AUDIO: I've been pondering my feelings...

Let's stop with the whole #firstworldproblems thing

Photo taken by me, of a supportivepinkynotes

At 4am last week I woke up, my blood full of hate. I stared at my grimy white wall, in the dark and chastised myself for having two drinks. “Why can’t you control yourself?” I cursed. “You should have had a soft drink.” An hour later, I was staring at that same wall, angry at myself once again but this time the thought circling my head was: “you were so rude leaving those drinks after just two, you should have stayed out. [Your companion] probably hates you now. She’ll think you’re so boring.”

It didn’t matter what I did. I would have hated myself either way. The next morning, fog descending across our yard, I found this realisation almost refreshing. It was becoming very clear just how hard I was being on myself, how much I was struggling with my mental health. That I needed to do something to lighten the ridiculous standards that only I was setting myself. 

There’s a poem stuck to my dad’s fridge, that I wrote when I was younger. I am describing myself, “shiny and happy as a star” (I think) it reads. I’ve always considered my role in life is to be the cheerful one, the optimist, the silly one, the party. I pride myself on this. I’m not particularly keen on anyone who makes pessimism their personality. But this extreme need to sew on a smile, no matter what, can cause me to push away any dark, or negative feelings. I tell myself others have it much worse off, that I have no right to feel sad. But I can’t smack my sadness away. When I try to, it overwhelms.

I find myself here wanting to justify what I just wrote. Make it very clear that I know I’m lucky, that my natural tendency to lean towards positivity isn’t fake. I do believe I was born with a brain that’s balanced, one that doesn’t veer towards depression. I’m grateful for that. But when I wrote this piece for Cosmopolitan, on how post-lockdown I struggled with anxiety, chartered psychologist Dr Audrey Tang, reminded me that this constant justifying could be making me feel a lot worse. “It’s important to accept you’re allowed to feel sad, or let down… There’s a platitude that other people like to use #firstworldproblems. And that can really trivialise what we’re feeling.” 

Writing that piece at the time really helped me. As I gave myself permission to lean into how I was feeling, to stop playing whack-a-mole with my sadness.

And, the same is true for this week, as writing last week’s newsletter has marked a significant change in how I am feeling. It broke me out of my grand plan for newsletter content (there’s a lot I have planned) but it also broke me out of the drudgery I have been experiencing. For the last few days I’ve felt this mental sharpness, one that allows me to view life and its tasks - both the mundane and the exciting - with clarity. I won’t say I’m feeling happy, smily, all grand as I’m trying to break away from pushing myself, constantly, into that state. But I can say I feel better. And I can say thank you for reading, and sticking by this newsletter, even when the writing - and its writer - doesn’t live up to plan. 

Find below, and read above, a poem I wrote way back in lockdown, which reflects the topsy-turvy emotions I’ve felt recently. And let me know how you’re feeling. God it’s a cliche but opening up, it does help… 

Fry up my tears, toss them in a pancake
Drip salt into batter, then whisk

Some people whistle when they're sad
I occupy my hands, scrub and scrub but...
The plates remain crusty

My thighs scream at me to move so I
follow a man with shiny calves around the park
In circles we go around
The pond that is made up of winter's rain

All my vibrators are out of charge and
My skin is flaking off

My diary told me I was once close to sinking
Today I wave at a duck
I tell him to have a nice day

My generation was so afraid of quick sand
Was it a forewarning?
Of how quickly darkness can pull you in?

But there's happiness waiting
You see
The pond is made up of winter's rain