Archive for the ‘25percentclub’ Category
The 25% Club: A Piece Of Me
Posted on: January 31, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be accredited, others will be anonymous – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do. Today’s post is by the very excellently named @HRTinker.
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After Alison’s blog last week this really got me thinking about mental health and how it affects me.
For the majority, we all have our own black dog that we keep and, for the most part, we manage to control and maintain. However, on occasion (at some point during each year for me) the dog becomes a lumbering force in my life. My depression, anxiety, stress, low mood, call it what you wish, flares up. The impact is not debilitating, but on a level it stops me functioning.
What it does do is impede my ability to have clarity of thought and strips every ounce of self-belief from my bones. I question every single action that I take. I don’t believe that anything I do is productive, worthwhile or right. I have nightmares and sweats, it’s horrible. But I get through it, it lasts for a period of time and then goes as I feel comfortable with whatever the issue is.
As I have gotten older, I have found the dips to be lower and the time it takes me to get out of these dips to take a wee bit longer each time. While I am lucid about all of the above, it doesn’t get away from the fact that I have a problem.
In truth, I don’t wish to go to the doctor as it will probably only confirm that I suffer from low mood and periodic periods of anxiety and stress. This doesn’t make me a strange or weird person, I’d say most of us have a mild mental health issue.
But there is a stigma with admitting this. This isn’t a problem, it’s just a piece of who you are, how you break down problems and how you react to certain stimulus.
This is the crux of the matter, because the ‘what’ that gets you to the point of depression is so personal; so is the way of getting out. I would never be able to tell you exactly how I control the dog but I do, each time is a different. In the desperation to help, many talk about counselling, therapy, pills but you need to be ready to address what it is that gets you there, before you can start talking about it.
For me, the way out is deep thought, it’s reflection and with a few select friends (generally with no association with the issue) I will open up. If you were to meet me in work or at a party you’d say I was loud and outgoing, I am. But I also have problems that I struggle to escape from. I don’t think I’m strange, I just think that at times I struggle. Don’t we all?
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute, please get in touch with me on Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or through the comments section of this blog
- do you want to join me in running the Royal Parks half marathon in October to raise money for Mind? Register here if so and let’s form an #HRforMentalHealth team (non HR people welcome too!)
The 25% Club: The Black Dog
Posted on: January 30, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be accredited, others will be anonymous – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do. Today’s post is by Kandy Woodfield, who you can find on Twitter @jess1ecat.
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“A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key.” Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation
When I read ‘Courage’ it touched a nerve, truthfully more than just one. It was a powerful account of living with a mental health condition. Despite the fact that 1 in 4 of us will experience mental health issues at some point in our lives remains a taboo in the workplace which is why I’m so pleased that the overwhelming response to that powerful post has created a conversation amongst tweeting HR professionals. It touched me because I’ve been there, several years ago what Churchill called his ‘black dog’ reared its head in my life. Truth be told it had probably always been there. Over the years I’d ignored it, bartered with it, avoided asking for help, tried lots of ways to free myself of the paralysing insomnia, loneliness & anxiety my depression had gifted me. I never asked for help, I thought people would tell me to ‘snap out of it’, that somehow it was my failure, my inability to cope, that I’d brought it on myself. That’s my story but depression is a clever chameleon, others will experience a range of different symptoms so never assume you know what someone is going t hrough.
My black dog floored me, eventually I could barely engage with those closest to me far less get up and go to work. This time I was down for the count and every day since then I’ve been grateful that my family and my employer had the understanding and insight to support me.
We can each do something small to help change taboos about mental health, think about the words and phrases you use in everyday conversations about mental health, imagine what it would be like if we used that language about other illnesses? I don’t hide my experiences but I don’t broadcast them either (well until now!) and I understand why some people choose not to disclose, we each have to make the decision which is right for us. I was lucky I had a supportive employer and a line manager who understood I needed to take things at my own pace and I’d talk when I was ready.
So what can we do as HR professionals and colleagues , friends & family to support someone experiencing depression?
- Read all you can, the following all have excellent online support: Depression Alliance , Mind Black Dog Tribe
- Listen, have an open mind and never assume you know what it feels like, depression is not just about being a bit ‘down in the dumps’ and it varies from person to person. You can start by watching this brilliant video to see why the black dog metaphor is spot on
- Never assume you know what will help – ask the individual what they think might help, see what their GP has suggested, help them find talking therapy if they feel that might help, the provision of MH services is very patchy and trying to negotiate that maze alone is hard at the best of times.
- Support them if they want to carry on working – will it help to change or reduce their hours? This is especially important if sleeplessness is an issue or medication includes sedative properties.
- Have a simple system to manage short-notice absence, depression fluctuates you can cope one day but the next day may be different
- Look at the diary, what is filling them with dread? Find someone else to do it. I couldn’t do large events or networking in the thick of my depression, the thought of a room full of five or more people would fill me with horror.
With time and support I faced my black dog, the fog lifted and the cage opened and I am thankful every day that I came through it, not everyone does. Mental health matters and we can all be a part of making a change that’s why I’m proud to be part of the #25percent .
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute, please get in touch with me on Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or through the comments section of this blog
- do you want to join me in running the Royal Parks half marathon in October to raise money for Mind? Register here if so and let’s form an #HRforMentalHealth team (non HR people welcome too!)
The 25% Club: Lucky
Posted on: January 29, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be accredited, others will be anonymous – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do. Today’s post is by Tim Scott, who you can find on Twitter @TimScottHR.
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Fairly early on in my HR career, I participated in an “Anti-Discrimination” training course. The attendees were a pretty diverse group so we had lively discussions about sex discrimination and then race discrimination. The next subject was disability discrimination, but the conversation dried up quite quickly: it was apparent none of us had much experience to share. Noticing this, the trainer called a halt to the conversation and said: “Think of it like this: you are all potentially seconds away from being disabled”. After a suitably dramatic pause, he talked through a few case studies of unfortunate people who had been injured and left with a lifelong disability as a result of a split second occurrence and sheer bad luck. Perhaps an unorthodox approach to the subject but it made me appreciate that whilst “disability issues” might not affect me there and then, they could become of vital importance to me by simple quirk of fate…
Fast forward to late 2011. My one year old son was receiving ongoing hospital treatment after a very serious operation and was quite poorly. My Dad had an unexpected serious health scare. Work was intense: amongst other things I was handling a major disciplinary investigation; project managing an office move which had to be delivered at short notice and there was frequent press speculation and internal debate about the future of our organisation. You get the picture. It was a stressful time and, yes, I’d say I was “stressed” in the way we use that term in everyday language. But I’d been through similarly intensive times before with no adverse effects, so there was absolutely no reason to believe I wouldn’t do the same this time.
I don’t know precisely when it started. There wasn’t a big bang or one event that triggered it. The feeling just crept up on me. It felt like the walls were closing in. Sometimes I literally felt I couldn’t take a deep enough breath. Physically, I was functioning – getting into work, doing my job, looking after my son – but it felt robotic, like I was detached from what I was doing. It reminded me of the description of being close to a Dementor (bear with me!) by a character in one of the Harry Potter books: “it felt like I’d never be happy again”.
Looking back with hindsight, I can see the crescendo building. I don’t know what was different – if anything – from previous times of stress. But there was something. And it felt awful. I didn’t discuss it with anyone – we all have stuff to deal with, right? And it’s just not “the done thing” to admit you’re not feeling on top form mentally, especially not at work. Ignoring advice I’ve given to colleagues countless times, I thought “this isn’t me; if I just kept going, I’ll come out the other side”. Eventually in early December, I was ill with a virus and had to take a few days off work. After this enforced break, I found the negative sensations had dissipated. I came back to work with a fresh approach and got stuck into the outstanding tasks on my to-do list. Christmas came around and then it was a new year and thankfully there was no sign of any of the issues that had affected me during the winter.
I consider myself very lucky. I haven’t (knowingly) suffered any form of mental health issue before or since. What happened to me came and went without any real intervention and lasted only a few weeks. Compared to what many people live with on a daily basis, it was just a blip. But what it left me with was a much starker appreciation of the effects that poor mental health can have on people – and how quickly and almost imperceptibly it can take hold, even of someone with no history of such problems.
There are many different and persuasive reasons why we should take mental health issues in the workplace very seriously indeed – not least the human reasons, the business case and the impact on those around us – but if you want a very personal reason to consider your practice in this area, how about this? You’re all potentially seconds away from having a mental health issue yourself.
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute, please get in touch with me on Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or through the comments section of this blog
- Do you want to join me in running the Royal Parks half marathon in October to raise money for Mind? Register here if so and let’s form an #HRforMentalHealth team (non HR people welcome too!)
The 25% Club: Not Good Enough?
Posted on: January 28, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be accredited, others will be anonymous – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do. Today’s post is by Khurshed Dehnugara, who you can find on Twitter @Relume1
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I have woken up, a little dazed on my sofa. Strange – I thought that I had taken myself back to my bed in time to avoid the falling asleep in front of the TV. I am disoriented and my heart is also beating quite fast. I’m anxious, it is a feeling that I have been carrying for a while now, I recognise the impact on my body but in this early hour of the morning it is elevated somehow. All my senses are heightened, I can hear a scratching, it isn’t pleasant, something is under the floorboards. I have an extreme phobia of rats; please don’t let it be a rat. I do what I imagine a lot of scared people do I lie frozen, absolutely still, hoping that when I tune in again the scratching will have gone and the silence will have returned. There it is again, from a different part of the room, I dare not put my feet on the floor. Wake up, get up, and stop being so pathetic. Now there is another scratching, it is at the windows; I haven’t ever gotten around to buying curtains so I can see straight out into the dark early morning outside. There is no one there, but there it is again not a scratching now but a tapping. Now I can hear it in the bedroom too. I force myself off the sofa it takes an enormous effort. Now what? Can’t face going into the bathroom, how do I get away from this noise? I walk into the bedroom very slowly, like I used to when scared of the dark, God it is cold, I’m shivering. The bedroom was built as an extension onto the flat so it has never warmed up to the same temperature as the rest of the house but it has never felt this cold. Get under the duvet, put your hands over your ears and block it all out. I’m losing it, I can’t hold it together, and everything feels like it is breaking up. I hear a child’s voice asking me a question, they aren’t speaking loud enough, what is it; I strain my ears to hear, I don’t have the answer to the question. I know that even before I have managed to hear it. For some reason this is deeply upsetting, I start crying, no, sobbing is a better description, I can’t remember crying as an adult, something about it feels right. Not sure how long I sit there like that but as the crying eases, the scratching and tapping voices abide, it seems to happen in proportion to the amount of daylight outside and eventually I think I fall asleep.
At the time this happened to me, no one else would have known, on the outside I was a highly functioning senior executive with a global pharmaceutical company. I had responsibility for a portfolio of medicines with annual revenue of hundreds of millions of pounds. I was young and had been accelerated through the ranks until I met my current manager. She was in a period of performance difficulty and had nowhere to turn, so she did what many scared leaders do and looked for someone to blame – in this case it was me.
Looking back I was trying to do two things that ended up tearing me apart. Determined to get a result I was pushing for risk, creativity, participation and challenge of the status quo. Determined to be a good boy I was working harder and harder at pleasing her the best way I knew how. Responding to more and more persecution, constraint, rules and regulations. Working harder at what had got me success in the past.
And then I snapped.
I understand that most of the readership of this series of blogs will be HR professionals. I experienced the best and worst of HR during this time. While the situation was going on, there was a great deal of avoidance. Everyone in HR knew about the poison in the system but no one acted. I would ask you all to think for a minute about those situations you may be complicit in, colluding with something for the sake of your own image or career. At the same time the first person I was able to speak to was an HR colleague in another part of the business. He gave me some much-needed time to tell my story, witnessed the deep shame I was carrying about it and was courageous enough to act on my behalf at a time when my resources had run out. He was also willing to put himself on the line in the interests of the organisation as a whole. We are still in touch and I am eternally grateful.
Some research claims that 25% of us in the workplace are struggling with issues of mental health. If you are one of us I wish you well and am with you in spirit. The road to recovery is a story for another day but a key part of it was getting over the shame I felt, to stop hiding and come out into the light with the situation. And writing this is an opportunity to do that some more.
Thank you for reading it.
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute, please get in touch with me on Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or through the comments section of this blog
The 25% Club: An Aftermath
Posted on: January 25, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. All of these posts are intended to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do. This one is written by me.
Mind have asked me to provide a trigger warning for this post, as it discusses suicide. Please read it carefully. If you’re struggling, please read Mind’s information on coping with suicidal feelings or talk to the Samaritans, who are there to listen 24/7. Mind also has information on how to help someone who is suicidal.
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I don’t know whether this story fits within the 25% club series. I am not a member of the 25% club, nor even just one step removed, yet my life has been inexorably altered by one who was. And on today, of all days, I would really like to tell you his story.
Eleven years ago yesterday on a Thursday evening, I came home in the evening after a long and busy day at work and listened to an answer phone message from Mr C’s brother, Roger. It was an upbeat, cheerful message, thanking us for his Christmas present, talking about his new house and where he was going to put the mirror we gave him. I listened to the message, smiled, told Mr C when he came home and thought no more of it. We would phone him back at the weekend and have a chat.
Eleven years ago today on a Friday evening, I came home from work late and tired after a busy week at work. I cooked, ate, drank some wine, waited for Mr C to come home after he had run his scout group. He eventually did and we chatted and laughed and went to bed. Then, at nearly midnight the phone rang. Mr C – Dave – answered it. It was his Dad, telling Dave that his brother had died, had committed suicide. His Dad had driven to Roger’s house, fearing the worst when he had not shown up at work and he had found him.
Even now, I can’t articulate the shock, or incomprehension. We had only once been told by his parents that Roger had “been a bit down” and knew nothing of his depression or the demons he had been fighting. We scrambled back into our clothes, Dave telling me I could remain in the flat, me insisting on remaining with him. The dreadful, silent journey to his parent’s house. Ringing his Mum to tell her that Dave was on his way and the utter deadness of her voice. Watching Dave embrace his Mum and then driving off to my own parents’ house, waking them in the middle of the night and howling and sobbing my grief for what had happened, my anger at the choice that Roger had made and my sense of betrayal that we had known nothing of what was coming, the impact that I knew it would have on all our lives.
It wouldn’t be true to say that the weekend passed in a blur, as I remember much of it in all its dreadful technicolour. Seeing Dave’s parents for the first time since it happened, the grief and loss etched on their faces. Going to Roger’s best friend’s house and being there while Dave told him and his wife, us all crying together and drinking hot, sweet tea, trying and failing to find answers or reasons. Dave’s grief was mostly silent and heavy; he could only tolerate classical music, he wanted to try to maintain as much normality as possible, we still had friends over for dinner on the Saturday evening. Such very, very good friends who were willing to give Dave the normality that he craved and put their own feelings and shock to one side to be there for him. Dave managing to come to Sunday lunch with my family, but on the condition that no one asked him how he was, talked about what had happened or told them how sorry they were. So incomprehensibly difficult for an open and communicative family like mine, but they managed it, simply saying how very pleased they were to see him, us. Dave insisting on going to work on the Monday morning, when I couldn’t even consider going in. It wasn’t until someone asked him cheerfully if he had had a good weekend that he realised that he couldn’t bear it and came back home.
Two questions came up again and again in the dreadful telling of the news to people: how and why. We didn’t know the how for several days, as Dave’s parents wouldn’t or couldn’t tell us and Dave wouldn’t or couldn’t ask them. Finally my parents gently and compassionately asked and we finally learned that Roger had hanged himself. This was no cry for help; this was a cry for release, a deliberate choice. We also learned, over time, that he had made previous attempts at suicide and that he had suffered depression for many years, although had hidden it well. After his death we found some emails that Roger had sent to the Samaritans, describing with heartbreaking detail the depression that consumed him like cancer. The ‘why’ we will never really know the answer to: he wasn’t happy, he didn’t have a long-term girlfriend, he didn’t want to continue living, he seemed to genuinely think we would better off without him. But the silver bullet answer to ‘why?’ is one that is rarely, if ever, provided by someone who commits suicide. The only solace comes from accepting that you will never truly know.
And life goes on, of course it does. But it has also shifted and changed things irrevocably, relationships changed and altered, pressure points contracted and expanded. In the early days, months and years there were so many painful experiences for all of us, some of which inevitably spilled over into the work environment. A straightforward meeting with my boss to talk through my objectives six months after it had happened ended up with me in tears for no apparent reason…except that just keeping going and trying to keep everyone else going was painful and difficult. I struggled with my relationship with my mother-in-law and the pressure I felt under to somehow fill the gaping void in her life. I worried that Dave was often so absent from me, lost in his thoughts and grief that he couldn’t put words to. I had counselling on my own, we had counselling together and things started to get better again. But it took time, a lot of time. It was Christmas and Roger wasn’t there; we got married, he wasn’t there; we had our children, he wasn’t there, he isn’t there….that part of it never really stops and that is for me, who is at least one step removed from being the closest affected. I can only relate the story that is mine to tell: if my mother or father-in-law were to ever tell theirs, it would break your hearts and mine to read.
There is so much I haven’t told you about Roger. In the same way that people do not wish to be defined by their mental health conditions, he would hate to be defined in your minds by his death. He was thirty years old when he died and he was clever, thoughtful, kind and considerate. He was exceptionally well-read, intelligent, funny, hard-working, proud, stubborn, physically strong and fit. He had good friends, many of whom he had known most or all of his life, a good job and a loving family. He was interested in politics and history, patriotic, highly knowledgeable about many subjects and had a great sense of fun. He is greatly missed and will always be so.
If I leave you with any points, it is these: firstly, that depression remains deeply, dangerously hidden in some people, who walk and live amongst us. Unless we do more to talk about it, they will continue to feel alone and isolated. Suicide has such a stigma: we need to understand more about how to give people the tools to talk about it, to offer support, to not be frightened or to condemn what we don’t understand. Secondly, that the ripples from those in the 25% club extend far beyond their membership and that we have a duty of care to support the carers and others who are affected in the workplace and out of it.
This story is one aftermath of a suicide, the aftermath that is part of the fabric of my adult life and has been absorbed into it. If I knew the true story prior to the aftermath, I would have told that instead. But on the anniversary of my brother-in-law’s death, I wanted to honour his memory and give him retrospective membership of the 25% club. Rest in peace and know that you are loved.
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If you are affected personally by this issue or know someone who is, there are people and resources to help
- The Samaritans are there 24 hours a day, 365 days a year
- Mind has information on coping with suicidal feelings
- Mind also has information on how top help someone who is suicidal.
If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute a post, please get in touch with my on Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or via the comments section below.
The 25% Club: Coming Out
Posted on: January 24, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be accredited, others will be anonymous – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do. Today’s post is by David Marten, who you can find on Twitter @DavidMarten.
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When starting to write this blog, I wanted to say that it’s a topic of much discussion by people, but I stopped myself instantly after thinking that in reality, it isn’t something we talk much about at all. 1 in 4 of us at some point will have mental health issues, yet it is a subject still taboo in discussion.
I work in HR and have helped develop policy at previous companies to open up discussion on stress, for example; and I actively encourage employees to be honest and open if they are facing difficulties. But what has got me thinking recently is how difficult it is to do this in reality.
It’s all well and good me saying that people should be more open and honest but there is still so much stigma attached to this subject, both in the workplace as well as the outside world. So I am honestly not surprised at all that it’s not talked about.
So there are two things that I should really say now. Firstly, I am gay (I’ll come on to this later). Secondly, I have suffered from a mental health issue.
Just writing that down knowing that someone else will be reading that I have had issues with my mental health is a very difficult thing for me. The worry that I will be treated differently by people and especially my work colleagues has made me not ever want to mention it.
But with a recent series of blogs by my colleague Alison and people guest blogging via her site I thought it was about time to openly talk about my mental health issue, hoping that it may help someone get through what they are having to deal with.
I have called this blog coming out as it feels like I’m doing it again by talking about my mental health.
It all started at the previous company I worked at. Work had started to get busier and more colleagues were leaving my department which meant more pressure on me. I just kept thinking that if I could just get through the next few months at work it would get easier and better and so I carried on as normal.
Unknown to me at the time however, I started to get into a vicious circle where I became more stressed and so things got more on top of me which led to some mistakes, which meant more work and more stress. And so the cycle continued with no end in sight.
At the same time my home life was starting to deteriorate. I would leave work panicking about how much there needed to be done and therefore couldn’t relax, couldn’t sleep and then started to dread going to work. I would say sorry for anything that was happening around me, would say I was useless at everything, and would think for no real reason that my boss thought I was useless.
Then one day I broke out into tears at work. I can’t rememberwhy but I have to say, I’ve never done that before. At this point I knew there was something wrong.
But I didn’t know what.
I was terrified of speaking to my boss about my workload – my instinct due to my illness was that he would thing I was terrible at my job and he could cope so why couldn’t I?
So I said nothing.
Then things got worse and I stated to get physically ill with heart palpitations and other not nice things.
I eventually went to see my GP and after speaking to him about my physical symptoms and what else had been going on he said that I was suffering from stress and depression.
These few words were like a weight hitting me. Me? Depressed? Huh? What?
We talked a lot about what I had been going through and then about options, and with his help we came to the decision that I needed to have time off work.
I left the doctor’s surgery and again burst into tears. This time it was a raw emotional outburst. For the first time in months I felt some relief.
For a long time before this I had been walking around in a daze – pain and panic running though me, thinking it could never get better. I was stuck like this and there was nothing that could be done about it.
Thankfully I was wrong.
I was signed off work and started to go to counselling. Medication was discussed but at the time I felt it wasn’t right for me.
Having time off work was what I needed but the counselling helped me so much. I also have an amazing partner who was there to support me throughout all of this.
The counselling allowed me to explore why I was like this and most importantly what I could do to make me well again.
A book I read described how if you broke your leg you would need to see a doctor, need to take rest and maybe have medication, and to receive support from the people around you. A mental health problem is no different to that.
I mentioned earlier that I was gay. I didn’t do this to come out to the world. Friends, family and work colleagues know this about me (well, if they don’t they do now!) but I wanted to try to convey how difficult it is to ‘come out’ as being gay and compare this to the feeling of coming out about mental illness.
Reading through one of the guest blogs from Alison’s’ website (entitled ‘an invitation’) the author says “I don’t want this to be the only thing that you know of me or associate me with, because I’m so much more than that.”
I have had my own personal experience in this and can wholeheartedly agree with this view-point. When I let people know I am gay (it’s not always obvious to everyone) I have that feeling in me believing the same thing – that I don’t want this to be the only thing people associate about me.
I guess it’s difficult for people not to do it though; especially if they have had no experience or any dealings with gay people. And so it is with people who have not dealt with mental health issues.
This is another reason why I feel mental health issues are a topic that the world needs to talk about – so that it becomes something that is the new normal; where people can speak out and not feel terrified about what others will think and how they will treat them going forward.
To be open and honest about one’s mental health is one of the hardest things we could ever do. Until we start doing this and be more open, how can others who are suffering find their way through the dark times they are facing, to some sort of light and help that they so desperately need?
My story is one of millions out there, but I hope that it will help someone find the courage to realise that they are not alone in the world. That there are others like them and there are things they can do to help themselves.
Talk to someone. It can change your life.
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute, please get in touch with me on Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or through the comments section of this blog
The 25% Club: Born This Way
Posted on: January 23, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be anonymous, others will be accredited – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do.
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Even if you know me really well, you probably wouldn’t see the extent to which my every action, my every word, my every bite to eat, my every hour of sleep, is ruled by the never-ending battle to hold off the next slump into depression or the next peak into mania. I may be in my twenties but I got very good at concealing the turmoil beneath behind a smiling mask early on…
As a child, I was “sensitive”, “mature” and “a shining star” academically; a shining star with a shocking attendance record. To the outside world, I was the perfect child, except with my parents and extended family, I was a demon… flying into a rage or never-ending tears at the drop of a hat. Things were complicated by a few other conditions that exacerbate or are exacerbated by my mental health issues, and all of it together led to several years off school. I was plagued by panic attacks and obsessive compulsions, my parents endured a bout of kleptomania, and I went through more stints in therapy than I would have liked by the age of 18.
I tried medication once, for the anxiety, and I remember panicking about not being able to feel the panic yet knowing it was there. I took myself off those pills. Turns out I should never have been on them in the first place.
University was a never-ending cycle of up-months and down-months. I did every activity going when I was up, enjoying the moment… When I was down, the weekly deadlines slipped, and supervisors learnt to set them earlier than necessary as I was more often than not too ill to make the first deadline. I never missed the second one. My room-mate of two years once described me as Jekyll and Hyde, by turns the most hard-working person she’d ever met, and the most f****ing lazy. It was meant in jest, but pre-diagnosis, I saw the truth in the statement.
It worked, until my final year. I’d had my dreams smashed by an injury and was stuck in a fog of depression, catatonic at times. No more ups for me. By Christmas-time, I had descended into alcohol addiction, my self-destructive habits around food and men also spiraled out of control, risking my health further and a number of relationships with key people in my life. I had a lighter by my bed that I would hold to my arm, burning my skin. It distracted me from the pit of despair for a moment, pain on the outside overwhelming the pain within; the visible blister a punishment for what I saw as reprehensible thoughts and actions.
Things came to a head when my mother found me one morning in the holidays, covered in bruises and scratches from my stomach to my knees, having essentially beaten myself up in the shower. That wasn’t my lowest point, but it was the point at which it became very, very clear that I didn’t just have a “tendency” towards depression (or an occasional habit of bouncing like Tigger on speed). Choosing between being sectioned or going into intensive therapy under my own volition, I went with the latter, my first real choice in months.
I am Bipolar. To be exact, I have Bipolar II, with an additional general anxiety disorder. I don’t medicate, except for the occasional half valium if I can’t get out of a panic episode and need to get up, get out of bed, and function. Apparently I’m “too self-aware” for medication, whatever that means.
Months of travelling back and forth between home for therapy and university weren’t fun, and it wasn’t an immediate upwards trajectory by any means. By February, I was at rock bottom, struggling to cope, and suicidal thoughts that had plagued me for years came rocketing to the top of my consciousness. By then I did have some of the tools to keep myself from taking the final decision, but one close friend would receive phone calls in the middle of the night, pleading with him to come and take the knife, pills or whatever out of my hands. I ended up coping with a red felt tip pen, marking on my arms all the slicing marks I was imagining making with a knife. It kept my mind in check, seeing that tangible reminder of both what I yearned for, and what in my heart of hearts I didn’t want to do – not for myself but for my family and friends.
In the spring, I finally took a turn in the tunnel and found a tiny spot of light waiting for me. Another of my conditions had flared up but I had begun a healthy, stable relationship that gave me a handhold whilst I processed all of the tools I was learning in therapy. I stopped self-harming, graduated and found a job, and aside from crippled hands, I was ready to re-enter the world of the really living by the autumn…
A little while on, I sit in the office surrounded by amazing HR professionals, who deal with cases concerning mental health every day. I have never felt the need to hide my mental health issues in terms of non-disclosure but I know people forget because I seem so “stable” and “normal.”
Leaving academia and starting work was the best thing that could have happened to me, in that having structure, a reason to go to bed at night and get up in the morning, meant my body began to recognise elements of routine. Yet I live in constant fear that tomorrow I may not be able to do it. I may not be able to function. I may not be able to deal with “people” on a work day, and that once I give in on one day, I may not go back.
I know I am lucky. I have an incredibly supportive family and other half, on whom I break down when the week has just been too much. In total, there are about 6 people who I allow to see me cry, no one else. I’ll talk to anyone who wants to know, but they’ll never ever see the symptoms. I also work condensed hours so have a small pressure valve, though I could likely function without it. I eat well, and – when I’m not in a down cycle – I sleep regularly and enough. (I don’t exercise, but that’s another story!)
So the cracks don’t show. Months go by when at home I barely turn the light on or leave the house, but at work I’m Little Miss Sunshine. In my first year on the job, I would tell my manager the day after a major panic attack that had me fighting back tears at my desk, and despite the fact that we worked closely, and sat next to each other, he hadn’t seen. Now, I have a manager who, I am sure would be supportive, but as I’ve had a relatively even past six months, I don’t mention the days I’m scared I won’t be coming back tomorrow.
But all this takes work. Keeping the mask in place and smiling, chatting and carrying on whilst I feel dead inside can sometimes be physically painful. When I am down, I endlessly beat myself up for not being more motivated, more efficient, less “lazy” – even when, objectively, no one’s even noticed slightly lower productivity. Work becomes exhausting, keeping up appearances whilst life outside work passes me by, all my energy going on maintaining attendance.
The manic days, when I’m in a stable period but “up”, I fizz… I can feel adrenaline pumping through my body, I don’t eat, I work and work and work, dashing around, head in a spin. Those are the days when people notice something; when I’m walking along with a colleague, babbling, and then forget where I have parked my car. Those are the days that get passed off as “she’s had too much caffeine…”
Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change a thing. My life works because I don’t have time off. More than 2 days off sick for any reason, and I’m on a slippery slope. The rapid cycling nature of my condition is hard enough to control as it is. I work long hours because I like it. I volunteer, study and socialise and 99.999% of the time these days, I don’t flake, I don’t let up. I’m hard on myself because I know, if I stopped, what I could become.
Working in HR, it sometimes seems a bit absurd as I sit across the table from a manager whose employee is off on long-term sick due to depression, or hear my colleagues discussing whether a particular case of depression comes under DDA. Giving advice, talking through support and action plans and risks, my professional persona is a shield and, I suspect, coming under the DDA myself (several times over), gives me insight into such cases. Detachment at work comes easily, yet personally, it can be difficult when I go home at night and reflect on the day, given how I get glimpses into a future I worry might be mine.
My story is one of millions. My way of coping is particular to me. I don’t think it’s the best solution to every mental health problem in the same ballpark and I know that my decision not to medicate (sanctioned by my doctors) is one that many would think irresponsible. I, like many of those other people in the 25% Club, live the way I do because it keeps me healthy, and because with bipolar, you’re only ever in remission, not in recovery. Sometimes, on reflection, I think that all of this makes me better at my job rather than worse. Coping with it all led me through a life that has included one of the best educational institutions in the world; brought me friends I would never otherwise have made; given me skills I otherwise couldn’t hope to have developed. Bipolar doesn’t define me, in work or out, but it is a part of who I am. Some may find it strange, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series – if you would like to contribute, please get in touch with me via Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or by leaving a comment on this blog
- In: 25percentclub | Business | HR | HR for Mental Health | Mental health
- 3 Comments
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be accredited, others will be anonymous – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do. Today’s post is by Graham Frost, who you can find over on his blog or on Twitter @grafrost.
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In the early 1990’s I was in my mid-thirties, in an unhappy marriage that I couldn’t see my way out of, working five or six 12-14 hour shifts a week on the railway. People who knew me at that time tell me that they feared for my sanity. I was on a treadmill of my own making, and couldn’t see a way of stopping it.
My wife worked for the railway too, we had met while working together, and she had been taking a lot of time off sick because of the stress and depression caused by her very unhappy life. I had married her because I thought I could make her happy, yet all I had managed to do was to make myself unhappier. I used to seek the company of other unhappily married men, so that we could bemoan our lot in life together.
One day, my wife told me that her manager had suggested that she might go for some counselling, to help her on the road back to work. I was happy to hear that she might be taking a step forward, and supported her in anything that might help her to deal with her troubled past. I did notice a difference in her after the first counselling appointment; she said that it had been such a release, being able to talk to someone completely non-judgemental about what was going on in her life.
After the second or third appointment, my wife came home and said that she thought it might be a good idea if I went and saw the counsellor too. I didn’t really think there was any reason for me to go, but I was at a point where I would do almost anything to try to make our relationship work, so I agreed to look into the idea.
In order to make this work, I had to go and see my manager, and persuade him that I needed counselling. I didn’t think I could pay for it myself, and, as far as I knew, it wasn’t available on the NHS, so what other option did I have? I knew my manager well, he was a decent man. When I told him that I also wanted to go for counselling, he looked at me in amazement.
‘But there’s nothing wrong with you, Graham, you’re a model employee, you’re always here, you’re one of the most reliable, hard-working people we have!’
Eventually, I managed to persuade him to arrange some counselling sessions, paid for by the company, on condition that I ‘didn’t tell anyone’. He made the arrangements with ‘Personnel’, as H.R. was called then, and I attended my first counselling session a week or so later. It was the first time I had talked to anyone about everything that had ever happened in my life. All the stuff about being brought up in a fundamentalist Christian cult, leaving home at 17, my brief life of crime, Borstal and my cancer story came out over the first few appointments. My weekly counselling hour became my ‘me time’, something I had not experienced for a long time. My counsellor was marvellous – she was convinced that I had been suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder for years.
I see that period in my life as the start of the second phase of my life, when I realised that I could do anything that I set my heart on doing. I did escape from the unhappy marriage, I did put together and work with the best customer service team that I possibly could, and I did go on to have a second career in Learning and Development, all because someone helped me to sort my mind out.
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute, please contact me via Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or through the comments section on this blog
The 25% Club: My Name Is…
Posted on: January 21, 2013
This post is part of the 25% club series dealing with the topic of mental health, particularly as it relates to the workplace. Some of the posts, like today’s, will be anonymous, others will be accredited – all have a powerful impact and help to shine a light on a topic that we need to talk about so much more than we currently do.
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Hello. I’m a member of the 25% club and my name is…
… only it’s not that simple, is it?
I am so glad that there has been a real effort in this wonderful online community to shine a light on mental health issues. This light must outshine the stigma attached to these issues.
I’d like to share my story.
I’m a relatively ‘normal’ person. My friends and family describe me as upbeat and outgoing; confident and quite amusing. I have a very happy life, with wonderful people in it. I have a demanding job, which I usually love, and consider myself to be career driven and motivated.
December 2011. A lot of pressure at work. I found myself to be compromised on a daily basis. My integrity compromised. I would agonise over decisions that needed to be made. I was put in the middle, between my boss and another Director. I couldn’t win. I phoned my friend and colleague and told her that I couldn’t face another day of it. Sleep on it, she said. You’ll be fine. You always are.
The next morning, I felt too drained to even stand. I thought it was flu. I phoned in sick and decided to go to the doctor.
Questions. Lots of questions. Do you realise you are shaking? Do you realise you are crying? How well are you sleeping? Not well. When did you last feel happy? I don’t know. Have you had thoughts about ending your own life? No. A lie? Not a lie. I don’t want to end my life. What I want is to sleep. Sleep and not wake up. Just drift. Sleep. I don’t want to end my life. I don’t have the energy to. I couldn’t let my family down like that. I just don’t want to be alive. Sleep.
Take these tablets. Tablets? Anti-depressants? Yes. You’re depressed. You need an initial two weeks off work. I can’t. I can’t be off sick. There’s too much to do. But I can’t go in either. You cannot go to work. I go home. I go to bed. I lie there all day staring at the wall. I don’t read. My friend calls and I ignore it. My husband comes home from work. I cry. I cry and cry and cry. After over an hour, I stop crying. He holds me.
The worst call I had to make was to my boss. He was in shock. He blamed himself. He was partly to blame. Or was he? How can he affect the chemical balance in my brain?
My husband was wonderful. Supportive. Kind. Encouraging.
I don’t really remember those weeks too well. The tablets were awful. Headaches. Insomnia. Feeling dizzy.
My best friend’s Dad took ill, and then died. When the dizziness and headaches permitted, when I felt well enough, I drove to see her. We supported each other, even though we were both broken inside. I saw two friends regularly. My mum visited. I could barely get out of bed.
Victim of circumstance, or physical condition? The stress level was so high at the time. But, trust me, I have faced far worse circumstances than these. Bereavement, illness, far worse work stress, discovering I am ‘reproductively challenged’. I take these fates and I deal with them and I find the positives, and I support those who I love and who love me and I am so, so damned grateful for all the good I have in my life. I’m HAPPY, for God’s sake.
I have discovered that I am the last member of my family to have had to take antidepressants. My mother, father, brother; even my grandmother. All suffered bouts of depression.
It will come back, apparently. I try to prepare, to equip myself. But how can I, when the triggers can be so small? And yet I can survive a major trauma?
There are few secrets when you work in a HR team. They can all see why I was off sick, although only one person in Payroll actually came up to ask me how I was. I resented her asking me, even though it came from a good place. In talking with two people I trust in the team, it emerged that they too were on ‘head-meds’. So that’s three, from a team of less than thirty. That I know of. We call ourselves ‘The Mentalists’. We laugh.
I came off the tablets in two months. I refused to be on them, to be defined by them.
I learned so many things from this.
Firstly, know your triggers. I know that my major stress trigger are certain aspects of conflict; being put in the middle, being unable to win. I challenge these situations now. I know that the world does not end when I am not there; I delegate and trust my team more. I speak up when I feel that my integrity is compromised. I have stepped away from people who take and take and take. Secondly, know your symptoms. For me, it’s insomnia, that’s the first one. I’ve just gone back on to prescription sleeping tablets. It’s not ideal, but I’m not going back there.
I know this. Please hear this, HR comrades. The hardest thing I ever had to do was return to work. Knowing people knew; knowing that they judged me. Knowing that some thought that I couldn’t hack it; knowing that some thought I was playing the system; knowing that some people felt I was weak. Seeing that things I had been driving for months had been signed off whilst I was off and progressed; feeling undermined rather than feeling achievement. Feeling exposed, replaceable, violated, weak, isolated. Having to fight back, when I was so weary. Throwing up when I came home from work. Feeling like you’re losing your mind. Wondering if you can be losing your mind if you know you’re going mad? Earning a promotion, less than 8 months after being signed off. Yes, earning it. I collapsed in front of our Board of Directors in my first week back at a conference. I still turned up the next day. I fought back. I keep fighting. I don’t want to be that person. The person in the dark.
Support people when they return. Don’t just think ‘phased return’. Think of their self-esteem, their feeling of self-worth. Talk to them. Encourage, don’t patronise.
Challenges remain. Knowing that some people play the system, especially where there’s good sick pay. Seeing on Facebook that someone who is currently off sick with stress is going clubbing every weekend. It is plain wrong. Fighting the rage when a manager discussed paying off someone who had been off sick for a week with stress ‘because he won’t be able to come back and do the job that he did before; that these people can never hack it’. Having to admit to feeling ‘low mood’ for no reason. Still not knowing why it happened, will it come back, how can I have such a broken mind, how can my family and friends not view me as ungrateful when I have so many things, am so blessed.
And feeling, on some level, that I perpetuate the problem by not being honest about why I was off sick.
I am a member of the 25% club, and my name is… Fighter.
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If you care about mental health and want to make a difference there are lots of things you can do
- visit Mind’s website and check out their excellent corporate resources
- take the ‘time to change’ pledge
- attend our event with Mind on 5th February 2013 at 6pm
- share your story and read those of others as part of this blog series. If you would like to contribute a post, please get in touch with my on Twitter (@AlisonChisnell) or via the comments section below.
The HR Juggler 
