Dear you…

As many of you will know this week is mental health awareness week. I’ve been pondering on what to say and came across the below whilst stumbling through my hard drive last night looking for my CV. The below letter was written to be submitted to the ‘Recovery letters’, part of a collection of letters written by those who have had mental health issues to those currently suffering. All start with ‘Dear you’. It seems well timed not only for this week generally but for me personally at the moment to remind myself that whatever is going on for me i showed up when it was hardest to and i continue to show up every day and i should be very proud of the work I’ve done to do that.

For more information on the Recovery Letters you can check out the website on:

‘Dear you,

You will most likely have already been told on numerous occasions that ‘it will pass’, it will ‘get better’ or that ‘you will survive this’. If you’re anything like me you’ll find these kind of platitudes annoying, you’ll think ‘don’t tell me i’ll get through it, how can you possibly know that?’. You may, like me, find these phrases condescending, like your grief is something to wade through until you reach a definitive end point, the holy grail of sanity and insight that could only be obtained through mental torture. You may already know that the likelihood is that you will get better, you’ve probably seen the posters of celebrities sharing their stories and notifications bursting onto your newsfeed of people who have been and conquered depression. You may know it, but you may not feel it. We talk about ‘fighting’ depression but in doing so we lose sight of how well armed our opponent is, how well equipped our nemesis stands with our inner thoughts of self loathing and anger. Depression is fluent in your Achilles heel and will twist your own words until they boomerang back to you, battered and bitter and bruised.

So give up the fight, not forever, but for a moment. Depression is exhausting and twisted and it’s ok to say ‘today i don’t want to fight, today i want to stay in bed, or pace the floors, i want to cry and get mad, i want to feel frustrated and defeated, to feel seething and consumed, today i am going to sit with and accept that i feel this way’. It’s not defeat but a very brief truce. Fighting is hard work; it’s keeping calm, trying to do dishes, trying to distract yourself, taking a walk, taking a nap, taking a pill, eating something healthy, eating something. It’s trying to go to bed on time but not too early you can’t sleep, it’s having a bath but not for so long you’re lost in a puddle of your thoughts, it’s mindfulness without too much mind on the fullness in your head. It’s exhausting. So today you can pause the internal monologue and just accept where you are. It feels awful and it’s ok to acknowledge that, you can set aside the pep talks and motivational speeches for today and simply be. You can know that one day it will feel better but right now it doesn’t and that’s frustrating and unfair.

At the same time however, take a moment to acknowledge the fact that you showed up for the day, it could be in the pyjamas that you haven’t washed for weeks with your hair in a mess and fire under your skin but you showed up nonetheless. People may tell you to wash your clothes, clean your hair or meditate but they may not realise you opened your eyes this morning and are still here this afternoon and that’s amazing. You know it will get better but today you are still on your journey and you are learning and growing and whilst it may not feel like it that is succeeding. Don’t berate yourself for things you aren’t doing, the wellness app you didn’t download or the walk you didn’t take. Acknowledge and marvel at the most courageous thing you did today, you stayed.

Good luck


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