You’re Struggling? So is Your Therapist.

How my personal mental health issues both inform and challenge my work.

January. Thank Helios; you’re over, yet what awaits us?

February. Just as dismal, and the month I always feel is a kind of no man’s land — a month that shouldn’t really exist. Snow would be welcome as it would at least add some temporary brightness, but alas, the cloud cover hangs over the city like a grey and mouldering dishcloth.

For my entire adult life, I’ve suffered with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) which I manage well some years and others not so much. Lack of sunlight affects my mood, energy, sleep and appetite in ways that sometimes feel disabling.

Choosing to surrender to the season rather than fight it, does help me find some of the more positive aspects but sometimes an attitude change needs the support of light therapy and medication.

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For many years, I coped well with using a high lux, blue light on winter mornings, and also taking a couple of supplements that proved beneficial. But three years ago this summer, breast cancer struck.

Treatment was swift and effective and I’m now in my third year of remission, but the hardest part of this was needing to come off HRT which had been very beneficial for me. Since then, good mental health has felt harder to maintain, and I know that lack of estrogen is taking a toll on my brain. My brain really likes estrogen.

My SAD light is no longer cutting it; mainly because early morning demands of dog, cat and online clients, make it difficult to find enough time to sit long enough with it.

So ten days ago, I treated myself to a blue light visor which I can wear while I go about my morning routine. Obviously, not while I’m sitting with clients, because nobody needs a therapist to show up looking like Geordi La Forge, from Star Trek, Next Generation. If we’re talking Star Trek, my aim is more along the lines of Deanna Troi.

My doctor and I are also trialling a change in dose regime with a medication that I used to find helpful and now, not so much due to side effects, and for the past week I’ve been struggling. I know that things will improve, but right now I feel about as energised as a sloth on smack.

Having one’s own mental health disorder is both a help and a hindrance when you’re a therapist helping others with their difficulties. Personally, I’ve found some very useful aspects, but the challenges come from balancing my own needs with areas of responsibility and professionalism, which I’m acutely conscious of needing to maintain.

Yesterday, I felt the familiar feeling of lead weights in my boots, exhaustion, and a need to offer myself the same kind of compassionate care that I recommend to others. It’s not ethical for me to practice when I’m well below par, and so with regret, I cancelled my midday client and focused on rest and complete quiet.

I alternated between dozing, drinking hot tea, and reading a fantasy novel that I’m really enjoying. I switched off from digital demands and cuddled up with a small dog nestled into my tummy and a smaller cat curled up behind my knees — animal friends are the best source of comfort.

The really useful bits about having my own mental health issues are that, firstly, it gives me enormous empathy for others, and secondly, I’m both knowledgeable and really good at spotting the signs of a problem that might also need other professionals on board. I don’t hesitate to refer people to their GP for a medication discussion or, lately, ADHD and autism referrals with a psychiatrist.

I find it helpful break my days into short, manageable chunks of a couple of hours at a time, take as many hot baths as our gas bill will allow, eat what the heck I want, and go to bed as early as I can.

Life feels like a balancing act right now. Sometimes I feel I’ve got it as nailed as a an Olympic gymnast on a balance bar, and other days I seem to spend more time falling off and tending to my inner bruises.

This brief article is an example of my lack of stamina this week — so keeping this short and sweet is another way of not pushing myself to meet unrealistic expectations.

The good news is that I know that this is temporary, and by the time our clocks go forward, there will be a lot more light and I’ll feel like my favourite self again.

And you know what? This morning, I noticed the tiny, valiant heads of the first snowdrops peeking up at me from our neglected winter garden.

I’d like to recommend this beautiful story by John Clark. This is the kind of stuff that restores my faith in human beings.