#CurbTheCount - 'Better Health' campaign

Because of how scared and angry I am, I will have probably missed something in this post so please bear with me. Right now, I amongst many other individuals are incredibly distressed. The government has launched a new obesity strategy, (the ‘Better Health’ campaign) which aims to ‘empower adults and children to live healthier lives’. This follows the declaration to ‘wage war on the obesity crisis’. 

Part of this plan is that it will be compulsory for restaurants, cafe’s and takeaways to include calorie counts on menus. This includes both meals and drinks with similar labels also being placed on items sold in shops. The aim of this is for the public to make more informed choices about their decisions surrounding food, but what the government are failing to consider is just how dangerous this will be. Putting an emphasis on lowering calorie consumption creates an environment of guilt, fear and hostility for those struggling. Evidence shows that calorie labelling exacerbates eating disorders of all kinds (Beat, 2018). It’s important to note that it isn’t simply those (an estimated 1.25 million people in the UK) who suffer with a diagnosed eating disorder that this will affect, but those who are vulnerable to developing disordered eating, as well as other groups, including those vulnerable to weight-based stigma.

Weight is not an isolated indicator of a persons HEALTH. We know that Covid-19 does not discriminate, this includes discrimination by body weight. By implementing this campaign, the government are encouraging harmful stereotypes and creating feelings of shame and a breeding ground for negative body image. There is already an enormous amount of weight discrimination and stigma in our society, leading to poor body image and low self-esteem. This is horribly concerning for people of all ages, especially in schools where research shows that weight stigma can hinder children’s social, emotional and academic development. Weight-based stigmatisation can lead to bullying, anxiety disorders, depression, eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, disengagement, withdrawal…the list goes on. Weight-based stigma poses significant threat to psychological and physical health (NEDA) and since the rise of obesity prevention campaigns, weight stigma has increased by 66%. The bottom line is that an overemphasis on weight (calorie labelling) has counterproductive effects (NEDA). 

I can’t explain how terrified the eating disorder community is at the moment. I haven’t stopped thinking about this since it was announced and it’s genuinely been giving me sleepless night and lots of tears and panic surrounding food again after many years being recovered from anorexia nervosa. The idea that calories will be so forcefully displayed makes me feel physically sick. Calories, being terrified to eat (let alone eat out), controlled my life for years to the point of being severely malnourished. I still deal with psychological and medical consequences of this every day. I’m genuinely not sure how I will be able to cope if making choices about food means I have to tackle further, impossible hurdles at every meal. 

Whilst, undeniably, there are people in the UK for which weight loss would benefit, surely healthy balance promotion rather than the demonisation of calories and body shaming would be a better way to tackle this. Restricting food groups leads to a greater desire for them, plus, research (and common sense) shows that whilst eating out, the average person consumes more calories than they would usually anyway. That is OK! Your body is YOURS and you have complete autonomy over it, no matter what anyone else says. 

This announcement has sent ripples through the eating disorder community. Anorexia alone has the highest mortality rate of any psychiatric illness. Please, UK government, don’t turn restaurants into a place of fear. Eating out is challenging enough without the added stress that this strategy will bring. The focus on weight terrifies me for our upcoming generations, for those already stigmatised because of their weight, for those vulnerable to disordered eating and developing eating disorders; and those in recovery fighting every day not to let these horrendous illnesses take hold of their lives again. The only war we should be waging is the one against body shaming.

What you can do: 

Use BEAT’s template letter to write to the government:

https://www.beateatingdisorders.org.uk/get-involved/campaign/current/public-health-not-public-shaming

Sign the petition by Hope Virgo to stop calories from being displayed on menus: 

http://chng.it/tFdNVbbqtk 

Know that regardless of the food choices you make, it doesn’t change your worth as a person. Your body as well as decisions around it is yours and only yours.

I can't speak

It's not often that I write about anxiety anymore. Perhaps that's because when you recover from an illness that once consumed you - flowers grow in the places you never thought that light could reach. And those flowers represent all of the things that recovery brings you; a slow drift of positive replacements that drown out and eradicate maladaptive coping mechanisms and negative thoughts. Whilst this itself feels like nothing short of a miracle in comparison to the rattling chains of an illness where you can barely function - I wish people were aware of the bigger picture. Even though it seems from looking at someone that normality has resumed and they are "coping" and "fine", certain aspects of being unwell linger like driftwood and often make day-to-day tasks feel like utterly unbearable.

I have struggled with my speech for a long time. I remember the first time my brain switched off when it was my turn to speak and if there was a gun to my head, I couldn't tell you what I was going to say. After that, my speech declined and I didn't talk at all in most situations for a long time. Psychology tells us that changes in breathing patterns can affect speech, as well as thinking problems when the body and/or mind become abnormally stressed. When my speech and thought-pattern grind to a halt, it happens suddenly and has a knock on affect on my confidence. I feel incredibly stupid and incapable, even though the words are in my brain, they've just got mixed up and blended into one another. It takes years to work through an anxiety disorder and get to a place where it no longer consumes your every living moment. Lockdown seems to have somewhat stunted progress because there has been no opportunity to challenge or work through conversations, situations or circumstances that we have to chip away at on a daily basis, or we lose emotional muscle strength. 

I cope with rough days now by wearing headphones if I'm on my own to avoid unexpected conversation, by having someone with me who can finish sentences, or coming back to a conversation and starting again when my brain feels less overwhelmed. The scariest thing is that I have no idea when my brain will just go dead, like the line of a phone, or if it will just encounter some interruption but with a few prompts, be able to cope and rescue itself. Everyone is different - not everyone encounters speech issues as an accompaniment to their anxiety, and not everyones speech or memory issues manifest in the same way.

Quite frankly, the outside world is just a little bit terrifying right now. It can look like fighting hard to leave the house on your own at times other than at 8am or 9pm when no-one else is around and that all too familiar sickness surrounding shops, people and basic task can grab you by the throat again suddenly. For me, this has happened in recent weeks for the first time in years. Anxiety disorders are debilitating. As lockdown eases and we all start to interact again, be mindful that for people with anxiety and panic disorders, it might feel like they're back at square one. Patience and kindness go a long way. 

Riding the waves of an eating disorder in the midst of a pandemic

“Imagine walking into a supermarket, people rushing around everywhere, grabbing things from the shelves. You get to a shelf where normally your safe foods are and you freeze. You stand there for what feels like an eternity, your eyes darting around, sweat dripping down your back, your palms clamming up. Where is the tin you normally get? What are you going to do? You know you have to keep eating but you aren’t sure if you can” (extract taken from Young Minds article – see below)

I haven’t written anything about eating disorders for a long, long time now. Part of me is grateful for that – it means that these days, less and less of my mind is preoccupied by food, weight and a mission to destroy myself that could have only ended one way. However, part of me feels that now that I look healthy and (thankfully, am healthy, weight-restored and fully discharged), I am unworthy of feeling any distress that I felt or experienced when I was really unwell. 

The reality is though, that for those of us with eating disorders, in remission, or those somewhere in-between - the fear around food is never too far away. Last night, I looked at a bagel, and my heart skipped a beat. On Wednesday, we nearly ran out of eggs, and I cried (thankfully an amazing friend dropped some off for me). The day before that, I made some cakes that weren’t very good (I over-filled the damn cupcake cases; and I had a panic attack). Last week, I sobbed because someone used my mug. Today the thought of seeing anyone if I stepped outside to get a parcel from my porch made my skin crawl and I literally thought myself into a storm of panic that made me feel fat, worthless, and ugly again. This string of events occurred in totally normal, everyday situations but were twisted into something completely irrational, because for people who link food with fear, this pandemic is quite frankly, terrifying. Lies creep back in about not deserving food and at the beginning of self-isolation, my desperate need to fix everyone else and make sure everyone in the world and their dog were ok (anyone else also holding hands with this coping mechanism?) meant that I was neglecting my own needs and batting off warning signs left, right and centre.

As a maladaptive coping mechanism and in times of stress and uncertainty, the grips of anorexia, and other eating disorders can feel overwhelming. The uncertainty we are currently faced with has meant that many people are having to resist the temptation of false promises that are crystal-clear amidst the white noise voice of an eating disorder. Food shops can be extremely scary. For me, if I can’t have someone physically with me whilst I’m there, I always have to be talking to someone on the phone or have my headphones in, at the very least. Fortunately I have family members and friends who are able to either shop online or go in store to pick up food, because the utter panic you are met with in shops at this time is too scary to face, but shopping online means that safe foods aren’t always available for us if they are restricted or out of stock. Physiologically, our bodies panic as we are met with familiar feelings of “what if” or "I can't eat/drink that" and our bodies feel the panic of when our last meal might be. I feel selfish, and like I need to leave food for those who really are desperate and deserve it. It can also be triggering to see an empty shelf or lacking items, as it’s a good excuse not to have anything at all. 

Being at home means that we are constantly in close range to a kitchen or bathroom, there are little distractions before, after or surrounding meals, and it is terrifying. As well as this, limited possibilities of exercise due to restrictions on time outside/self-isolation hugely increase the fear of weight gain, and an exposure to potential stockpiling tendencies and of increased amounts of food in the home-environment can, for many, trigger binge-eating behaviour and panic around food. At the moment, I’m addressing the big, black, gaping hole right in front of me that is trying to suck me back into anorexia, which thrives off feelings of distress and anxiety. But rationally, it won't save anyone and it’s an all too familiar lie which promises to be able control the uncontrollable.  

If you’re struggling, please remember that there is absolutely no control when you let your eating disorder back in. It’s so tempting to engage with behaviours in order to numb out our full spectrum of emotions, but it will only get worse and spiral out of control the more you slip. It goes without saying, but try to keep off social media as much as you can if you’re feeling vulnerable. Whilst it can be positive and make you feel less isolated, the temptation and natural inclination to compare yourself others (whether that be through productivity, exercise, food or body-comparison) can be toxic and all-consuming. Use this time to empower yourself and your recovery. Prioritise self-care, even if it’s just for half an hour or an hour a day. 

If you’re reading this and you don’t struggle with disordered eating but want to support someone who does – try to be patient and understanding. What may seem completely ridiculous to you, is probably the worst thing in the world for us. Please don’t use hashtags or engage in conversation entertaining the fear of gaining weight due to the coronavirus. Seeing these posts about people watching their weight and dieting makes it incredibly hard for those with eating disorders or those in recovery to not get sucked back into these behaviours. Try not to read (or write!) posts that shame other people or push judgment on the way in which other people are coping. If someone else’s “essential” item or activity does not seem essential to you, just think about the bigger picture. It may be that the particular activity or item you are judging someone else for needing is the string between keeping them sane, safe and well or crashing down. I promise you, eating disorders are not about food.

 For me, I started this pandemic as an opportunity to squeeze-everything-I-could-into-every-second-of-the-day...because-pass-me-my-super-woman-cape-I-could-never-get-burnt-out!!! – Well that didn’t prove to be sustainable (shock, horror). So today, for the first time since self-isolation began, I had a lie-in, and I stayed in my pj’s all day. I didn’t do a workout to break any potentially obsessive pattern, and I listened to my body. Yes, I feel extremely sick with guilt that has choked me at points, but my body is too important to burn out and it will thank me tomorrow. Talk to those who care and ask about you, let people in who want to help, and forget the rest: one-way friendships will exhaust you, let them go or let them make the effort.

Above all, please try not to be too hard on yourself. As perfectionist-riddled, sensitive humans, we have fought for years in recovery against things that we now have got to ride out. The fear of putting on weight, being out of control, seeing people after a long period of time or having eating patterns change have most likely been crippling fears for a large portion of your life – and now we have to ride it out as the new 'normal'. It’s scary, but it’s not impossible. Having cracks and worries about food does not necessarily mean you’re going to get ill again, it just means that you’re human and these warning signs can be a gentle nudge towards self-care and self-compassion. 

Below are a couple of helpful articles that may address concerns for both those struggling and those supporting:

·       “Eating Disorders and the Coronavirus”: https://www.beateatingdisorders.org.uk/coronavirus 

·       “The Coronavirus and supporting someone”: https://www.beateatingdisorders.org.uk/coronavirus/supporting-someone

·       Anorexia and Bulimia care: http://www.anorexiabulimiacare.org.uk/help-for-you/covid-19

·       Young Minds (some amazing advice on there for people of all ages): https://youngminds.org.uk/blog/coping-with-an-eating-disorder-during-the-coronavirus-pandemic/

I am tired

Social media will, inevitably, be full of the #WorldMentalHealthDay hashtag tomorrow. I have written a blogpost each year, for a fair few now, where I have made sense of mental health in writing. But this year, I’m too exhausted to string together anything of a better read than this: I am tired. And hear me when I say that I am not tired craving sleep; I am tired craving peace.

Tired of the ‘one-way’ slog, the actual, painful, physical ache in a smile that recently, I haven’t been able to bear wasting paint on.

Tired of being the one who looks after, rather than the one who’s looked after. 

Tired of asking twice if someone says they are ok because I’m not convinced, yet walking away from countless conversations where I have swallowed tears until my throat burns. 

Tired of shaking, the constant shaking. 

Tired of the white noise.

Tired of hoping, hoping, more hoping, for there to be darkness around the bend. 

Tired of prioritising time for everyone, making time for everyone, but feeling like a burden, bottom of the list. A rushed coffee date. An afterthought. A "hope you're ok", not a "how are you?". 

Tired of making excuses for people who hurt me.

Tired of holding myself together for the benefit of someone else's comfort.

Tired of olive branches being snapped and burnt. 

Tired of being a doormat, the invisible part of others peoples days. The vanilla one. The one who is spoken over in a group. The ‘nice’ one. The one who ‘doesn’t mind’. 

Tired of hearing 'you have a beautiful smile' that doesn't leak a thing

This doesn't follow suit to my normal blogposts. There is no ‘but’ here. No positive follow-up, no story of growth, silver lining or positive metaphor to sandwich this narrative. I am tired of being the strong one. So here’s my WMHD contribution, the raw without the positivity filter. I am struggling this WMHD.

And I am tired.

#WMHD

Minimisation nation

For years of my life, I have wished, prayed and dreamed of a life where an anxiety disorder isn’t pulsing through me and every moment of my day-to-day. Every candle blowout, eyelash wish and dandelion seed capture prior diagnosis, I sought answers to magic away the feeling of all-consuming dread - where my body and mind never let me have closure in the come-down from excessive adrenaline surges. Anxiety leaves you hanging precariously in the balance of unease and a fearful feeling that you just (for the absolute life of you), cannot pinpoint or resolve. 

“Getting better” from a clinical anxiety disorder is an interesting concept due to the complexity of...well, firstly, living with an illness that is also a common descriptive word for an every-day, understood emotion at its most basic level experienced by neurotypical individuals, but also the secondary factors that come alongside a disorder like this which can feel very personal, and very much align with traits of character (compassion, people-pleasing, empathy and a tendency to be far more aware and sensitive to your surroundings than your average Tom, Dick or Harry)... One of the hardest parts of recovering from an illness like anxiety, (manifesting as subtypes ranging in diagnosis’ from generalised anxiety disorder to OCD and PTSD) is the balance between challenging irrational thoughts and keeping yourself safe whilst doing so. 

For years, self-hate manifested in me because I wasn’t “normal”, I was unable to go to parties, or catch a bus into town to meet friends, or go anywhere alone (or a lot of the time, with others) without panicking. After years of understanding anxiety through professional support, I have learnt that although anxiety doesn’t define me as a person, it is ok to be able to talk openly about it and ask people for support if I need it. It is possible to normalise the conversation about these disorders, without normalising the severity or impact of them on a person. Thankfully, now - panic attacks and other symptoms of my anxiety disorders are far and few between, but only in recent months I have realised that if it means asking for help in managing them, then that’s ok. If it means asking someone to put me on a train so I don't have to go into complete sensory overdrive alone, that’s ok. If it means having someone with me to walk round a supermarket to do a food shop because that would be just one thing too much that week and I’m not sure I’ll manage it, that’s ok. If it means asking someone to make a telephone call for me or order my drink for me in a busy café because I can't talk then that’s ok. You don’t have to suffer or try to manage everything yourself, it’s not a weakness to have adjustments in place, you are not weird or difficult for having to do things differently to those around you. 

Growing up immersed in a culture that encouraged positivity to the point of toxicity, it is hard to know where the boundaries lie between “ok, I can do this” or “I will do this” and "my body won't allow me to do this right now" or “I really can’t do this today and I need some help getting through it”. Saying that you are unable to do something doesn’t mean you are being negative, or fussy, or awkward - it means that you are respecting your brain, your boundaries and being self-aware. It means that you are able to see your capacity for things that may get a bit too much and respect yourself enough to take a step back and put things in place to protect yourself. When managing an anxiety disorder of any kind, it’s hard to imagine what a body without the manifestation of how I would describe, a constant feeling of the moment you miss a step in the dark type of fear feels like. A consistent, often dull but very much prevalent feeling of pure butterflies. Years on, I get that feeling a couple of times a day, it passes, I might have a little cry or need to catch my breath for ten minutes, and then I get on with my day. When a flare occurs for a few days or weeks, it only reminds me of how thankful I am not to have felt that consistently anxious for a while now. 

Living with anxiety is very real, debilitating and pretty damn horrific. Because it is a chronic illness, it’s easy to let guilt seep in because it feels like a constant struggle in managing your next move. Don’t let toxic positivity win. Don’t pretend everything is ok just because it’s what other people want to hear. Managing a chronic illness is difficult enough without trying to manage how other people might feel if you are struggling. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be aware of the emotional capacity of those around you before you pour your heart out to them out of the blue, but it does mean that you are not responsible for how others manage their own emotions. You are only responsible for yourself and you are allowed to create boundaries that keep you safe and allow you to function most comfortably. 

Declaring my anxiety disorders at university and since, in other areas of my life, was the best thing I could do to care for myself. I hovered over the tick box online for a long time before I submitted it and even when I did, it felt like I had made a mistake. But two months down the line, it meant that I was able to access the support that I wouldn’t have made it through university without. It meant that a disabled student allowance allowed me to access equipment that helped me to manage my degrees with illnesses that actually, make it near enough impossible to function sometimes. It means that, like a person with a broken wrist who relies on a cast to manage, I am able to do the same for my mind. Taking a step back from normalising and minimising living with anxiety and recognising it as an illness has in turn, helped me to recognise that I need adjustments to live my life fully and happily and accept that, that’s ok with me. 

Try with help

Just like the fuzzy, incoherent functioning of my brain at present, this post may be a little C-X rather than A-Z but, despite being a grammar nazi at heart, I think it would be ok to let my mind have a short-break (just this once), so bear with. 

Last week, I drove my car and panicked. I couldn’t go anywhere on my own because I was terrified. Terrified of being spoken to and not knowing what to do, of having a panic-attack in public, of stuttering, or worst of all; not being able to speak at all. My headphones were glued to my head for security and my hand was on my phone in my pocket, ready for emergency. Paranoia rushed through me, fear swept through me, the feeling of not being good enough knocked me over like a tidal wave, and so did all the feelings that I have spent the best part of five years trying to eradicate so desperately.  

I walked into a bakery and was met with the all-too familiar surge of dread as I remembered a time where I genuinely believed that I was not allowed to look at a bakery and that if I drove or walked past one, I had to hold my breath and look at the floor because the smell or sight alone would make me gain weight; that was fact. I am so thankful that the days where I am floored by anxiety are far and few between now. Where longing for a smaller frame is no longer at the forefront of my mind and that the leech-like thoughts of “fat, fat, fat” are no longer the only thing I can think about. The non-linear nature of recovery means that one day you may be celebrating great victory, and the next; sobbing over a slice of toast, pain searing through you. Fortunatley, wanting to be invisible and fragile has been far from a conscious thought in recent years as I have packed my life with other things and ultimately, performed a (messy) U-turn on my life: eating a McDonalds at 5am after a gin-fuelled boogie with the people I love instead of lying in a hospital bed at a similar hour, terrified of liquid at all; of sitting on public transport and not walking the last 7 stops as a result of rising panic in my chest; going to sleep with trembling hands but resisting temptation to double, triple-check doors, locks, windows because nothing dreadful happened overnight; the list goes on. 

Truth is, despite the hurdles jumped (not always as gracefully as envisioned); I still sometimes catch myself agonising over someone I have seen in the street who is underweight and feel an indescribable pang of jealousy. Tears can still fill my eyes when I have to eat. It hurts when you are struggling but can’t use the coping mechanism that your body craves. Food is everywhere. Talk of food, is everywhere. But ultimately, what is the point in wasting so much life agonising over an extra yorkshire or a sugar in your coffee? What function does self-sabotage serve other than, well, death? I used to read blogs lined with cliché and feel angry. What did they know? Anxiety isn’t a choice, I can’t help feeling so anxious that I’m almost certain a family of butterflies have nested in the lining of my tummy. Truth is, we can’t and certainly don’t “choose” to wake up one morning and vomit because the idea of stepping out the house is quite literally, crippling. 

I struggled the most with this concept when anxiety ran through my veins. I didn’t understand why professionals set “challenges” for me. How ridiculous. Didn’t they understand that I just couldn’t do that? Platitudes, to me, are patronising. “Keep calm and carry on”; “keep your chin up”; “forgive and forget”. Everyone needs a positivity kick and possibly, a swift kick up the backside to pull them up, but to me, this kind of lazy, chirping advice can be misunderstood; the complexity of the tremendous energy behind such words underestimated. “I can do this”, “I am beautiful” in the mirror is agonising rather than profound when believing it is impossible and any attempt at such leads to the rejection of permeating truth, making you feel like more of a failure than you did before. We are not made to do this on our own, and even though it may not be simple, we can all choose to accept support and love from those around us. We can choose to say “yes please” to help, instead of believing that we are unworthy of it. Sometimes it takes an extra pair of hands, or an extra person by your side when a simple act can bring you to tears. 

Now, on grey days that are notably, no longer black, but sometimes feel they are getting that way; my translation of “try” is “try with help” until you can try on your own. We don’t choose to live with chronic illness, but it can be made easier, can be quietened with an extra pair of hands. Sometimes, it can still be hard to achieve the things that were once “conquered” in recovery. To go shopping by yourself; to talk to strangers (heck, to talk to people you know), to walk down the road alone. Over the past weeks, the feeling of making a full, emotional recovery has seemed unreachable. But those feelings despite prolonged, will be fleeting. Even on days where the air feels like thick smoke and your legs feel like the heaviest metal and jelly combined; a cruel combination of fear and paralysing sadness, know this: You will always realign, your descent is not something to be feared, for your rising is what will move mountains. 

The year of the brave

This morning I had to drive somewhere that wasn't at 30mph down my road. It wasn't a place I knew, or a place where I could guarantee would be somewhere to park. Since I passed my driving test nearly 12 months ago, I have experienced severe driving anxiety, something which I racked up and stored internally for a long time. It hit me like a tonne of bricks, after a really enjoyable experience learning to drive and the most amazing driving instructor I could have asked for. However, a chronic anxiety disorder from the age of 5 coupled with a pretty impressive tendency to chase non-existent perfectionism and crippling self-doubt manifested and spread in my car. Whenever I switched on the engine, tears would spill over and intrusive thoughts would fill my mind: What if I forget how to drive? What if I hit the accelerator instead of the break at a pedestrian crossing? What if the passenger I am dropping off home dies because I lose control and crash? "What ifs" literally suffocated me and I felt desperate to be normal, to experience the freedom promised to me when I was handed my shiny certificate and an updated driving licence. Mostly, I felt like I had let my sister down, for not being a "normal" big sister because I had to avoid busy cities and stations like the plague, I felt like I wasn't fulfilling her needs and my anxiety was separating me from her. We found ourselves doing loops of the McDonalds drive-through and trips to our local ASDA because that's the only thing I could really manage without throwing up.

Fast forward 11 months and I woke up this morning with the words "just don't think about it too much" ringing in my ears. Anxiety is a funny (ha) old thing, it prepares you for the worst, so really, you are very well prepared indeed. At the same time though, you feel like you are never ready. It is similar to getting ready for a long country walk on an icy day. You know that what you are wearing will keep you warm; and have most probably picked out your cosiest scarf and warmest gloves for the occasion. But when you step outside and the bitter air hits you, there's still a slight shock to the system and you fear slipping over. This morning I spoke to my mum on the phone and held back the tears. I swallowed my breakfast with the biggest lump in my throat and as soon as I had closed the door behind me I wanted to turn straight back around and let the sofa swallow me up while I sobbed.

But I have promised myself that this year is the year of the brave. It is the year that I will work on all the things, one by one, that have been subconsciously pulling me down like thick mud. So I got in my car and I told myself that it was one mile at a time. One road at a time. One satnav instruction at a time. I put myself in the shoes of someone I knew would be unfazed and pretended to be the most confident version of myself I had ever known. I didn't grip the steering wheel in fear but with confidence and I quite literally spoke positive affirmations over myself instead of doubting myself. I took deep breaths when driving past lorries at 70mph and I counted roundabout exits out loud without fear of judgment (because everyone has hands-free now, don't they?). I took three wrong turnings on the way, but in hindsight, I am thankful for that as the world didn't end and I know how to deal with those situations better now.

Life is a bit like driving (what an original metaphor, well done me). But really, some days, switching on the engine is the most awful idea you could possibly imagine when you lie in bed afraid of everything the day has in store for you. Sometimes, it feels like you are taking every wrong turning and making an almighty mess of parallel parking. My wonderful mum has always said to me that no matter what happens, you will always get to where you need to be. It doesn't matter if you take three different turnings instead of the straightforward one that someone else has taken. It doesn't matter if you take a different route alltogether, because you will always get there in the end. My mum is quite possibly the most amazing human I will ever know. The hours she has spent with me up and down the M5, circling roundabouts and calming me down has been the reason I am able to keep on going (apart from when she downs double expressos at service stations, you can keep that side of your personality well and truly on the passenger side, mother). The days where you smash every fear makes the days where you are floored by anxiety so worth it. I was woken up this morning by a song in my head, 'I will trust in You alone, for Your endless mercy follows me, Your goodness will lead me home.' I am forever thankful for Jesus, who brings me a peace which truly does surpass all understanding.

So, my "year of the brave" looks like this...It looks like asking for practical support when I need it. It looks like addressing things that terrify me with someone I trust. It looks like crying properly after something scary when needed and not holding back tears until my throat hurts. It also looks like offering to support someone else in the most practical way you can. It looks like texting a friend "how are you?" rather than "hope you are ok". It looks like sitting with someone while they do something that scares them and asking them how their day was without distraction. It looks like really caring, selflessly caring. It also looks like really caring for yourself, as much as others. I am thankful for a routine in this season of my life where I am able to schedule in time where I am able to go and sit in a coffee shop and write letters, blogposts and poetry until my heart is burning with passion and productivity.

If you are reading this and you are needing to tackle something that has been holding you back, please make this year, your "year of the brave" too. Send a text asking for practical support. Call someone or ask for company when you are upset so that you don't need to go through it alone. Ask for what you need, what you really need. You are capable strong and brave. You are loved despite the thing that makes you feel abnormal. You are ok. You will be ok. Reach out, talk to someone and giants will fall, I promise you.