Something had to give

I’ve mentioned to some people that I’ve recently been unwell, but in reality I’ve been quite unwell for about nine months. People often say “how can you do so much?” but I think the more pertinent question is “how can you do so much and protect your mental health?”

I’ve not stopped working since I was twenty one. I’ve worked non-stop; even for the birth of my children I took just six weeks off. I’ve been writing books, editing, reviewing, heading up AP, inclusion and behaviour for local authorities. I’ve been juggling the health of my children and making sure their needs are met. I’ve found some solace in birdwatching, visiting castles and enjoying the theatre again after a break but that was unbalanced.

I developed a mantra, “do things at the first opportunity, not the last”, and this hid the impulsivity and mania. I think I realised I was ill when, impulsively, I decided to hire a bike in London and ride without a helmet from one part of the city to another. I rushed past buses, wearing a long skirt, enjoying the wind in my hair. Soon after, I was asked if I wanted to hike up a mountain in Kazakhstan by men I had just met. Or the time I decided to run to a bus stop in Kosovo to travel to North Macedonia. These were the fun things, the ones that brought me excitement and joy, but next to them were incredible lows. Staring at the walls of a hotel room, not wanting to be here any more, my thoughts turning to how I might end my life. My mind would fill with thoughts, a thousand of them all at the same time. Overwhelming painful. Moments of my past I was desperate to forget.

Throughout it all I was showing up and working, trying to do my best for the children who are most vulnerable. But something had to give, and that was my mental health.

So I’ve decided to take some time for me, to breathe and to recover while new medication takes effect. Olanzapine, lamotrigine, quetiapine, lithium: all have become familiar to me as I trialled each and decided to discontinue or carry on. That means lots of blood tests, monitoring, and psychiatric and psychology appointments. Speaking to my psychiatrist today, she reiterated the need to rest. “I was that close to sectioning you,” she explained. I have no shame in being unwell, or in the idea of needing admission to hospital, but being away from my family would have hurt enormously.

If any of this feels familiar, Samaritans are there on 116 123, any hour and you aren’t alone.