It’s Mental Health Awareness Week! I’m trying to say that in a cheerful tone to lull you into a false sense of security, because this post is about to get very dark **finger guns**. The theme of this year’s Mental Health Awareness Week is ‘Kindness’. Which is very fitting, because today, in the spirit of Awareness, I wanted to talk about how deeply unkind I have been to myself over the years.
I feel like this year it’s particularly pertinent to talk about self-directed unkindness, or ‘being an unrelenting dick to yourself,’ because amidst these strange times, even the ‘normal brain’ types (aka people with typically good mental health) are currently experiencing depression and anxiety for possibly the first time.
I imagine, for a person not used to finding the mere weight of being alive so crushing that you often wonder if anyone would notice if you drowned in a puddle, that it’s probably quite scary to feel so out of sorts. This is because you are used to only experiencing these symptoms when there’s a tangible reason – a break-up, the loss of a loved one, an important and consuming project, etc. Whilst you may think of C***d-19 as a tangible reason, for many of us it doesn’t feel that way. Because in modern society we are punched so consistently in the face with impending doom, we have developed a disconnect from the pain of news. When we became humans, there was no way to comprehend the existence of people and suffering outside of our immediate bubbles – because seeing literally was believing. Unfortunately, we have exactly the same capacity for grief and information as we did then.
So, we disconnect. We feel like everything should be okay, because we’re so adaptable. We get used to it, sure. But it isn’t okay. We’re used to safety in numbers – and now we’ve had to adapt to danger in numbers. We are having to learn to protect each other by fearing each other, because people are visible and the virus isn’t. That’s not just an adaptation, that’s a complete reversal of our most basic instincts. I think it’s fair to feel pretty fucked up about it.
Feeling so consistently beat down and simultaneously on the brink of a heart attack, unable to produce work, communicate effectively, embrace each other, wash your clothes, or even yourself, all whilst surrounded by consistent evidence of human mortality, is enough to fuck with anyone’s head. Fortunately, I have a lifetime of experience dealing with the inevitable mental by-products of a pandemic. As a person with a lot of therapy under my belt, I’m here to offer a helping hand to those of you struggling to get by. To tell you what I’ve learnt from being so unkind to myself for so long.
I grew up in what my therapist calls a ‘chaotic household.’ That being because I grew up in two wildly different environments. In one house, I was consistently told that I was brilliant and perfect and loved and respected, but that we had no money because I have three siblings. In the other house, I was consistently told that there was money, but to deserve it, I had to become useful. I was told to grow up fast, because I wasn’t worth cooking for – I was a girl, I should do the cooking. That I was only worth as much as my physical appearance, that I didn’t deserve privacy, that my thoughts and feelings were wrong, and that my body was something to be ashamed of, whilst simultaneously an object to be desired by men.
The blend of these two environments made for one very confused and very sad Olivia. As my affirmations of self-worth came from either the former household, or were followed by my own acts of service in the latter, I developed the notion that my worth came only from what I could do for other people. That unless I was useful, I was a burden. Because of this, as the youngest, I inferred that my existence was the reason we were poor. That if anyone should have to leave, it should be me, because, well… Last in, first out. If you think about it, this pandemic is treating everyone that way – telling you that you should be volunteering, getting fit, baking, creating works of art, working full time, basking in the glow of family time. And if you’re not, well, you’re not worth as much as those who are. Which is a frankly very rude and steaming pile of bullshit. You’re every bit as valuable now as you were before shit hit the fan, you’re just adapting to a new version of yourself.
I first considered suicide when I was about fourteen (I told you it was dark). I slept for about twelve hours a day. I ate whatever was put in front of me. I woke up each morning disappointed that I hadn’t died in my sleep. The idea that I was a burden, that my thoughts and feelings were wrong, had been festering in my mind for a long time. I was the problem, I didn’t deserve my place of privilege on Earth. I would be lying if I said I didn’t still believe that a lot of the time. At that time, I didn’t feel like I even deserved to place the burden of me dying on my family. In my mind, I stayed alive because I didn’t want them to have to pay for a funeral, to have to grieve for me. So, I started self-harming. Anything from sharpener blades to incense sticks to plastic clay sculpting tools (the bluntness made it last longer). I was very unwell, and very addicted to pain. Again, I would be lying if I said I didn’t still fantasise about being beaten up and left for dead sometimes – I’m just a lot faster to recognise it as a feeling and not the truth about what I deserve.
As I’ve grown and had therapy and seen my world through clearer lenses, I’ve realised that I was wrong about myself. It wasn’t just the fact I didn’t want to burden people with my death that kept me alive. As vomit-inducingly cliched as it may seem, it was kindness. Both others’ and my own. My friends and (most of) my family have always been kind to me. Small acts like hugging me every day, listening to me. Huge ones like loving me when I couldn’t love myself. I have always done my best to be kind to other people – I let everyone know that I’m here if they need someone to talk to. I love people when they can’t love themselves. That keeps me going. A slightly younger version of me would have you believe that no one cared about me, that I deserved to suffer, and that was why no one realised I was in so much pain. But people did realise I was in pain, they just didn’t realise the extent of it. No one realised the extent of it, not because they didn’t care to, but because I didn’t want them to. I was very, very good at hiding my pain. It was kindness in the form of a friend pushing a little harder, asking the extent of it, that led me to get help. It was kindness that kept me alive before I got help. Can you see where this is going?
Despite this, I took a lot of the horrible ideas about myself forwards into early adulthood. Because I felt so worthless so much of the time, I entered relationships purely on the basis that they gave me affirmation of my value. I allowed myself to be manipulated. I was sexually assaulted. Because the sex itself was consensual (or as consensual as it can be in a relationship built on manipulation), it took me a long time to come to terms with what happened. I tried to take my consent away, but the thing didn’t stop. After that happened, I self-harmed for the first time in over a year. Talking about it and allowing myself to accept what happened has made it seem so much smaller. The kindness of people lending their ears has allowed me to form relationships built on trust and happiness. That was the last time I self-harmed. It has been four years, now.
This virus is treating us all like I used to treat myself and believe I deserved to be treated. Like I still treat myself sometimes. This could cause lasting damage, if we don’t intervene a little. It might cause you to believe very unkind and very untrue things about yourself, even after it’s over. But when we show people that we care about them, that they matter, it helps them to be kind to themselves. It helps them to stop listening to those feelings.
You don’t have to train for a marathon, learn to bake sour-dough bread or even shower today, but if you can send someone a text to show them you care – well, you might just make their day. You might just make them feel valuable. A worthless person couldn’t do that, now could they?
BE KIND, EVERYONE.