Productivity: Elusive and Blissful

Regaining a sense of productivity can be one of the hardest aspects of recovering from mental illness. When we are physically sick understanding and patience are more widely available. If a physical illness is long term then it can be very emotional, frustrating and life changing for all involved. But one of the biggest challenges with mental illness is that it is invisible.

The Effect of Mental Illness on Work and Everyday Life

When we have good relationships with friends, family and colleagues they can pick up on even small changes in our behaviour, body-language or voice that can indicate that something is not as it usually is. But everyone has their own struggles and if the earliest indications are missed then the individual may have already distanced themselves to the extent that there is not that closeness with which to be aware of the more drastic developments with ill-health and it becomes invisible.

Some individuals, such as myself, may have to get sick leave from work when the illness prevents them from successfully completing assignments, interacting with people, or even getting out of bed in the morning. Severe mental illness can inhibit individuals from effectively completing day to day tasks such as washing up, laundry and even aspects of personal hygiene.

The hopeful outcome is that even those of us who hit rock bottom will find the strength and light within us, assisted or unassisted by medication, professionals or loved ones, to regain full health, awareness and maybe eventually return to work. Sadly, this is not the case for all but I am one of the lucky ones and can only write from my own experiences.

Return to Work

I still have wobbles about work. I have just completed my annual review and it was tough for someone so self-critical and pessimistic to focus on successes and find things to be ‘proud’ of. When I returned to work I didn’t feel ready at all. I felt drained and groggy as if I had crawled out from hibernation and it took a lot for me to be able to face my colleagues again. I wasn’t confident about performing stories and still didn’t even like going beyond the front door. There are still days when I can’t face leaving the house and catching the train into the city feels overwhelming even though it a direct line.

It is difficult when you are effectively at war with yourself every time you try to accomplish something. Everyone has self-doubt and negativity from time to time and lots of jobs are very stressful these days. But when you have mental illness these periods are not temporary. The voice of self-loathing is constantly bullying you from within your own brain. You spend twice as much time worrying as actually doing and each worry makes the task seem so much bigger. Then there’s the agonising you do once the task is completed. Worrying about whether it was good enough and beating yourself up for not having done it sooner or quicker and all the while preventing yourself from moving on to the next task.

Have Patience and Be Kind to Yourself

We are our harshest critics. We will tell others that they should slow down, take a break, stop being so hard on themselves, but we are (for the most part) useless at taking this advice ourselves. I volunteered for a charity that supported those with mental illness. I sat at the end of a phone listening to others tell me about their experiences and I would see all the warning signs. It was part of my job to spot the triggers and ask the difficult question: Are you feeling suicidal? To try and help others give words to how they were feeling. 

I missed all the signs for myself. I told myself that what I was feeling wasn’t real, it was all in my head, that I was attention seeking, pathetic, weak. But I have to be patient with myself. I have to give myself permission to slow down, to take a break, to heal.

I am not the same as I was before I was suicidal. I don’t have as much energy, my memory isn’t as good and I can’t take on as much as I could before. This makes me feel like I am not achieving as much, that I am not productive.

Loss of Perspective and Regaining Productivity

As a result, I seem to have lost all perspective on time. I am no longer assigning reasonable, achievable timescales to the tasks I am hoping to complete. If the goal is designed from the outset to be unachievable, then the feeling of failure will creep in before you have even begun and snuff out all your motivation. This is how productivity can become elusive.

But when it happens, productivity can be blissful. The same way that unachievable goals, which are only that way because they have not been fully planned out, accurately time scaled or suitably prepared for, can lead to a tailspin of negativity, anxiety and depression; the completion of even the smallest, simplest task, can buoy up, motivate and brighten.

Moving Forward

There is a lot of advice out there on how to be productive. There’s a lot of stipulation about what time to get up in the morning, when to go to bed, how much to drink, what you should eat; endless lists on how to be successful. Yet, everyone is different. I feel most productive when I get up early because I work best during daylight hours, but my husband works best later at night because it is quiet and there are less disturbances from emails and the like.

Does it matter? There is so much emphasis on changing everything about your routine, your diet, your exercise pattern to become better, more, to be successful. If you are recovering from any form of mental illness that is immediately going to be overwhelming and you will have your head under the covers again waiting for it to go away. I know because I did just that.

So don’t change. At least, not all at once. Just reach out your arm to the nearest writing materials you have. You’re phone is probably in arms reach so type a note or a text to yourself and list 5 things that you can do that day that will be an achievement. Whether it is getting dressed, brushing your teeth, having a shower, it doesn’t matter. Being able to check, cross or delete things off of that list will make you feel stronger, it will let you be able to move on to the next thing. Start as small and as simple as you need to. Then build it up.

 

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Bumps in the Marital Road

Last Saturday was my first Saturday off in six months. With my husband working 9 to 5 or sometimes longer on his PhD project at the university and the emphasis placed to spend Sundays at church and religious activities, when I work weekends it really limits the quality time we get to spend together.

It has been showing.

We got married when we were both students and our schedules were all over the place for the first year of our life together. We agreed that, as it was Samuel’s Masters year and because he worked seasonally at the supermarket which would have meant missing our first Christmas as a married couple, he would stop working. I continued to work as I had been at my storytelling job for 4 years already, it was relevant to my degree and it gave me continuity and routine which helped the with severe mental illness I was experiencing at the time. Before the harassment started, my place of work was were I went for grounding. The office is underground so there was no signal and it gave me an excuse not to be contactable. To not respond when I was feeling overwhelmed. When I couldn’t cope. My place of work means an unusual amount to me.

Summer 2017 was a very intense time for our marriage. We’d been married for a year and were in a good place but we were done living in a one bedroom flat in the middle of the city. It was advertised as one bed, but really should have been one person, as we couldn’t both be in the kitchen at the same time if we wanted to have a bin as well. So we started looking at houses. We didn’t imagine that we would actually be able to buy, it’s famed that no one our age can. But we wanted to daydream at the very least.

We got lucky.

But we were £3,000 short of the deposit. So I started working 3 jobs. It was crazy. One of them was my long term storytelling job, one was at a concert hall and the other was in a museum. It was meant to be a straightforward visitor service job, but morphed into tour guiding and helping arrange a summer activities program which provided really great unexpected work experience. So it was a really beneficial, as well as crazy, time. I decided/insisted that as I was working so much (most of it very relevant to what I was hoping to do following graduation) and Samuel was likely to be starting a PhD three months later, that he shouldn’t work. He needed a break, someone needed to keep on top of the housework, and if we throw a fourth schedule into the mix, we just wouldn’t have seen each other. As it was we saw each other first thing in the morning and for about half an hour before we went to sleep.

We made it.

We bought a house. Now the situation is reversed. I am on reduced hours, just ticking over at my storytelling job, which I still love but is no longer my safe place. As a physicist, Samuel’s PhD is funded, so whilst he is technically studying, it is fundamentally a job. He works very hard and is extremely good at what he does. Our subject areas compliment each other very well. I find it highly appropriate that both our birthdays are in January, the month named after the Roman god Janus. Janus was depicted with two heads, because he looked forward and backwards. As an archaeologist I look back to the very beginnings of humans as a species and Samuel, being an experimental physicist working on technology, is looking forward. It also gives me confidence about at least one aspect of us potentially becoming parents – we have homework covered. Our other running joke is that Samuel does the numbers and I deal with words. Sorted.

Our issue is that because of all the studying, the crazy summer jobs and the recent house move, we have never really got into an established routine. We are beginning to get there now but we still haven’t quite found our rhythm. As we are approaching our second anniversary, and with the addition of our dear dog, this is starting to apply a little bit of friction. As far as I am aware this is healthy and usual in all relationships let alone marriage. We are definitely benefiting from no longer being in that one bedroom flat, as we can now be more than 5 meters apart and means I can be less distracting whilst Samuel is working and I can read my book quietly whilst Samuel watches television (Samuel is severely dyslexic so you wont find us reading together).

As a result of not having a stable, consistent rhythm to our daily routines, we have become very snappy. We haven’t fought or had slanging matches but as I say there has been some friction. I think that’s the right term. No one is perfect, everyone makes mistakes and get irritated from time to time. One of my biggest flaws is my temper, so I definitely get irritated more than is reasonable. I am very grateful not only for my husband’s patience and ability to forgive when I fly off the handle but for our ability to communicate with each other. As we got married so quickly, I don’t think that we would have managed if we weren’t able to talk about anything and everything. As I always say, we don’t necessarily recommend getting married three months after meeting, but it is working for us. We are truly very happy together. The importance of communication is made evident in every sit-com, film production and in most real life scenarios. Whole plots of plays, books, tragedies and comedies begin with a miscommunication, failure to communicate or a double meaning.

Having last Saturday off was amazing for us. Even though I was unwell with the flu, headlining fever, dizziness and nausea (how have I managed to come down with this twice this year? There have only been two months thus far?!) so we didn’t go anywhere or do very much, yet still it gave us some space to just be us. I was actually supposed to be off volunteering in central Scotland so being ill was perhaps a blessing in disguise? I described our morning in yesterday’s post. It was bliss. What really made the difference was that we didn’t have to be anywhere. We had to take our dog for a walk but other than that we had the day to ourselves. Usually one or other of us is rushing around in the morning and heading out to work. On Saturday, we could just be together and enjoy each others company.

This weekend was a big lesson for me in the importance of making time for each other. Compromise and communication are as important as everyone says they are in marriage or any other relationship. Let’s face it they are important principles in friendship as well. But the concept of date night is something that I will certainly be paying more attention to from here on.

And So It Begins…

Today, I had a breakthrough. The best thing was that I really wasn’t expecting it and that made me appreciate it more.

I might have been a little overzealous in my post New Year – New Month. At the end of that post I said that my husband and I had transitioned to a vegan diet and were trying to conceive. This is true, but I may have been a little hasty. As I mentioned yesterday, my husband and I had talked and talked about it and finally made a decision (about veganism and babies) and then seemed to get caught up and going sideways rather than forwards.

Just before Christmas, which seems a lot longer than just two months ago (it’s hard to believe it was before I had started blogging!) I became a vegetarian. I’m not sure exactly what prompted the change, or why I hadn’t made it earlier! I think it must have been adopting our dog Lassie that triggered the transition which really had been a long time coming. I knew how unpleasant the meat industry is, even on free range farms, and at the end of the day eating meat means death for the animals we eat.  But I had just been accepting this as inevitable and I am not sure why. I guess I simply hadn’t given it any serious thought.

I really have no excuses. Whilst I knew very little of veganism until I met my brother and sister-in-law, I was raised by vegetarian parents. I myself however did not grow up strictly vegetarian. My mother was (and still is) quite anaemic and as I was a child who hated green vegetables, she thought that a monthly intake of red meat was the way to go. I never actually enjoyed eating it, but it became habit and then convenience. As a student cooking mince was simple and the majority of to-go pasta, salad and sandwich options were either chicken or cheese (which I disliked and was quite violently allergic to growing up). But it was just habit as I prefer vegetarian meals, finding them a lot more colourful and flavoursome than the alternatives containing meat and since becoming vegan I haven’t missed them at all. In fact, I found no longer eating meat and dairy products easier than ceasing to consume alcohol when I became a Mormon.

There’s one other reason I think it took me a while to embrace being vegetarian and that was the false association I made with the diet and one particular story my mother shared of when she was expecting me. One day during her pregnancy, two of her teeth disintegrated. My mother has always hated milk and therefore doesn’t drink it, however she eats a fair bit of cheese so it was not, as I had assumed, that she had cut herself off from calcium. That being said, it is a useful reminder of what can happen if you adopt a diet (of any kind) and fail to keep an eye on nutrition.

As soon as I had made the decision to become vegetarian, veganism seemed a forgone conclusion. Especially as one of the principle reasons for making the transition was the information which I had recently learnt about the environmental impact of pastoral agriculture. Perhaps it should have been obvious but it wasn’t until recently that I realised the huge amount of greenhouse gasses, land exploitation and food waste that this kind of farming produces (Jenna Bardroff, One Green Planet, 2014).

My immediate thought once I had made my decision was to research, research, research. I knew that in the near future (we are still pre-New Year and blog at this time) my husband and I would be trying to have children and I wanted to ensure that I had made the transition to vegan before that happened, because whilst a vegan diet contains all the nutrition for a very healthy pregnancy, I did expect there to be bumps and pitfalls along the way. I didn’t want to add the strain of growing a person to my body as it adjusted (for the better) to this new diet and I didn’t want any slips to have an impact on that growing person.

I also anticipated that my husband’s commitment to eating meat would pose a huge challenge, especially as he does the majority of the cooking in our household. When we got married this seemed to be a very practical arrangement. At the time of our marriage I worked more and was studying at the same time and he was more passionate about food. I can cook but I don’t get excited about it and it shows in my food. Samuel’s food on the other hand is fantastic. But now I was hoping that he would cut out a lot of his key ingredients when he was cooking at home. I very much consider that what he eats elsewhere is entirely up to him. To try and ease us both into the changes I was suddenly so enthusiastic about, I signed us up to Veganuary.

There was a considerable amount of groaning. Mainly because Samuel really struggles with change. The whole way through he has actually been very enthusiastic, but every time a new ingredient got used up and removed, he would almost panic. This is how anxiety manifests in my husband. It is very different to me. I enjoy change, experimenting and mixing things up, but Samuel can get very concerned even if I suggest changing the orientation of the furniture.

Flash-forward to the end of January. I had just got Samuel on board with plant-based milks (we like coconut and soya, almond is still something we are working on) but was struggling to get him to consider plant-based butter alternatives or cutting out meat long-term. I had joined a couple of vegan pregnancy forums to learn as much as possible about diet and the additional nutritional cares of expectant vegans. One day a number of films such as Cowspiracy, Forks Over Knives and What The Health were being discussed in these groups. I fancied watching them and my husband and I quite often watch something in the evening to relax so I suggested one of these. I really didn’t expect much.

I was in for a huge surprise. I was watching his face throughout the film and saw him react when it referenced the accumulation and concentration of dioxins throughout a diet that is based on meat and dairy and the negative health effects they can have, especially for unborn children. I found his reaction particularly touching and it was clear that he had suddenly made the connection between food and family. When the documentary had finished, he turned to me and said OK.

I was aware that there was a possibility that it might just have been a shock effect. He was bombarded with facts and images and he reacted the way a lot of people do. After writing The Jungle to try and highlight the plight of workers in the United States meat industry in the early Twentieth Century, Upton Sinclair said: ‘I aimed for the Public’s heart, And… hit it in the stomach’. I was wondering which of these What The Health had hit.

It not only hit, but it stuck. So feeling very optimistic at the start of February I struck out and said we were going vegan. But we are both very anti-waste so it was never going to be an overnight transition. We had a pat of butter, ice cream, egg noodles, egg pasta, gravy cubes and jars of sauce to use up. We gave the meat we had in the freezer to friends and relatives but Samuel did seem to be dragging his heels a bit. I wanted to give away as much as possible and start over. Samuel needed time to transition. I had been committed to becoming vegan for almost two months, he had only just made the decision.

Today though, I went through the cupboards to see what we had left to use up and found a few lasagne sheets and one final jar of sauce. So, finally, our transition is complete and so is one of the circular thoughts that I was getting so concerned about yesterday. There are others, but the process of preparing to be expectant parents has definitely begun.

14th February

This date is like Marmite: people either ‘love it or hate it’. It’s the day were everyone is focused on relationships. My husband and I are approaching our second wedding anniversary, but we hadn’t even met this time two years ago.

Our Story
My husband and I met whilst I was investigating The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. He was a life-long member, a returned missionary, and I had just started meeting with the missionaries. The timeline is simple.

February
Most people laugh when I tell them the story of how I met the missionaries. All converts get asked their story and mine is not particularly exceptional. They laugh because I remember the exact time. It was 11:50 A.M. on the 4th February 2016. My friend and I were about to deliver graded presentations and had two hours to practice (we were both suffering from undiagnosed depression at this time and had finished them the night before).

An Elder asked me for directions to Sainsbury’s outside the university library. Obviously, he didn’t actually want directions, he wanted to talk about Jesus. I am terrible at disengaging from any form of conversation. It doesn’t matter if it is a sales person, a Mormon missionary or a charity worker, once they have stopped me and started their spiel, I can’t escape. I was desperate to get rid of him because I was preventing my friend from practicing her presentation and I really didn’t want her grade to be affected because I couldn’t disentangle myself from a pavement conversation. To end the conversation I gave him my number. In fact, I corrected him when he wrote it down wrong. This was because I felt sorry for him. His companion (I didn’t know anything about Mormons at this point and didn’t realise missionaries travel in pairs) was standing at a distance and I thought he was alone on a cold day in February. I also imagined (again wrongly) that most people had not been very pleasant about being stopped and asked to chat about Jesus Christ. It turns out this is not an unreasonable assumption, one of my husband’s companions was chased by a man with a meat cleaver! Anyway, in February I started meeting with the missionaries and investigating the Mormon church.

March
I finally attended a Sunday service at the local LDS church. The missionaries told me that they wanted to show me a church film at our next meeting and someone of the same sex as the Elders would need to be present. This was because we would be meeting at the church building rather than in a public place, like a café or the local park. It’s the same principle as adults who work with children not being with a child alone and it’s the same when two Sisters meet with a male investigator. It’s not a lack of trust it is just for security because unfortunately in the past there has been inexcusable behaviour from both missionaries and investigators. The reason that it is a member of the church of the same sex as the missionaries is because it otherwise appears a bit like the worst double-date imaginable. However, there is something that perhaps needs to go on record and be considered.

This was the second time I was going to be meeting with the missionaries at the church and the first time had been dreadful. It was, in my opinion, worse that the worst double-date that I can imagine. I was not in a good place at this time. I had been in an awful, manipulative relationship and a whole host of other instances of sexual harassment and assault had followed. Then I turned up at the church (I hadn’t been to a service yet) and was met by three men. The two missionaries I had met before, the third man I knew was going to be there but I had never met him. They decided to start by giving me a tour of the building but for some reason hadn’t turned any of the lights on… I was in a gloomy building with three men I had met twice or not at all. The man they’d brought along to help teach was silent almost the entire time. When they showed me the font I stood as far away as possible because I honestly wasn’t sure what they were going to do next. I had gone through five months of traumatic experiences involving men and this was not a positive encounter for me. But then along came Samuel.

April
This was the month that I got baptised, on the 21st April 2016. I already had a belief in God when the missionaries stopped me in February. What I had never had was the spiritual connection that I had heard people talk about, when people say that they were in conversation with God. I did find that with the LDS church which is why I became a member. As I mentioned in a previous post my conversion was not complete at this time, but I was convinced that this was where I was supposed to be, perhaps because I had found someone I wanted to be there with.

I didn’t join the church for Samuel, but there is a possibility that I wouldn’t have joined if I hadn’t met him. When I was in my baptismal interview, I was asked whether I believed that the gospel had been restored to earth. I responded that I wasn’t sure. In short, I wasn’t convinced. I knew that I was finally in a good place and that I was beginning to feel spiritually good once more (I hadn’t been to a church since I left home for university and I had begun to feel disconnected with my faith which truly saddened me). The Elder conducting the interview was very concerned by this, the interview that usually took around fifteen minutes took about two hours for me. It’s safe to say that despite popular belief I didn’t join a cult. The Elder asked me what would happen if I decided that the Book of Mormon was not true (if it were a cult they wouldn’t have been willing to have members who didn’t believe core parts of the doctrine) and I told him it wouldn’t matter. Now we are at the part where most people get confused. How can you be part of the Mormon church and have doubts about the book the church is named after?

For me the answer is really simple. The lifestyle that comes with being a Mormon: going to church on Sunday; not working, shopping or going out to dinner or the cinema on a Sunday; not drinking alcohol, tea or coffee; not smoking or taking drugs, was going to be my lifestyle now. Samuel and I were engaged to be married.

It was not the whirlwind romance that you might be expecting. I really don’t know how this man did it. He met me at the lowest point in my life (between his proposal and our wedding day I had almost dropped out of university, was given the opportunity to postpone my dissertation and final exams for a year and had seriously considered suicide). I had almost completely lost my sense of humour and believed that there was no part of me that was worth loving. Samuel and one of his brothers lived together at this time and I was living in their living room because if I was left alone there was a significant chance that I would cause myself harm. For me, that he could fall in love with me and give me constant care when I was almost incapacitated by my own mind makes him very special. I should also mention that we had discussed and agreed that we would get married even if I never joined the church.

What prompted me to say ‘Yes!’ when he proposed three weeks after we met, was the conversation we had when we decided to risk entering into a relationship. I say risk solely from my perspective. I had been through a lot in a very short amount of time and had not had a positive relationship in over three years. The last proper relationship I had been in before the disaster of 2015 ended with a broken engagement. Before you panic, I had known this man a lot longer and we had been in a steady relationship for a lot longer as well. But it all ended in tears. The man I walked out on in 2015 had cried too, hysterically (but I’m not sure about that as he raped me a few minutes later). Anyway… the point was that I was worried that I was going to take the heart of the lovely man I’d just met and metaphorically jump up and down on it until it was pulp. That was how I saw myself – a relationship wrecker and heart destroyer, unworthy of love.

What changed everything was his quiet acceptance of how I was feeling. That he was willing to give me space and time to heal. He still does. This was a huge contrast to what I had experienced over the past few months. A friend had asked me out and started sending hurtful text messages when I politely declined. A fellow student and I had dated briefly, but I decided it wasn’t a good idea two months before our dissertations were due and we broke up a few days after going out. This student then proceeded to message and call me. One night I was at the house of one of the youth from the church with a lot of other investigators and new converts watching Disney movies and he called me seven times in a row. This was about a week after Samuel and I first met. With all that was going on I guess I needed to offload to somebody and he was kind and close enough to listen. When we were sitting in my flat a week later, talking about whether or not we should risk dating, he told me that he’d wanted to ask me out earlier, but when I had told him everything that was going on he didn’t because he could see that I didn’t need anyone else telling me that they liked me; that I just needed a friend.

That’s what we are. Best friends. We both collect rocks, are academic geeks who love their respective subjects and Star Trek. Samuel is good at maths and I’m the one who reads and writes all day. We have the same attitudes, hopes and dreams. He is the only man I have ever met who put my needs before his own desires. That’s why I married him three months after we met. We don’t suggest others rush out and do the same, but it worked for us. We eloped to Gretna Green and since that day I have started to get better. It has taken a really, really, really long time but with the support and love of a very patient man, I know that my tomorrows will continue to get brighter.

 

 

Blogging and Creative Writing

Over the last few days I have talked about the connection between mental health and creative writing and posted up some pieces of my own. I am very grateful for the positive response those pieces received, as a very amateur poet, posting online is especially scary. But I think posting anything online must be very daunting, even when you have edited and edited it and are feeling quietly confident that it is good. Whilst I know some poets who manage to write about completely fictional scenarios, for many, their writing is very personal and for me at least my poetry comes from a place of very raw emotion. Most of the poems I compose are completed within 10 minutes and are not very good. They are unrefined and really are as if I just took what I was feeling and threw it at a piece of paper.

Sometimes, just sometimes, some parts stick and become workable. If I am extremely lucky, the poem has written itself and there is just the smallest bit of tweaking to do. This is why poetry will never be more than a hobby for me. I was part of a student poetry group at university and witnessed the extensive editing of my fellows and the labour of love their poems became. They made statements, not just expressions.

For me, blogging has become an extension of creative writing. The expression of feeling is not as dramatic as it was when I was younger and charged with teenage hormones, but it is still a flow of consciousness, and perhaps to an extent unconsciousness, as sometimes the posts still feel as they are writing themselves. My hands hit a variety of keys just as my conscious mind manages to construct a sentence. I never used to be able to type like this. I used to always have to have pen and paper, the pen feeling like an extension of my arm. I was a real tortoise when it came to typing too, to the extent that it became quite the joke at school. So blogging seems to be developing all sorts of skills. I have enjoyed reading back over old poems these last few days as I selected what to post online (something like blogging I never dreamed I’d actually do). Perhaps the fact that I haven’t written anything for a couple of years has made me more aware about what is reasonable, workable and what just needs to be deleted and let go of. I’m becoming more aware of grammar too as I edit my blog posts, although my spelling is not improving!

Blogging and Mental Health

As I hoped, just as creative writing in the past helped me to process how I was feeling, since I have started this blog I have experienced a marked improvement in my mental health. I don’t feel as highly strung as I did two months ago, I am more inclined to reflect and by typing up and publishing some events I have been able to reduce their presence in the front of my mind. Of course they are still there, loitering somewhere in my memory, but they no longer appear as flashbacks, suddenly spiralling me out of control. Another comparison I have noted since starting this individual post is that just like my poetry, my posts are very personal. They are expressions of how I am feeling with the odd generalised observation thrown in. This is a criticism that has been made in the slam scene of my poetry, not necessarily meaning the poems themselves where bad, but that they didn’t suit the fast-paced, powerful and clear statements usually found in slam-style poems. Again, its the case that the poems made statements, not just expressions.

This comparative statement links back to every bloggers fear, that what they are typing and publishing online has absolutely no relevance whatsoever. Even when it is personal, human nature often seeks approval and desires to feel useful. That there is some value to ourselves and in what we do. The first few posts I published were very much just for me. I didn’t expect anyone to read them and I wasn’t too concerned about what they were saying, as long as I didn’t make a fool of myself on the internet. Then I started putting up posts that I hoped might be beneficial to someone else but me. Not helpful or advisory or anything like that but that they might find a solidarity in them. One of the reasons I began volunteering in mental health organisations was because I didn’t want anyone else to feel as alone as I did when my father died. I felt that I had no one to talk to about how his death affected me or about the grief I was feeling. Everyone just wanted to hear that I was fine so they could move on to another topic. All aspects of mental health can feel the same way. I was lucky that both my mum and dad had prepared and responded to the situation in a way that meant my mental health remained stable even after his death. But a few years later a number of things happened and my mental health did decline. I hoped that posting about these experiences would let someone else know that they weren’t alone in that experience and that there was something beyond it.

Moving Forward

Now I am looking into maybe trying to make my blog a little more substantial. I am enjoying blogging, it’s great to be writing again and, as I mentioned, there have been a lot of positive outcomes so far. However, in the reading that I have been doing (it’s still pretty minor at the moment, the idea of really getting my teeth into blogging is a very recent one) the recurring theme is not just to find a niche, but also to solve a problem. I’m not sure that writing posts expressing my own experiences with mental health in the hope of instilling solidarity and presenting empathy to hoped-for readers can be classified under problem solving.  I’m also pretty convinced that I am either too niche or not niche enough. I am quite an eclectic and, I suppose, erratic personality, even as an archaeologist and historian, I know a little about the whole expanse of human existence, from early hominins to the 1980s. But I am not the person you want on your team in a pub quiz because I don’t know enough about the specifics. I don’t specialise well.

I have come to terms with my eclectic blog, writing about all the little bits and bobs bouncing about in my brain was the reason I started blogging, its the reason its helping my mental wellbeing and I’ll just have to hope that someone else finds it enjoyable or useable, perhaps by accident. It is perhaps possible (and as soon as I have finished typing this I will sit for a while with my fingers crossed) that by pursuing and documenting all these little bits and bobs, I might stumble into a bit more of a niche and maybe that will solve the problem of problem-solving for me. One can dream.