Tag Archives: emotions

A grey cloud on a perfect day

20 Monday Sep 2021

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Life has been difficult lately. So bloody difficult. I’ve been overwhelmed and struggling to get through each day. Some days are easier than others. Some days I feel OK, normal, or as normal as I’ve ever been. But lots of days have just been about getting through, doing what needs to be done and nothing else. Sometimes just getting out of bed can feel a success.

I’ve never previously had anxiety, but now I feel it bubbling up in my chest, for no apparent reason, as if someone has put a squirt of washing up liquid into a stream of hot running water and I feel each bubble rising up gathering together in my chest. It threatens to take my breath and suffocate me. When this happens nothing seems to calm it. I can go for a walk to distract myself slightly, I can run, but the bubbles of anxiety are always there, just below the surface. Waiting.

No one thing has caused this, I mean I can pinpoint events that made it swell up into a stream of unstoppable molten lava; traumatic events, sad events, heartbroken moments that all came together into the perfect recipe for anxiety bubbles, but none of these things could have done this on their own. A perfect mess has happened and its overwhelming. Some days I can control it better than others. Sometimes I can hide the mess from everyone. The turmoil inside me hidden by whatever camouflage I have found to dress up the anxiety, but its always there, like a grey cloud on a perfect day.

And what I have learned is that I’m good at hiding it. I’ve probably been hiding it without realising it for years. Every time I have risen to another difficulty in life I have actually just been adding a layer of camouflage to the volcano in my chest. Hiding it so that no one can see. Occasionally it breaks through and wells up in my eyes breaking cover.

And also I have learned that it is mine to deal with. Nobody else knows that it’s there most of the time, even if I decide to tell them, they don’t understand the way it is holding me captive, sucking the joy out of moments that should be joyful. Keeping it hidden has become a full time job. In fact I have stopped going to work as I can’t do my job and control the bubbles.

I’ve learned that it is impossible to care enough for someone who has anxiety. Because they will examine everything and over analyse it until it is out of all proportion to the intent. They will feel better in your company and then fall back to pieces the moment that you leave. They will tell you that they are OK, even as every little piece of them is falling into tiny fragments at their feet.

But actually, I’ve learned that that’s OK. You may feel that supporting someone with anxiety is a fruitless and thankless task, but I’ve also learned, the hard way, that even if they fall apart after you’ve spent 5 hours counselling them and comforting them, that is 5 hours that they felt better. That is 5 whole hours that they were able to force that bubbling molten lava back inside, and I live in hope that one day, I will be able to push it back and lock it away forever.

Losing it in lockdown

26 Monday Apr 2021

Posted by in Emotions, housework, kids, Life, lockdown, Motherhood, Uncategorized

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I am an Extrovert. With a big E. I enjoy human interactions. One crew mate described me as “a bit touchy freely”. Most say I don’t shut up. I get my emotional energy from these social interventions; they help me to form ideas. The networks of people that I have spent my career building, motivate me and help me see clarity where there is muddy water.

I was off work a bit in February, and then ill at the end of February and the start of March. I went into the office for 2 days for the whole of February, working, but travelling and going to meetings in prisons all over the country.

This means that I have been into the office twice since the beginning of February. By the time I was better in March the world had already started to change. We were being asked to work from home if possible. On 10th March I went to an event in the House of Lords and instead of handshaking we were bumping elbows. It all seemed a bit strange and fun.

Then we were told that we couldn’t go into the office. This was mid March and I’ve been working at home since then. Well not working from home, you see, there is a difference. I’m at home with my children whilst trying to work. It’s a subtle difference, but an important one. I’m home schooling my children whilst trying to simultaneously chair video calls. I’m feeding my children whilst simultaneously presenting papers to boards. I am simultaneously referring my children arguing whilst trying to negotiate procurement processes.

I am not just working from home. It is very different.

And I need you to know that I’m finding it hard. The back to back calls/meetings, the lack of adult human company, that’s not a 2 dimensional face on a screen. I miss the hugs, the eye contact rather than us all looking at different points on a screen.

I am losing it in lockdown. I am losing my energy. I am losing the love for my job, I am losing my confidence. I sometimes feel like I’m losing my mind too.

The abyss.

28 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by in Emotions

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I have been blessed, on the whole, for most of my life. I have enjoyed reasonable health, had the love of a close family and, whilst I may never have got everything that I always wanted, I have always been lucky enough to have everything that I need. Big difference there really. I might not have got the lottery win I wanted but I had enough money to eat, and I suppose in a list of priorities, eating is pretty high on mine!

In my life I’ve seen beautiful, talented and kind people be totally brought to their knees by depression and if I’m honest I’ve always struggled to understand why. They have everything going for them, yes everything in their lives might not be perfect but whose life is? I would sympathise in the short term, but eventually, and this is probably more a reflection on me than them, I would lose patience. I’d adopt the “they should pull themselves together” stance and eventually avoid them.

I’d avoid them because, if anything in life, I’m a doer. If I don’t like something then I do something about it. If I don’t like my job I retrain. If I don’t earn enough money I get other jobs until I do. If I feel ill I go to the doctors, find out what’s wrong and get it fixed. So, as a doer, it is incredibly hard to see someone who is depressed and can tell you everything that is wrong and listen to any advice that you may have given and then they do nothing about it! I just can’t understand it. At least I couldn’t until a few years ago.

I’d gone into hospital for a routine bladder operation and had had some serious complications. In short I couldn’t pee. I ended up being readmitted to hospital and being discharged with a catheter and a bag and somehow, something inside me seemed to die. It is difficult to describe and even more difficult to understand, even to me.

It felt like the joy had been sucked out of me. As if a Dementor, straight from the pages of Harry Potter had drawn a deep breath and stolen my happiness, indeed my identity. Things which would normally made me smile, I repelled from. I didn’t want my children to come and give me cuddles. I didn’t want the curtains open to see the sun, I wanted them drawn so that my surroundings reflected my internal thoughts.

This internal darkness was all embracing. I didn’t have the emotion I needed to sob even, I would just lay there in the dark, tears slowly falling down my face, with no energy to even brush them away. I felt desolate and alone, yet I was surrounded by everyone who loved me. I couldn’t even explain what was wrong. I just couldn’t face life, nothing invoked any feelings in me, it wasn’t that I felt particularly sad, I just didn’t really feel.

It was like stepping into an abyss. My husband, family and friends couldn’t reach me. I could hear what they were saying sensible words, the type of thing I would say in such a situation, but the words bore no relation to me, they were words to invoke feelings in someone who still felt, and yet I was emotionless.

I was lucky. Less than a week later, my health started to return and with it, gradually my mental health also returned. I have never felt that way again and I hope to goodness that I never do. I have often wondered why this relatively small event threw me into the abyss, when so many worse situations I have been in haven’t. I don’t think there is an answer to that. Perhaps that is why depression is such a difficult thing to deal with. It hits when you least expect it, it demands your entirety and it is extraordinarily difficult to be reached by your loved ones, when you need them most.

So now, I like to think I have more patience with those I care for who have depression. I understand that they aren’t ignoring my advice and support wilfully, they just don’t have enough will inside them to do that. It is just a void, a cloud of darkness, an abyss.