Today, I'm passing the baton to David Barrow. His guest contribution is not about standing the f*ck out, per se. But, since keeping their brains in check is everyone's single point of failure... David's essay about mental health has everything to do with standing the f*ck out.
Sometimes, it takes a spark, a small event—dropping your watch as you put it on, the dog walk going off plan, the train making you four minutes late, or a meeting getting canceled that plays with your day.
It’s a small thing. Or all of the above in one day.
Other times, it’s a monumental smack in the face—one of those “I’ll never forget where I was” moments, whether it’s taking a phone call on a Monday evening on the couch where a friend on the end of the line says, “I don’t know how to tell you this,” or it’s the cycle of bad news getting closer to home and unsettling you, disturbing you and making you question why humans are so prone to idiocy.
Sometimes, it’s 2–3 weeks of all of the above: you end up morose, lacking for anything, neither unhappy nor happy, impetus gone, projects put on hold, just a cycle of wake up, walk, eat, work, walk, eat, sleep.
No boxsets; they bore you. No runs, you cannot be bothered, fresh food — no, even conversation troubles you. Your mind and body crave all of these things, but something, a mist, stops you from reaching for them.
At this moment, all of the above refers to someone close to me, someone close to you.
Heck, at this moment, this refers to me.
This mist is something new to me, well, newish. Years of my life were spent in and out of hospitals, seeing my Mother slowly ebb away. Most of which she caused. I spent the time dealing with the trauma, the pain and the anger, not to mention what you may call inconvenience and associated guilt; all this was done without missing a beat at work or at home. A career in crisis management helped here.
I’m not alone in having these challenges; I’m not special.
When Mum passed away, the initial feeling was relief; how awful of me.
Relief became guilt, and anger became motivation. I immediately threw myself into work, new writing and speaking projects, volunteering, mentoring, and anything else to ‘help’. I thought it was helping others when, in fact, it was helping myself.
The mist came a few months later; I classified it as self-doubt and imposter syndrome, as some of my projects came to the fore. It passed, barely noticed. But it kept returning, never too dark, never threatening but debilitating to a degree. The smile remains, but the eyes are dead behind them.
So why write this?
I write this because I know the mist well and want others to recognise it in me (selfishly) and themselves (hopefully).
The mist has visited me many times over the years, creeping in slowly, clouding my thoughts and sapping my energy. I used to fight it constantly, pushing myself to keep up appearances even as I struggled internally. I’ve learned that the mist comes for a reason, and resisting it only worsens things.
I’ve learned to accept the mist as an old friend, albeit an unpleasant one. When it arrives, I let my obligations and busy schedules fall away. I retreat into quiet moments of reflection, force myself to run, and spend time with loved ones. I give my mind and body the rest they crave. I also write….
In time, the mist begins to lift. My energy returns, along with a new perspective. I emerge renewed, reminded of what really matters. The mist is a messenger, telling me to slow down, care for myself, and appreciate the gifts in my life.
When the mist arrives, I continue to try to support others, volunteer, and give back, but I often leave little room for my own self-help. It’s nobody’s fault but my own. Focusing on others and their challenges leaves me with little time or energy to address my own struggles.
Truthfully, there are moments when I feel lost and overwhelmed by the cumulative weight of the problems I have absorbed from others, where I don’t feel valued, where I worry that what I have said is wrong, where I think — why do I do this?
Because I love it, and the people I speak with are wonderful humans.
But…..a line springs to mind: “Who motivates the motivator?”
During those dark times with my Mother, I was so accustomed to being the strong one, the advisor, the ally, that the idea of seeking help felt foreign. My motivation was getting in, getting out and getting home. My motorcycle was an outlet for my emotions.
Yet even the most outwardly resilient of us need someone to lean on. Everyone, no matter how strong, needs a network of support.
The irony of this situation is that those I love, mentor, and advise would likely be the first to offer me support if they knew I needed it. I need to get better at asking.
Often, those who give the most struggle the most with asking for help. At this moment, I’m not asking for help, but someone else out there may need help. Listen out for them—and I’m learning that silence is often the loudest shout. The fact remains that if you need help, please reach out.
Don’t let things go from a mist to a blackout.
Writing this article lifts the mist for me. Putting this ‘on paper’ and out there helps me. But everyone is different.
In the end, the question remains: Who motivates the motivator? In my opinion, let’s motivate and support one another; this is a two-way street.
Here are some places in the UK to get help.
- ANDYSMANCLUB — A place for men to talk, listen, and support each other. Their motto, “It’s okay to talk,” says it all.
- Mental Health UK — Offering a range of services and support for mental health issues across the UK.
- Samaritans — Available 24/7 for anyone who needs to talk. Sometimes, a conversation can make all the difference.
- Mind — Providing advice and support to empower anyone experiencing a mental health problem. They campaign to improve services, raise awareness, and promote understanding.
—David Barrow