wellbeing

A lockdown state of mind

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After months fearing my creativity had gone forever, all of a sudden I found writing ideas coming back into my head. Thank goodness!

But then when I tried to get them down, I found I couldn’t until I’d first typed out what it feels like to live in the world right now. I can get conceptual and maybe even have a go at a funny or two when I’ve worked through my lockdown state of mind.

So that’s what this is. A lockdown diary entry, you could say. An acknowledgement of the vast level of emotions involved with pushing through the beginning of 2021.

I’m normally relatively balanced, but it’s tricky to remain so all the time through a global crisis.

I find I make too much of the good moments that occur – which of course they do – because joy is at a premium right now. My daughter will laugh at something in the park and I’ll say to my husband: “She’s having fun, isn’t she?! I’m so glad we came out! This will really set us up for the rest of the week, don’t you think?!”, whatever that means.

And when the lows occur – because I watch the news or run out of play ideas or I see that it’s raining AGAIN – I get lethargic, grumpy, and I can’t even be arsed to put my socks on, because what’s the point? I lose perspective and dive into my phone, where I can assure you the answer absolutely does not live.

Having so little variety in our lives is exhausting. The end isn’t quite in sight, but it is there in the distance, we know it is. That’s a huge motivator to strive on and keep the faith, but it’s also a while away. It’s perfectly normal to be struggling right now, however big or small the difficulties this pandemic brings you.

I saw a post on Twitter that said “We should assume that nobody is OK right now” which has stayed with me. I try to keep it in my head when I go for a walk or collect my daughter from nursery. Everybody is, at best, sick of this, and at worst, having a truly awful time. Whichever end of the scale you find yourself on – and I consider us to be at the very lucky end – it’s still all right to acknowledge that this is hard. Most people are going to find living through a pandemic difficult.

One of the things I’m finding hardest about lockdown is how much bigger disappointments, mishaps and imperfect interactions feel than normal, because our usual distractions aren’t there to give us perspective.

I’ve found myself becoming oddly nervous when we do leave the house to go to the park for the 4000th time. I’m scared I’ll have an interaction with a parent that will go badly and I’ll think about it day and night for the next three weeks. I get nervous when I drive in case I do something that makes another driver think I’m an idiot. I worry that I’ll make a bad call in the supermarket, get too close to another person also in pursuit of hummus, and chastise myself for days for putting my chickpea consumption before public safety. It’s a tiring time to be alive.

I think it’s the lack of connection in our lives that’s making me lose faith in my ability to interact successfully. We’ve all gone from seeing friends and family everyday/week/month, to, in most cases, not seeing them at all, and not knowing when we will again.

I didn’t realise until it stopped being an option the extent to which I used to top up on conversation, laughter, relationships. Those connections inform who we are. They fill is up. As I’ve written before, there are so many things that I like, I don’t like, I miss, and I don’t miss about the life the pandemic has forced us all to lead. I don’t want every element of our previous world back, not by a long chalk. But I do want the freedom to help create a world we all like more. I want that back right now.

It dawned on me this week that as well as feeling distant from the people and places we love, this time will have made us feel distant from ourselves too. Without structure and variety and the option to make plans, I’ve definitely felt a part of myself fade.

That’s not to say I don’t love being with my husband and daughter. They are my entire world. But not being able to experience different things either with them, by myself or with others has had an impact. We’re all a product of our environment and when that environment shrinks, we do too.

How I feel changes day to day. Sometimes I’ll get some fresh air, chat to a friend or play really mindfully with my daughter and I’ll think ‘Yes, I can do this.’ And then others I won’t have such clarity. Everybody says it, but the only answer is to take it day by day, and to be kind to yourself as you do.

I try to keep this in mind when I feel a special kind of parenting guilt that the pandemic is happening at all. A global event that is in no way my fault. I think a lot of my anxiety and emotions are wrapped up in wishing that I could give our daughter a better time. More options. Time with the people she loves. She’s absolutely fine and hugely fortunate to still be going to nursery a few days a week. It’ll just be nice when we can do more again.

My focus on her means I don’t always have time to feel my own sadness about not seeing Grandma (my mum). Or Uncle Adam (my younger brother). Or Auntie Lexa (one of my very best friends). Because when I’m done saying “Soon! We’ll see them soon, I promise!” to her, I realise that I have no chuffing idea what ‘Soon’ means, and that I hate that.

When normality – whatever that looks like – returns, I’m sure I’m going to be nervous and awkward as hell when I finally get to spend time with people beyond my household. I’m going to fret about losing the aspects of restricted living that suit me and that I’ll miss the guaranteed family time that has bonded us more than ever.

I’m also going to be ecstatic to go further than my local park. To see London again in all its glory. And to hug the people I love.

Mixed, complicated, messy feelings are all part of the deal when you’re a human being. I write this blog because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a go at expressing them all. In fact, I find it really helps. I hope you do too.

Thank you for reading. Much love, and stay safe.

Wake, walk, feel better, repeat

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Daisies against a bright blue sky on a sunny day.

If my husband is getting tired of my daily step count updates, he only has himself to blame.

I’d been having a few episodes of low mood. I just felt a bit sad, lethargic and lost. All pretty common feelings during a pandemic, I’m sure.

At first, I let it go and figured it was inevitable when you’re living through a global crisis. If this is the worst thing I experience during this time, I thought, I’ve been very lucky!

I had panic disorder a few years ago, and I think it’s made me think that I need to wait until I feel really bad before I take steps to feel better.

When anxiety ruled the roost, I’d only feel calm for a few seconds each day. I’d wake up feeling OK because I’d momentarily forgotten that my brain was on fire. But then panic would kick back in, and I’d commence my (then) routine of sweating through the day, until bedtime came around again and I could have a break.

Therapy, time, and support from good people got me through it, and I’m fine now. One is never so bold as to say they’ve beaten a mental health condition – because the bastard might hear you and return. But I will say that, for the most part, I’m in charge now, not my panic. And that’s a pretty chuffing big deal.

So, having been through all that, when I feel myself take a different type of dip – like a mood slip or another form of anxiety – I’m not always quick enough to do something about it. I’ll say to myself: But I don’t feel like my head is about to explode! I can hang out with friends without wanting to sprint out of the room at the earliest opportunity! Everything is OK!

But just because the disorder’s in check, it doesn’t mean other things can’t affect what’s going on in my head. And that there aren’t things I can and should do to boost my wellbeing.

A park filled with bright flowers, and a little girl walking through it.

During my most recent bout of lowness, my husband said “Why don’t you try getting up earlier?”

Now, in the interests of honesty, I should admit that my first response was fury. Was he saying I’m lazy? That I don’t pull my weight? Or did he hope that if I spent less time in bed I’d have fewer dreams to bore him with?

But of course he didn’t mean any of that, and he had a point.

Our little girl is almost three and, all being well, she’s usually up for 12 hours of the day and asleep the other 12. So when Leon and I are done eating, tidying, failing to choose something to watch on TV, and sleeping ourselves, there’s a little time left to do whatever we want with (as long as one of us is in the house, of course).

I find parenting so tiring – and lockdown/pandemic era so endless – that my strategy had been to sleep for as long as possible. Because who wants to make these days longer?!

But it’s hard to go straight from bed to full throttle mum-mode. One minute I’m asleep, dreaming I’m already up and powering through my to-do list, and the next it’s MUMMY! CAN I HAVE SOME MILK AND A BISTIC (biscuit)? MUMMY COME IN MY BEDOOOM! It can be quite an intense way to start the day.

So I’ve started going for a walk. Just for half an hour or so, ideally first thing, when it’s still quiet and a bit chilly.

I’ve devised a special route just for this. I walk up the road we aspire to live on one day, around the park filled with pretty flowers and the world’s busiest squirrels, onto the high street for a reminder that buses still go and shops still open, into a café if I feel like treating myself to a hot chocolate or a pastry or both, and then home after doing a loop around the other park that’s nearer home.

I walked around this park when I was heavily pregnant with our daughter, blissfully unaware of what was to come. Then I’d go home and watch The Office U.S bloopers on YouTube all afternoon whilst I still could. Later, we took her there for her first trip out as a newborn in the sling. I must have checked her 50 times to make sure she was OK.

Lots of clouds in the sky above a park.

And now she’s almost three and obsessed with the swings, and we’re there all the time so she can play.

Being in that park on my own is a treat because it’s brief. And, because it’s such a significant place, going there for a walk and a think – and a sit down if I can get away with it – helps me get back in touch with myself and how I feel, and it helps.

When my HOW DARE YOU response to my husband’s suggestion that I start setting an alarm passed, I realised he was onto something. I looked back on the days leading up to my mood drop and saw that I’d hardly walked at all. Sure, I’d done playground trips and nursery pick-ups, and I’d gone to and from the kitchen 900 times. But I hadn’t walked for the sake of it. I hadn’t had time outside on my own.

In lockdown, we got good at helping each other take our daily exercise, as we needed it to survive. And just because we’ve got more freedom now, it doesn’t mean we should stop making the effort to move for the benefit of our wellbeing. We still need fresh air, space and to keep moving to help us stay well.

So I bought a Fitbit, which tracks the number of steps you take each day, your heart rate, your sleep, and other useful health-related info. I wanted something to hold me to account and make me walk – even when I think I don’t want to – and to give me proof that I’m trying.

Leon tolerates my delighted cries of “Ooh it just buzzed! I’ve done my 10,000 steps!” because he knows it’s for the greater good. It was all his idea after all, and I’m grateful for that.

When I’ve finished my morning walk, I head back up our road, open the front door, and am greeted with a ‘Mummy’s back!’ which I love.

I make breakfast, I give out snacks, we play, we go out, we eat food, we come home, I put on films, I clean up, we read books, I find lost toys, I hold my little girl when her emotions take hold, or she’s had a bump, or she’s frightened of a monster I can’t see, or she just wants a cuddle with her mum, and I sit with her in her bedroom at night, and I tell her that I love her and that we’ll have more fun tomorrow, until she drifts off to sleep once again.

And I’m better at it all, and I feel so much happier, because I went out for that walk.

How to avoid burnout: Learn to mind the gap between body and mind

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How to avoid burnout: Learn to mind the gap between body and mindI’m going to keep this brief because I’m tired. To do anything else would go against the very purpose of this post: to talk about avoiding burnout.

Getting older has taught me many things. That pretty much everything and everyone is too noisy. That a stool isn’t a seat, it’s a one way ticket to back ache. And that just because your parents are no longer on hand to tell you not to eat 12 Jaffa Cakes at once, it doesn’t mean you should.

Mind the gap

But less obvious is the lesson I’m just starting to grasp about the gaps that can exist between our bodies and minds.

Between what our brains tell us that we can do, and what our bodies can actually withstand.

Between the energy we have in our muscles, and the space our minds need to think.

You know that feeling when you just keep going and going and going and then you suddenly realise that if you don’t go to bed RIGHT NOW you’re either going to collapse or throw up or both?

Or when your brain is just so FULL – with worry, dilemmas, ideas or emotion – that even though technically you could go out with friends or visit family, you know if you do, you’re just going to burst into tears?

That’s what it feels like when the gap trips us up and burnout starts to happen. And it’s chuffing horrible.

Life can trick us into thinking we can handle more than we can. It sounds simple when it’s written down but it’s amazing how frequently it can catch us out. We don’t always realise we’re pushing ourselves until it’s too late. And getting to that point never feels good.

Have the confidence to say no

I’ve written before about how, to feel better, we have to stop trying to do everything at once. And I think part of the issue is confidence. It takes courage to say no to invitations or to admit that you’ve got too much on your plate. Or to say, regardless of how simple an activity might be for somebody else, for you at this point it’s just too much.

Nobody wants to look weak or uncommitted, so all too often we’ll power through regardless. But staying well and happy matters more than saving face. So we need to find a balance between what we’re physically and mentally capable of, and be confident that our limits are justified.

As you change, your limits change

I’m currently trying to adjust to what I can and can’t do whilst pregnant. My brain has a million ideas about how I could spend my time. And then I remember that I get puffed out going up the stairs, and I have to scale back my plans.

And although it’s obviously all worth it, the process is frustrating nonetheless. My FOMO (sorry mum, that means ‘Fear of missing out’) is through the roof as I see people doing all sorts of things that just aren’t feasible for me at the moment. I’m having to learn how to have a nice time in this condition – how to socialise, write and exercise – without pushing myself too far. It was an inevitable part of the process, but I hadn’t appreciated the conflict I’d experience between what my mind and body want from me.

Your boundaries, your business

No matter what our circumstances are, we have to learn to foresee what our minds and bodies need to keep us well and avoid burnout. Annoyingly they don’t always talk to each other until it’s too late, so we have to use what we’ve learnt about ourselves to plan ahead.

What that looks like will vary from person to person. Right now for me that means going out just one evening during the week, as it’ll take me the next two to recover. And remembering not to make plans after appointments with the midwife as I’m always SHATTERED.

For you it’ll mean something else. Our personal boundaries are exactly that – personal. So nobody gets to set them but us.

What do you do to avoid burnout?