BIG FAT #TRIGGER WARNING
It’s been a while since I updated here with a public post and, while it’s reasonable to restrict access to certain parts of my life, thoughts and feelings, sometimes you just gotta post some stuff out there.
This is my personal blog but I don’t make it difficult to find from my various professional profiles, so I’m aware that what I say here will always be findable by people who might prefer I say nowt. 🤷
Anyhoo. I’ve just got back from a lovely couple of weeks in Whitby, and not a moment too soon, frankly.
Just a week or so before we left, G and I were making dinner and I was wittering on – cheerfully, I thought – about the holiday being a good opportunity for us to reconnect as a couple rather than coworkers (we both now work at home full time).
It stunned me when he said it ‘looked like I was trying to find problems’.
I stunned myself when I replied (after a few tense moments of brain buffering, realising that my cheerful wittering had evidently come across as spoiling for a fight):
“Actually, I’m trying to find reasons not to kill myself”
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If you have Wonky Brain Syndrome™, there can often be an underlying destructive urge that hangs around forever. Some people call it the ‘black dog’.
I can’t speak to anyone else’s experience, only my own. And, in my sole experience, my black dog comes and goes.
It took me a long time to recognise it. Took me even longer to accept it. It’s taken me all my life to understand how to handle it.
But, like any dog, even the most well trained, obedient hound can turn and bite if the circumstances are right.
At this point, all you can do is try to deescalate. And hope you win.
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Last autumn I decided it was time to get back on track, careerwise. I’d taken a break in late 2022 – at the time, I had no idea if it would be permanent or not – but by summer 2024 it had begun to feel like the right time to put myself out there again.
I had new ideas and new interests, and I planned to take on a 12-18 month contract in my old industry to keep the lights on while I figured out what to do next.
At first, all went well. I barrelled back into the sector I’d spent 15+ years in previously, all guns blazing, and got a bunch of really good offers. It was heartening (and not just a little ego-boosting) to know I was in demand.
I picked the wrong offer.
Almost immediately, I realised the job wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. I was disappointed, a bit hurt, and pretty pissed off at losing those other chances, but stalwart: It was only a 12-month contract; I was 6 months in. If I left now, I could return to working for myself, just a bit earlier than I expected.
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I’m nothing if not resourceful, and I’ve spent the last few months finishing a challenging course, working with a mentor to develop my new ideas, building websites and social profiles, joining networks, and just generally putting myself out there.
I’ve committed to going for an accreditation that could seriously help amalgamate all the wild and diverse things I’ve done over my career into something that I can use to make a massive difference in my own life, other people’s lives and – thinking big, why not? – our society in general.
It’s exciting but scary. Positive but risky.
Fucken expensive.
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Now, I’ve put the work in. I’ve been at my desk, every day, every week, every month. I’ve done everything ‘right’. I *know* it’s just a matter of time.
But I also know from my marketing days that nothing happens as fast as you think it should. The absolute bare minimum, for any kind of campaign to get traction, is around 12 weeks.
In these terms, I’ve barely started that cycle – I’ve spent a good chunk of time defining and refining what I want to be doing, because it’s a new thing in an unstable world that’s moving from one era to another.
I’ve probably got a few months *at least* to go before things start moving properly. Most likely more.
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It’s at these points – tired, skint, with too many mental tabs open at one time – that my confidence can start to slip.
It’s not so much ‘imposter syndrome’ as ‘Icarus syndrome’.
It starts with a reasonable self-query: ‘Am I overestimating my abilities?’ but fairly rapidly spirals into the – ridiculous but inevitable – ‘Have I misunderstood quite literally everything about the world and everyone in it and am I, in fact, not a trailblazing wonder woman, but simply a colossal dickhead?’
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When you’re down to the bone, guess who shows up?
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Two things helped me hold off this dog, this time:
One:
The hard-won knowledge that what you think isn’t always what’s real: the brain is a funny thing and shouldn’t be trusted to make significant decisions when it’s tired or upset or overwhelmed.
I have a bunch of actions I take, lists I read, bargains I make and mantras I mutter when this dog comes around – they help me bide my time and wait for the world to turn.
From the outside, I guess I just look distracted and a bit miffed.
On the inside – be in no doubt – I am literally fighting for my life.
Two:
For the first time ever, I said it out loud.
53 years on this planet, 14 years in this relationship, 7 years married.
Of all the risky things I’ve done in the last few months, or ever really, choosing to trust is the biggest risk of all.
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Whitby was great. We hit another heatwave, I played in the sea, we walked up hills and along coastlines with our very real, very small, dog.
We ate, drank, played board games, slept in the sun.
Back home, I’m carrying on, chipping away at this new thing.
It is entirely possible that I may not be a trailblazing wonder woman, but simply a colossal dickhead.
But there’s meat on my bones again. That black dog is barely visible, hunkered down somewhere on a distant hill.
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Helpline information:
I’ll be honest – I find a lot of the glib ‘just talk about it’ stuff to be wildly problematic and, in many instances, pretty fucking insulting.
But you can’t give that dog your bones, and saying something, somehow, to someone, might buy you enough time to let the world take another turn:
- Samaritans: You can talk to someone at any time by calling 116 123. It’s free, confidential, and available 24/7.
- NHS 111: If you need urgent mental health support, call 111 and select option 2 for the mental health line. This service is available 24/7.
- Shout: If you prefer to text, you can text SHOUT to 85258 for support. This service is free, confidential, and available 24/7.
- CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably): For men in the UK, CALM offers support and information. They are available from 5 pm to midnight every day.
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All hyphens, em-, en- or other dashes are the author’s own 😉