unknown

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