Before the wheels come off

I realise I haven't written about my mental health in quite some time. Besides the odd Instagram post, a lot of the work of recovery has been happening behind closed doors. However, I feel like I want to write again and it felt appropriate to make space for that here. I've copied over some posts I shared on Medium in the months post crisis and those that didn’t really fit my old blog any more.

Unexpectedly, my mum passed away on New Year's Day: 1st January 2022, just two days after her 64th birthday. I spent most of January in Scotland with my dad, brother and sister as we waited for the funeral.

It was a strange time filled with bittersweet emotions: I was happy to spend time with my dad and grateful that I got to see my parents last September (they visited the Lake District with me as I did a 26 mile trek to raise money for the Alzheimer’s Society). I also found myself dwelling on the what might have beens and my picture of the future that now no longer includes my mum.

Something I said to all the well wishers, and which still rings true, is that I’m grateful that my mum didn’t suffer and that my dad was with her at the end. She received an Alzheimer’s diagnosis less than a year ago, though in reality she had been attending the memory clinic for several years. In the last few months she had really started to decline and I know it was becoming very difficult for them both to navigate this new landscape. My mum and dad had lived with her bipolar depression for decades, but this was a scary new dynamic.

I know my dad was keen that she stay at home as long as possible and, supported by my sister, they were making things work. However, mum was starting to forget them both and needed full time care. Even with the support they were able to get from the social worker and care agencies, it wasn’t enough.

I’m grateful that they had made the decision to move closer to my sister last year. She was always on hand to offer support and witnessed first hand mum’s transformation alongside my dad. I can say that I’m grateful mum didn’t suffer and that she was still my mum. However I know it was a very traumatic experience for my sister. I am so grateful to her for being there when I couldn’t (we’ve been shielding as best we can for the last two years while Lizzie’s mum underwent more chemotherapy).

That was my January. In some ways it still doesn’t feel real, but I got through it. I’m grateful for the friends that checked in with me, even though none of us really knew what to say.

The good that came out of it all was reconnecting with my wider family. I made a point of sharing that I’d been looking at the family tree again and I had a few cousins that gave me new information. A couple of notable highlights being my paternal grandfathers military service papers and an audio recording of a cousin from the US visiting family in the UK in the 1960s.

I’ve been back at work since late January and it has been non-stop. I saw out last year feeling pretty burnt out. I had earned a promotion to team lead and I currently manage seven people. I’m also responsible for our recruitment and on-boarding processes. I effectively found myself doing three different jobs including my day. In the last month I’ve been trying to look at where I can delegate responsibility as I realise I cannot do everything myself.

In the last two weeks I talked myself into being responsible for our office move. This is a project that has been in the works for months but needed boots on the ground. I’d already asked to be Office Manager when we return to the office later this year and found myself being included in the office move plans.

However, I took it upon myself to take personal responsibility for the entire move. I didn’t need to. I tell myself that it wouldn’t have gotten done otherwise but it wasn’t solely my responsibility. That is one of my biggest struggles: avoiding the compulsion to make everything my personal responsibility. A recurring topic in my weekly therapy sessions is the cycle of taking on too much, burning myself out, and then chastising myself for not being able to do more.

I reached my limit last week and made my colleagues aware that I was struggling. I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t really handle it in the most professional way, but they all rallied round me all the same. My involvement in the project has been completed for the time being, and I now know to be mindful of avoiding a similar situation in future.

However, the whole experience was a real wake up call. For all the progress I’ve made in the last two years, I’m reminded how easily I can put myself in a dangerous situation. I wasn’t suicidal but I was in a dark place. I found myself feeling incredibly angry - at myself and the situation - and I’ve realised that I have difficulty yielding control. Once I have a picture in my head of a solution (which invariably includes me), I find it difficult to picture an alternative.

I can also see that my brain works differently to other people. The expectations I set for myself are unreasonable. On some level I already knew this, but I now have something very tangible to point to as evidence. There are so many different ways that I could have approached this project, including not being involved at all. However, it’s only now, with the benefit of hindsight, that I can see what a narrow path I set for myself.

I recognise that I need to take a beat. My therapist describes this as an opportunity. A moment to pause and learn what I can from this situation. I need to seriously consider ways to break this cycle. I also need to be kinder to myself: I’m still grieving, and letting work become all consuming again was never going to change that.

Moving forwards, I need to take a breath to consider the outcome and whether I need to be involved, before throwing myself at the next situation. I have goals for this year that I can accomplish without running myself into the ground.