Posted in Mental Health, Personal Growth

Letter To A Younger Me

Hey sweetie, 

I’m writing you this letter because you’ve been on my mind a lot lately. And the thing is, I know you won’t actually read it, you can’t, I can’t actually travel back and give it to you. So there’s no real point in me giving you advice; any advice I do write is, I suppose, more of a reminder for me now – born from the gifts you gave me just by keeping going. Yeah, this letter isn’t really for you. It’s for me now, or us now. To heal a little bit and reflect in a way that doesn’t consume us back to where you are. If that makes any sense? 

I want to comfort you. I want to hug you, hold you tight, and whisper ‘I’ve got you’. Which is something to remember when you feel like the worst person ever, because eventually we’re able to look back and show ourselves compassion. I know it hurts. And I know you feel really lonely, I know. 

I think I’m writing this to you at about age 13, maybe just turned 14. Right as all the mental health stuff really took off, and before you’d gone through enough of it to have any perspective on it. It was all new and you had no reason to think it wouldn’t last forever. But, hey, spoiler alert – it doesn’t last forever. I won’t lie to you, it does get worse. And then maybe worse again. And again. But there’s this magic process you haven’t come across yet, where even though in some ways it gets worse, it never feels quite as bad as that very first time. Because you’re growing and learning and after you survive it once you always know, deep down inside of you, that you’re going to survive it again. And you’re going to learn all these little skills – and big skills! – that help you get through. You’re going to be ok. Maybe not always, but you are going to be ok. 

I would say please don’t drink, but if you’re 13/14 it’s already too late for that. So I’ll say this instead: you know how you always knew, from when you were really little, that you didn’t want to drink? And you were adamant that you never would, and you always thought if you did it wouldn’t end well, but you didn’t know why? Well, that was your gut instinct, and it was a good one. Learn to listen to your gut – it very rarely serves you wrong. So I know you’ve already had a drink, and done some other things, and I know it feels really great right now. I also know I can’t change what happened (or is going to happen, from your perspective). So I’ll say enjoy it while you can. Enjoy it while it’s fun and have those memories that we treasure. The world is a confusing place; it’s a paradox and time is a funny thing – things can be both good and bad. But listen, when it gets too much, know there is hope. Know that this isn’t going to be forever, and you are going to be ok again, I promise. I promise you the madness it’s going to cause is not going to rule your whole life. And I promise you that one day you’ll actually be grateful for it, strange as that may seem. 

But that’s a few years away yet anyhow. For now it might be more relevant to say that food isn’t the enemy and that you are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to exist and feel and show that you feel. I know right now a lot of your time is taken up thinking about food, and actually you don’t even think that’s a problem yet. Well, you’ll figure it out. There’s a lot of cycles and waves in this life, and you’re gonna ride every one of them out. And you’re not going to do it alone. 

In a few months you’re going to meet this amazing person – she’s a bit crazy. I’d like to say thank you for trusting your gut instinct that first day you met her; the one that says ‘this person gets me’. She does. She’s going to help you. And that’s also going to unleash a whole load of other sh*t in your head because once you open the floodgates of emotion, it’s hard to close them. But you’re not going to be alone. Lean into the people who help you, even when it feels uncomfortable and you’re ashamed to do it, because one day you’re going to be able to show them it was worth it. You are going to meet like-minded, supportive people, and make true deep friendships. Loneliness isn’t going to go away completely, I doubt it ever does, but slowly you’re going to learn to make connections and redefine what that means for you. It’s a process we’re still going through – and we’ve come to appreciate it’s actually kind of a wonderful thing that learning is lifelong. You never stop growing. 

I want you to know that I forgive you. I forgive you. All the unforgivable things that make you think there’s no point, the whirlwind of self-destructive hate that spirals out to others – I forgive you for all of it. You are doing the best you can. And one day you’re going to be able to do better. And in 5,10,15 years you’ll be able to do better again! So I not only forgive you, but I thank you for trying so damn hard to keep going when it all seems impossible. 

If I could actually give this letter to you, the one thing I would probably most like to say is that you’re autistic. Surprise! You’re going to find out in about two years and it’s going to make a whole lot of sense and it’s going to change your life. It’s going to be a catalyst in helping you to understand yourself and learn to exist in this world. Because you’re not broken, you’re living in a world that wasn’t built for you. So when in a few months the whole world comes crashing in around you and you can’t be the perfect A* student you built your identity around (don’t worry, it’s actually a blessing to get to rebuild your sense of self and be able to do other things), know that you are allowed to express your needs. You are allowed to be tired and burnt out and unable to carry on at that level without support or understanding. You are allowed to take up space – I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again. 

Ok, what else would you like to know? We’re still obsessed with Carrie Fisher. You were right, we do have a developing mood disorder. Also anxiety, a lot of it. Oh! You’re going to act! You’re going to see your dreams becoming reality and it’s going to feel even better after all this hurt because you’ll understand how precious it really is. You’re actually quite funny, and it wouldn’t hurt you to trust that you can lean into your comedy every now and then. You write a lot, including a lot of poetry (we like poetry now). You went around Europe on your own for 2 months at 17, just like we’d always dreamed! You run a mental health space, have been on a podcast, won an award. We’re still gay. So yeah, you’re ok. You’re not perfect, no one is, so it’s ok to stop chasing that idea of perfection. And you don’t need to do crazy, harmful things to gain other people’s approval and affection. Laughter is the key to making it through rough times – you have to be able to find life funny. Oh and also – not everyone can hear colour?? We were 15 by the time we realised that! 

I love you, always, through all of it. You’ve got this, even when it feels like you don’t. And I’ll be waiting right here for you in a few years, 

Love, 

You.

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health, therapy

Issues with IAPT

Disclaimer: Before I dive into the issues with IAPT I just want to clarify that this blog is in no way intended to discredit anyone’s positive experience with IAPT or discourage anyone from using the service. IAPT could still be a piece in the puzzle of helping you find the right support. I am purely highlighting issues that some people face because everyone deserves to have a positive experience of mental health care – if the mental health system can’t adapt to different needs, then it needs to change. This post is about raising awareness of the gaps within that system, and the plaster solution that IAPT has become. Because we all deserve better – it could be you or any of your loved ones needing a more comprehensive, long term and personal care plan. And I would hope that the door was always wide open for you to receive the support you need.

With that said, let me give you an introduction to what IAPT is. IAPT stands for Improving Access to Psychological Therapies. If you are an adult and go to the doctor with a mental health concern, you are likely to be referred to this service as one of the first ports of call. It was rolled out in 2006 and there are now around 220 IAPT services in the UK. It offers patients a limited number (usually 6, up to 12) of sessions with a counsellor using CBT – Cognitive Behaviour Therapy. And it’s true that rolling out this service greatly reduced the 8-12 month waiting time for psychological therapy in 2005, which is great, but that doesn’t mean it provides a greater level of care. 

So let’s look at the information I’ve just noted. CBT focuses on changing thought patterns and behaviours of individuals – which by definition is not suitable for anyone who’s mental health is being impacted by the situation they are in. It’s true that CBT skills can be incredibly useful in helping us cope with day to day life, giving us the tools to reframe our experience so it becomes bearable and our thoughts less consuming. But that doesn’t mean it’s perfect by any means, nor suitable for everyone. For example many autistic people have likened the approach of CBT to gaslighting; it just isn’t suitable for application with neurodiverse thought patterns in many. For many others too it simply doesn’t provide the all round support they need – the therapy sessions are not designed to hold space for the person, explore route causes that will continue to be present, or brainstorm ways to change the situation they are in. It can provide people with a quick fix to a singular problem, but lacks a long term approach. 

However, it’s the only framework offered with IAPT, already excluding many from the help they need. Especially because if someone goes through with IAPT treatment they may be seen as already having support and having to face longer waiting times; likewise if they refuse to continue this raises the issue of non-compliance. Non-compliance is a complicated label used in the mental health system sometimes that essentially labels patients as unwilling to try and help themselves and makes it harder for them to access support, simply because the support they refused was not suitable or accessible to them. This is a systematic issue of not providing individualised care, but instead it is labelled as a personal fault and the burden is borne by the individual. 

Even for the people CBT framework does suit, the IAPT programme offers such limited sessions that it’s arguable how much long term support and healing they actually offer. 6 sessions is simply not enough in my eyes. What about the people with more complex issues? The people that learn slower? The people that need time to build a secure relationship with a therapist before they feel confident to start working with them? They are all being left behind by the existing IAPT service. 

None of this is surprising when we look at the roots of how the IAPT service came to be. In 2005 Lord Layard – an economist by trade addressing the economic costs incurred due to mental health crisis – and David Clark – a professor of psychology championing CBT – pitched their idea for IAPT to a board room full of government officials. They pitched it through the economic benefits that providing a cheap service that got people back to work could reap, easing the £12 billion cost of depression each year. Though I understand why so often proposals have to be pitched through an economic lens rather than a moral or social one, I do think it’s very sad. And I think in many ways shows why this system isn’t working. We’re approaching the issue of the mental health crisis wrong if we’re approaching it from a perspective of getting people back to work. Mental health doesn’t exist in a vacuum and is deeply intertwined with all aspects of society which we cannot simply ignore addressing when looking to help mental health. Furthermore, healing is not actually about productivity – this is considering healing through the eyes of someone else looking in on a life trying to define quantifiable proof of them getting better in a way that is palatable to society. Healing is internal and personal; our current mental health system does not recognise or allow space for this in our society. 

Nonetheless IAPT was heralded as an astounding success in the mental health sector worldwide for its quick rollout and wide reach. But in 2010 Dr Micheal Scott – a clinical psychologist at the University of Manchester – began to question the success of IAPT when assessing its patients. He was hearing many stories of patients with bad experiences of the programme who found it useless, dropped out, or pretended to be better to make it end quicker. He decided he needed to look further at how the effectiveness of IAPT therapy was being assessed in order to discover if it was really as great as it was claimed to be. 

The first thing of interest he discovered was that IAPT was responsible for collecting all the data on its own performance – there were no external reviews or assessments taking place. I think many of us will know that this is a bad scientific practice for collecting and understanding data – there should always be peer reviews. So he conducted an assessment to discover the true recovery rates. 

He began by reviewing the cases of 65 people. I’ll admit that’s not a lot, but stick with me here. Scott used various procedures for a robust review including in-depth interviews, diagnostic assessments, and evaluating medical records. His results showed that no matter the condition, only 16% could be considered as recovering. This is woefully below the 46% reported by IAPT themselves – and with good reason. IAPT’s method of assessing recovery rates only included those that completed treatment with them and neglected to count the half of patients who dropped out of treatment. The fact that half of patients drop out of treatment at all is a huge indicator that the programme is failing anyway, but the correct way to conduct research would be to include them in the data. By omitting them IAPT are artificially increasing their recovery rate. I would also add here that even their self-proclaimed 46% could be much higher with proper individualised, socio-culturally aware treatment plans. 

Scott’s admittedly small study isn’t the only one either. The University of Chester’s larger study found a 23% recovery rate, still much lower than IAPT’s claim. And that’s before even considering what IAPT deems recovery to mean. I’ve already explained that IAPT was built around the idea of getting people back to work, and so it’s unsurprising that the programme focuses on getting people back to what are viewed as functioning members of society rather than personally happy with their healing journey. 

This is seen reflected in how IAPT reviews patients progress. At the start of the therapy questionnaires are conducted that rate how depressed or anxious you are, and then again at the end of the therapy. If at the end of the therapy you score lower you are considered to have improved. If you scored just above the clinical threshold for depression at the start of the therapy (let’s say the threshold is 10 and you scored 11) and by the end of the therapy you score just below (let’s say 9) then you are considered recovered by IAPT. But in reality you’ve only dropped 2 points and are likely still experiencing emotional complications in your life! They’re now just not considered inconvenient enough to others to be clinically notable, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t hugely significant to you. You might not feel ‘recovered’ at all. And the scale is really sensitive anyway – you can move around 5-7 points simply by sleeping and concentrating a little better. 

Furthermore , IAPT doesn’t even conduct a control group meaning there’s no way to know if the 23% ‘recovering’ would have improved slightly without IAPT at all. In fact a recent meta-analysis (meaning examination of lots of data from different individual studies) showed that a total 23% of people suffering with depression spontaneously overcame their symptoms within three months without receiving any treatment. Which aligns with the 23% recovering from IAPT exactly, suggesting that the service is totally irrelevant. Yet it is often the only service offered to those struggling, many of whom will continue to struggle unsupported. Real lives are in the balance, and the system is trying to stick a plaster over the issue that doesn’t even work. 

This doesn’t even begin to touch on the deep issues for workers within the IAPT services, who are struggling hugely themselves and being crushed under a culture of form filling and goal hitting heralded above actually providing support. An ex-IAPT lead said, in an interview with James Davies: “To hit the waiting list targets we’d offer people some minor intervention but it was not what they really needed – it was what we could offer to get higher results”. And there lies the problem in a nutshell – people are not being offered the help they so desperately need. And how could they in a system that values goals, productivity and economy above people’s lives? How could they in a system that is built on societal expectations, harm, and conformity? How could they in a system that isn’t working to face the deep intersectional issues of the day? How could they in a system that is underfunded and in desperate need of reform? 

I recognise that criticising the mental health system is a complicated thing to do, because it’s where we hope to find help. But the reality is that it falls short. I do have hope it can improve; I have hope in our communities and our efforts to see better care. And I do know that despite a failing system people can recover – by their own standards – and live bright lives. But I know too it shouldn’t be so hard to get support, for anyone. 

So here are some calls to action! What you can do to help: 

  1. Most of the information in this post comes from James Davies’ book ‘Sedated: How Modern Capitalism Created Our Mental Health Crisis’. I would recommend that everyone read this book to educate themselves further 
  2. Sign up to Mind’s newsletter to find out about their campaigns for better mental health care 
  3. Write to your MP about the failing mental health system and demand care that is individually tailored, socio-culturally aware, and focuses on personal healing not productivity 
  4. Share this post and have conversations with people in your life about the mental health system – all change starts with a conversation 

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know any thoughts or questions you have in the comments below. Sending so much love and support to you all today 🙂 

Sources:

https://www.nice.org.uk/about/what-we-do/our-programmes/nice-advice/iapt#:~:text=What%20is%20IAPT%3F,with%20anxiety%20disorders%20and%20depression.

‘Sedated: How Modern Capitalism Created Our Mental Health Crisis’ by James Davies 

https://www.madinamerica.com/2022/06/uk-iapt-abject-failure/#:~:text=We%20identified%20a%20series%20of,of%20misdiagnosis%20and%20inappropriate%20treatment.

Layard, Richard (2005), ‘Mental Health: britain’s biggest social problem?’, paper presented at No. 10 strategy unit seminar on mental health, 20 January 2005 

https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/drugs-and-treatments/talking-therapy-and-counselling/cognitive-behavioural-therapy-cbt/

Griffith, Steve, Steen and Scott (2013), ‘Improving access to psychological therapies (IAPT) programme: setting key performance indicators in a more robust context: A new perspective’ 

Whitford, H et al, (2012), ‘Estimating remission from untreated major depression: a systematic review and meta-analysis’

Posted in Advocacy, autism, Mental Health, neurodiversity

Misogyny and The Psychiatric Complex

I think nowadays more and more people are aware that sexism connects with and is compounded by other factors such as racism, economic insecurity, homophobia etc. However few people are aware of the links between misogyny and the psychiatric complex. I’d go a step further and say a majority of people are reluctant to examine or criticise the psychiatric complex at all. However this ignorance is harming the most vulnerable among us at their lowest points, and threatens to affect all of us should we experience a mental health issue (as an estimated 1 in 4 people will every year). So let’s have a brief look at the relationship between misogyny and the psychiatric complex:

Throughout history psychiatry has been used majorly to uphold societal values. As such the history of psychiatry is entrenched with sexism. The most obvious example of this was the epidemic treatment of ‘hysteria’ in women. Hysteria has been described from the second millennium BC, but it was not until Freud – a man – that it was officially considered an exclusively female disease, though it’s important to note women were disproportionately institutionalised for hysteria for hundreds of years before this. It may surprise you to know that it was not until the DSM-3 (the DSM is the leading book used for the classification and diagnosis of mental disorders) that ‘hysterical neurosis’ was deleted. 

The treatment of hysteria can be very generally described as using natural remedies to calm the nervous system until the renaissance period, notably the end of the 16th century. This is also notably where it became considered much more of a ‘female’ disease’. Around this time hysterical women would be treated by a physician interesting their fingers into genital organs to try and produce an orgasm and semen production (which raises serious questions about consent and abuse in the history of psychiatry which still pervade to this day. Some people considered suffering women to be witches or possessed with demons around this time also. For doctors at the time the uterus was their explanation for hysteria in women – claiming it caused them to be psychologically and physiologically inferior.

During the 16th century physicians and philosophers such as Thomas Sydenham, Rene Decartes, and Ambroise Pare started to recognise that hysteria was connected to the brain and other organs also, not just the uterus, but the idea of a uterine, female disease continued. For example, Joseph Raulin in the 1700s suggested hysteria was due to the fumes of big cities, so in theory it could affect both sexes but women were just weaker. 

Perhaps the most famous outbreak of hysteria is the Salem witch trials in 1692. Marion Starkey related it to more contemporary events after WW2 with the theory that classic hysteria was actually a reaction to social conflict and restriction, such as the puritanism in Salem. Note she’s the first woman mentioned. Much evidence would support that mental illness and the classification of it is intrinsically tied to the pressures of the world we live in, notably under hyper capitalist values nowadays, so I would not think it too much of a stretch to think that women during these times under such enormous pressure to conform would present symptoms of hysteria. But they were labelled as mad – their individual character was named as the problem, not as a symptom of a societal issue. And they were labelled mad by men. 

This general hypothesis of hysteria, especially during this period, seems to make sense in the majority of cases when you consider that women could be committed to mental institutions – which were comparable to jails at the time and arguably still are – by their male relatives simply for not conforming to the standards expected of them. The inhumane conditions in many of these asylums are well documented, and I personally think some treatments could be considered comparable to torture. As Angela Davis so eloquently put it: ‘Studies indicating that women have been even more likely to end up in mental facilities than men suggest that while jails and prisons have been dominant institutions for the control of men, mental institutions have served a similar purpose for women. That is, deviant men have been constructed as criminal, while deviant women have been constructed as insane.’

While psychiatry may have changed – yes, in some ways for the better and in some ways just more palatable to a modern society – its roots cannot be ignored as they are the foundation upon which modern psychiatry is directly built and this harm still exists. Let’s have a look at the current day now, through the lens of BPD diagnosis, aka Borderline Personality Disorder. 

Women are disproportionately diagnosed with BPD. There’s a 3:1 female to male ratio in the diagnosis of BPD which is quite pronounced for a mental disorder, and has led to speculation about its cause by professionals. However critics of the diagnosis have gone as far to say it is the modern day version of hysteria – a label extremely loaded with stigma that judges the emotional reactions of women. Think even of the title ‘personality disorder’ – the name itself suggests it is solely an individual issue, a defect of their character, not linked to anything in the outside world.

I write on mental health from a place of personal experience, and I will admit that because of this I am biased in how I view mental illness. There appears to be some research that genetics plays a factor in BPD for example, which would be an individual trait. However I believe it is essential that we also look at how the world as it is is unsuitable for people with that genetic component. Can we answer the question of whether that genetic and neurobiological component would present in the way it does if that individual was not subjected to trauma and systemic pressure? Perhaps not in full. But there is ample evidence that sociocultural factors affect mental illness, and that seems to be so often ignored. 

A sociocultural factor could explain why more women are diagnosed with BPD, as they often experience more pressures in the world to conform, and are more likely to be the victims of violence and assault that contributes to trauma in BPD. However the stigma surrounding BPD stemming from its symptoms may explain this too. Hypersexuality for example is a trait of BPD; being sexual as a woman is still less acceptable than being sexual as a man, so for example a woman’s behaviour may be labelled as hypersexual while for a man it’s just seen as a strong expression of his sexuality, or perhaps not even noticed at all. Likewise anger is also a symptom of BPD, and we are much faster to label women as problematic for expressing anger than we are men. So the social misogyny impacts when we start to consider a person’s behaviour as more than just odd, more than just problematic, but actually disordered. 

It would be unjust to write this article without drawing attention to the disparity in mental health care between races. Like aforementioned, psychiatry and misogyny are intrinsically linked with other social justice issues. If we ignore this intersectionality we are ignoring the full picture. For example, Black women are more likely to struggle with mental health issues, less likely to get treatment, more likely to be misdiagnosed, and more likely to be sectioned (an example of the criminalisation of mental illness, but that’s a story for another day). In fact detention rates under the Mental Health act during 2017/2018 were four times higher for people in the ‘Black’ or ‘Black British’ groups than those in the ‘White’ group, and 29% of Black/ Black British women experienced a common mental disorder in the past week, higher than for White British women or Other White women. Clearly we can see the link between the pressures and pain of racism to the experience of mental illness in Black women, and their subsequent further incarceration and abuse in the mental health industry. Likewise we can see a mirror image effect in the LGBTQ+ population – almost half of trans people (46 per cent) have thought about taking their own life in the last year, 31 per cent of LGB people who aren’t trans said the same. This is not a stand alone issue.

Another example of misogyny in the psychiatric complex is the recognition of neurodiversity in women and trans people. Early autism research was based on white boys from middle class backgrounds. Outdated tests, and a lack of understanding of how autism presents in other races and genders in the general population still result in late diagnosis or misdiagnosis of women and trans people everywhere. And here seems to be a good time to put all of this information into context – the misogyny in the psychiatric complex damages and ends lives. Whether from the trauma of institutionalisation from stigmatised diagnoses, or the pain of leading a life without understanding or accommodations, individuals and communities suffer every day. As a late diagnosed autistic myself I can attest to how painful it is to grow up being bullied, misunderstood, and confused without any path forward. I can’t imagine how different my life might have been if I had known I was autistic and had the resources to help me and my family as I navigated a world not built for me. And I had it easy! 

Yet if we take a look at neurodiversity through the lens of knowledge that gender is a construct, we can see clearly how much the pressures of the world to conform to gender norms affect people. I was taught to be a girl, while autistic. So the way my autistic brain processed that (for lack of a better phrase) was to make me mask so heavily I couldn’t see myself through it all. This is common in those who identify in genders other than male. The world taught me to be a woman and because I learnt to do it, in a system that ignores neurodiverse women, I had no idea how my brain worked. I had no idea who I was, and I was in pain. And to add a little history again, a major leader in the foundation of autism research was Hans Asperger – a man with well associated ties to the eugenics programme of the nazis. Asperger’s and autism aren’t different, but Asperger’s was used to basically say they were more intelligent, and therefore more worthy to society. These messed up roots run deep in all directions. 

However, diagnoses aren’t all great. In fact they can be downright damaging in themselves. As mentioned, a BPD diagnosis is highly stigmatised, and disproportionate in women. Having a diagnosis of any mental health issue or neurodiversity can lead to people’s experience being invalidated. If you’re labelled as mad, how can you ever convince someone you are sane? For one it can be very hard to get out of hospital and escape that system if you are committed, and extremely hard to report any abuses taking place there as they often do because concerns can simply be brushed aside as delusional, symptomatic. Any legitimate problems in interpersonal relationships can be labelled as a symptom. Any very real feeling is simply boiled down to a mental illness. Women – already more likely to experience violence – see their diagnosis weaponised against them when they try to report violence; and people with a mental illness are significantly more likely than the general population to experience violence!

The sexism in society and psychiatry doesn’t just adversely affect women and trans people though. It also affects men who are significantly less likely to come forward if experiencing a mental health issue. In 2021 men were three times more likely to commit suicide than women. And much of this can be traced to the stigma of men expressing emotions in fear of being seen as weak (translate: as fear of being seen as expressing a feminine trait). Everyone, including men, are being harmed by the systems men built. 

And yes, the modern psychiatric complex was built by men. Built on the foundations of male researchers at a time when women were denied an education, and continuing to be led by men. I’ll end on a story about how the DSM – that book used to diagnose mental illness – was created. The DSM-III was the version of the DSM that formulated how we see and diagnose disorders nowadays. It included innovations such as explicit diagnostic criteria and multidimensional diagnostic systems. But the formulation of it was hardly clear or scientific. Robert Spitzer was appointed editor of the DSM 3 and by his own admission the editorial meetings over six years between 1974-1980 were chaotic. New Yorker’s journalist Alex Spiegel reported that the psychiatrists invited would yell over each other, and the loudest voice tended to win out, while no one took minutes. People would yell out names of new diagnoses and possible checklists for symptoms, and if the cacophony in the room seemed to agree it would be typed out, set in stone. The diagnoses in that book still have very real implications for very real people nowadays, and diagnoses are removed and added in each edition following. It’s not an exact science; it doesn’t centre the lived experience of people.

If you take nothing else from reading this article I hope you remember this – sexism is systematic; it affects all of us in all aspects of our lives. But our distress, our joy, our love and our pain? That’s not just symptomatic of a system, that’s symptomatic of being human. 

Sources:

Posted in Advocacy, Managing Mental Health, Mental Health, Personal Growth

Journey Through Panic Attacks

The first time I experienced a panic attack I was 11 years old. I had come home early from school that day with a headache and some other physical symptoms I now know were anxiety, and I had gone upstairs to have a nap before dinner. My mum came to wake me up when it was time to eat, but I must have been in the wrong phase of my sleep cycle because I awoke disoriented, thinking it was the morning. We’ve all been there when we wake up not quite sure what’s going on. So I thought it was the morning, and when my mum told me it was time to eat I responded asking about breakfast. There was some confused back and forth with my mum trying to convince me it was in fact dinner time, and still the day before, and I suddenly spiralled into my first panic attack. I don’t remember a whole lot of the details while it was happening, but I do remember how terrifying it was. I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe; I simply could not get the air into my lungs. I felt faint, and sick, I thought my legs couldn’t hold me up. I don’t know if I had the thought that can come alongside panic attacks where you think you’re going to die, but I knew something was very, very wrong; I definitely thought I was going to faint. Somehow I ended up at the bottom of the stairs, gasping for air and sipping water out of a bottle cap (I think that was the only way I could manage to do it?) as it subsided, and I can still recall the exhaustion after that first one and how foreign it felt. My mum suggested it had been a panic attack, and at that point I didn’t know what that meant. I had no idea they would become such a huge part of my life. 

I have had many panic attacks since this day. I’ve also had some anxiety attacks, which are more prolonged and less intense, and I experience sensory overload too as an autistic young person. Sometimes sensory overload meltdowns and panic attacks can be hard for me to distinguish, and sometimes they overlap or morph into the other, but it’s helpful sometimes to figure out which is which as it can aid in the recovery process both long and short term – for example in a panic attack changing my jumper probably isn’t going to help and may not even be a possibility, but with sensory overload changing the material of my clothing or my environment may help it to subside or avoid it altogether when I feel it building. This year I have felt the strongest mentally overall that I have in a very long time, but I still have panic attacks. Some months I have none; others I have many. For example in May I had seven.

 It’s important to note that while I find the label panic attacks useful, it is a pathologised word. That means there is a certain medical connotation attached to it. However panic attacks are a total overload of our nervous systems; an explosion of tension and anxiety. We cannot talk about expressions of mental distress without recognising that they are often responses to a traumatic and stressful world, whether immediate results of a specific trigger or a build up over time. For example in May I was dealing with exam stress, difficult atmospheres at home, grief for my safe place, and more time on my hands. These all contributed to my spike in panic attacks I have no doubt. Other times I may make it to the other side of a stressful event and then experience panic attacks, almost like a hangover of emotions. It’s not an individual failure, but an understandable reaction to a difficult world. You are not broken for experiencing anxiety. You are not shameful for having panic attacks. 

I am a firm believer that to appreciate life fully we need to be able to laugh, even at the bad stuff. There are certain events surrounding some of my panic attacks that I find kind of hilarious looking back on and that helps me to deal with any embarrassment or regret surrounding them I may have. For example, I have terrible stage fright (despite being an actress, ironic I know). Before the final dress rehearsal for Bugsy Malone – my first show in a proper theatre – I had a panic attack in the wings. I was crouched behind a prop box in heels I could barely walk in and my tailored sparkly dress writhing my legs in pain and sobbing without air. It was a pretty desperate moment, though the juxtaposition itself is amusing looking back. The next thing I remember is a stagehand saying into their walkie talkie ‘can someone please come and remove the fire hazard from the wings?’. I was the fire hazard because I couldn’t move myself out of the way, and I was carried back to my dressing room by my director. Talk about a diva moment. Looking back I cannot help but laugh at the absurdity of the experience. 

That particular panic attack also showed me how loving people can be. I hope that someday everyone experiencing mental health issues gets to experience the pure love and support that I did that day. I had to go on stage just after recovering to do a mic check. I was so exhausted – my bones were heavy; the exhaustion of a panic attack travels to your core and can make you feel like your body isn’t your own – so all I could do was stand centre stage. The rest of the cast sat in the audience as I weakly sang ‘My Name is Tallulah’. Half way through the song I raised my eyes and saw that they were all swaying along, waving their hands in the air; at the end of the song they stood up and cheered and called out encouragement. It was beautiful. No one judged, no one whispered or pointed. They rallied and supported me. That’s what we all deserve. 

Another amusing panic memory was when I fell on my face in the mud on a rainy day trying to escape prying eyes and instead drawing them all to me; again, it wasn’t as embarrassing or well remembered as I feared it would be. Or when my teacher gave me their scarf to wrap around me and help me feel safer and I immediately snotted into it – I got to keep that for a while rather than immediately returning it. Or the time I went to get help while having a panic attack but there was already a girl in the office having a panic attack and it became like a queue for a very strange and unwanted product.

 I’ve been alone on bathroom floors, writhed my legs, hit my chest, backed myself into literal corners to try and feel a bit safer, thought I was going to die, taken off most of my clothes because I thought my skin was going to burn, and just general cried and made weird sounds while trying to breathe. Point of all of this is – I survived. And each one has become a little easier to recover from. The worst a panic attack will do is make you pass out; it cannot kill you. Remember that – it cannot kill you. If you are having one, it is horrible and tiring and painful, but you are safe. And if you are with someone experiencing one it’s ok to remind them of that; if you can recognise what it is and call it what it is. Tell them it’s a panic attack and that they are safe. Often it helps not to try and suppress it either but rather to ride it out, let it be. Because they are not the end of the world, but they are super scary and it’s ok to recognise that too. 

I hope that maybe reading this has helped someone feel a little less alone in their experience. If you’d like a more in depth guide on how I deal with my panic attacks let me know in the comments below! Sending love and support to you all today! Xx