Therapy

Fighting for Survival

Hello– before we get into this, today (10 September) is World Suicide Prevention Day. I just want to give you heads up that this article touches on suicidal thoughts, self harm and attempted suicide. If you need it, whether you read it or not, here’s a hug from me! We’re going to jump straight in and then come out of it real quick OK? Here we go.

There will only be a couple of handfuls of people in my life who knew me before my first suicide attempt. If you do know me in real life, it’s unlikely that you’re one of them.

I was 12 years old when I took my first overdose. I was still 12 when I took my second and third. I was 23 years old when I took my last. I was self-harming from the age of 11. I arguably continue to do so to this day. My last suicidal thought was about three months ago.

During my first hospital admission, I was kept on observation overnight and told that I would need to see a child psychologist before I could leave. I got up the next day and was taken to my appointment. As I walked in, my psychologist was there with each member of my immediate family, including my young brothers. My session involved the psychologist facilitated each of my family members telling me, one by one, how my actions made them feel. How I disappointed them. How selfish I was.  I had no opportunity to respond or follow up. I was then released. This was after my second attempt on my life. My third came quickly after that – and remained a secret, like the first and like every attempt after that.

My fight with suicidal thoughts, self-harm and attempted suicides has been with me most of my life. On those very days, it has literally been a fight for my survival. A fight that I wasn’t always sure I wanted to win.

Let’s jump forward to the present day –

I am OK

On most days, I’m great. Since I am lucky enough to be here to share my stories and have a platform to do so, I’m using it to say some of the things that someone else closer to home might be thinking, that they can’t vocalise themselves right now. Because I can, and because I care.

Because depression, especially to the point of suicide, is incredibly lonely. And as scary as hell. The feeling like everything is out of control can make anyone do things that they wouldn’t normally be capable of.

And you know, every single person has the ability to prevent an unnecessary death.

Each person reading this can save someone else from grief. Because these thoughts and actions do not happen in a vacuum. It’s not entirely all in a person’s head. Thoughts and beliefs are influenced by external behaviours. And vice versa.

If you believe the worst about yourself, and it’s reinforced by other people’s perceived behaviours around you, it does just that – it reinforces those thoughts and beliefs. If it’s been lived a long time, it becomes that person’s reality. And we all know how hard it is to change and challenge your beliefs. Suicidal thoughts and actions are built over years.

In my long road to recovery, there have been many people involved – directly or indirectly. My instinct of serving others has given me families who nurture, support and build me up. Where I’ve met adversity or someone taking advantage of my kindness, whether that’s another gamer in a relevant scenario or working with a competitive, self-serving colleague, my relationships with those I’ve nurtured and celebrated always stood by me. Even when I’m not there.

But you, yes you – you can change the trajectory of that person’s fate. Be the kindness that is missing. Be present in your interactions. Show others that it’s OK to slow down, take care and put your well-being first. Be honest about your feelings, needs and expectations. Be generous with your praise. Be constructive in your feedback. Build confidence and self-esteem in others. Be the advocate when they can’t represent themselves. Embrace uniqueness, community and diversity. Own your own sh*t, instead of projecting onto others.

You don’t have to do anything drastic to prevent suicide.

But you do need to do it. Unless you’ve been through it, you’ll never really appreciate the impact that a well-timed cup of tea, or a statement of praise, or a surprise phone call can make. For me, each of these have saved my life at different points of my life.

So, to conclude – Mum, I love you. But you were wrong. My sensitivity isn’t my weakness. It is my strength. My superpower. Because now, after years of harnessing it, my vulnerability and honesty is what gives me the drive and power to help other people who are fighting for survival. Now and in the future.

IF YOU DON’T FEEL THAT YOU CAN KEEP SAFE RIGHT NOW, PLEASE SEEK IMMEDIATE HELP. PLEASE FIGHT ONE MORE DAY. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT!

CALL SOMEONE: A FRIEND, A FAMILY MEMBER, AN AMBULANCE, A LOCAL CRISIS NUMBER… SOMEONE.

SAMARITANS: FREE PHONE 116 123 (UK)

A mixed bag

It was my first day at school. I don’t really remember feeling nervous. I learnt to speak English at nursery (or kindergarten for non- UK readers) so, as far as I was concerned, the hard part was done. My mum and I got to the school gates and went to say goodbye. She put her hands on my face and told me to have a good day. All pretty standard. She then handed me a bag of pick-and-mix sweets – not the penny sweets kind, but the fancy ones from Woolworths in the pink stripy bag! She instructed me to share them with the other kids so I could make friends. This was one of those innocuous memories that I had that I didn’t realise left a profound message on me – at least not until I explored this with my therapist as an adult.

My mum was worried that I wouldn’t fit in.

In support of my mother, this was fair. She grew up in the UK as a teenager, after my grandfather moved the family from Hong Kong. I grew up in a Norfolk town where, let’s be honest, isn’t known for its diversity. Like lots of first generation British Born Chinese (BBCs), we were the only Chinese family in our town, especially in the early days. One of my classmates was of Asian descent and we contributed to the handful of ethnic minorities in our school. So, on that first day at school, she unintentionally implanted a belief that I still struggle to shake off on a bad day –

people will only like me if I can bring them something

As a child, I never really fit. I was too Chinese at school; too English at home. I was taught to integrate by my parents and taught to embrace and celebrate my family’s heritage by my grandparents. I stereotypically worked in our family friend’s takeaway as a teenager. I would deal with racial slurs from some customers at the counter and then be ridiculed for using the wrong Chinese words in the kitchen (if you’ve ever tried to say “wash” or “die” in Cantonese, you’ll know what I’m talking about!)

It wasn’t just about race. I was told to work hard, to make a better life for myself. This wasn’t the general culture at my school, so I was torn between studying hard and fitting in. I tried desperately to be good at sports and the arts. I was lucky to have found a great group of friends, even it changed about sometimes. We were working it all out together. However, I stood out like a sore thumb for some people. After a childhood of bullying, when it started to happen to my younger brother, I learnt to fight back. I became a defender and a champion for those who were being victimised. This certainly meant it was harder to keep a low profile, so I got on with it. As lots of us felt as teenagers, everywhere felt like a battleground. The clash of different cultures, expectations, and languages shaped my upbringing of conflict.

And then I left home. I finally finished school, I packed up my stuff into a car, kissed my tearful mother goodbye before I drove off to university – with my two youngest brothers dragging their mattresses to claim my newly vacated bedroom. To cut a long story short – this is where I found my people. Other outcasts, geeks and freaks. My longest love – my best friend – told me a few years back that she was so grateful this unlikely band of misfits found one another. We all grew up feeling the same – like we didn’t fit, for lots of different reasons. We had also picked up the same skill to “fit in” or “fight it out”. Our adult version of the bag of sweets at the school gates was servitude and usefulness.

Our allocated nicknames from others were maternal in nature.

For example, one of my fondest memories was hearing a rabble outside, chanting. When we went to see what the fuss was, it turns out the rugby teams were outside of my house, chanting “Mama Lou” en route to their social.

Of course, it’s nice to liked. It feels good to be needed and important. But as I argued in my previous blog, agreeableness isn’t always helpful. I developed an unhealthy relationship with boundaries – or the lack of. I gave so much of myself away, I had nothing left. When I had to take time off work due to my mental health, I hated myself for being so selfish, for being a failure. I then felt complete loss. How am I still me if my driving purpose wasn’t to take care of others? It took me three months of crying, therapists and hard work to begin to unpick and rebuild my core identities.

It – and some incredible support from awesome people – eventually helped me unlearn the unintended lesson my mother taught me on my first day of school. I didn’t have to show up with something to make friends; I just had to show up. I didn’t have to pretend to be something I wasn’t to make other people love me. If I did the things that made me happy, I would meet other people who loved what I loved; luckily for my former colleagues, one of these activities was learning to bake! If I was excited and enthusiastic, people around me were too. If I was happy in myself, then I could help others with energy, generosity and authenticity.

So now, I nourish different aspects of my identity – I am a British Born Chinese person, who connects with other BBCs; I am a Magic: The Gathering player, who spends too much time and money on cardboard; I am a budding miniatures painter, who really wants to win my first painting competition in a year’s time; I am a compassionate, loving friend, who is anything between 20 minutes to two hours late for social engagements (patience is pretty mandatory for my closest people); and I am writer and coach, who is still working some of this stuff out herself.

There is so much fear and uncertainty out there – no wonder we’re all a bit anxious. I know the only thing I can truly do is to look after myself and doing the things that gets me “talking hands” excited, so that I can keep helping others find and maintain their joy.

Whatever the activity is that recharges the different aspects of you, I hope you’re chasing it!

Lou

Head and Heart Therapy

Overcoming anxiety and depression is hard work, particularly if you have an aversion and cynicism to therapy like I did. I had a traumatic experience as a child, which took me well over a decade and some convincing from work to get over. When things got bad a few years back, I tried whatever therapy I could, mostly because I wanted to avoid medication. I worked with a counsellor and I was also introduced to a therapy, commonly known as the heart and mind method.

The Rosen Method, it’s official name, was one of the strangest experiences of my life.

You get undressed so that you’re in your pants/briefs/knickers/boxers/etc – like you would do for a massage. The therapist then touches you lightly as you go through talk therapy. What happens next is weird – but not in a safeguarding kind of way. Despite practising yoga on and off for years, it was the first time that I really understood that my body’s been trying to tell me about my feelings.

In my first session, the therapist was able to tell that I had a long history of being burdened with responsibility – just from looking at my shoulders. As I laid on my back, she asked me a bit about that, and as I spoke, she put her hand on my chest above my heart and observed how much emotion I kept locked up, in my chest. Well, that did it. The dam opened and I cried like never before.

It was ugly, snotty and completely unhindered.  

And so embarrassing. Luckily, she’s seen it all before and reassured me that people react very differently to different things during therapy. Some cried like I had; others laughed uncontrollably. Throughout the course of my programme, I discovered my armour – the things my body did to protect me. For example, it helped me understand why I would make myself as small as possible during a panic attack, balled up and clutching my chest. It helped me to realise how much moving, having my feet on the floor and dropping my shoulders would help me fend off an incoming anxiety attack.

It helped me understand that whilst my depression and anxiety felt like it was all in my head, my body was trying to help, and it would suffer too during a panic attack. I frequently had knots in my neck and shoulders, particularly after I’ve managed to unbunch myself after a panic attack. It’s why my therapist was able to see that I had a history of ill mental health – my broader shoulders indicated the number of panic attacks and stress I carried. That’s not to say that if you’re broad shouldered that you should get help, but it was interesting to see. My frame isn’t naturally so, and my therapist’s experience could see that.

After every session, my body felt heavy, grounded. For those who practices/d yoga, it was the same feeling as coming out of a yoga session. Just with some damp tissues and runny nose (in my case anyway). My mind felt less cloudy and my heart felt lighter. It didn’t fix everything straight away. I saw my therapist for eight months. There are days where I feel I should probably go back. It did, however, give me some insight and tools that I only really forget when I’m having an incredibly bad day.

I’m not saying it will work for you, but I am saying that if you have panic attacks and/or some really old stuff hidden in there, maybe give it try. What’s there to lose? For me, it was some of my insecurities and ignorance to how much I really do beat myself up. And a couple of quid each time. But do you know what, I’m worth that investment. And I have sneaking suspicion that so are you.

Whatever you do next, I’m wishing you the best of luck, with the biggest set of poms-poms and a glitter cannon.

Lou