A Word Of Caution - For Myself

All this week, I have been Tweeting and posting on Facebook short videos where I describe how immersing myself in Nature is good for my recovery from severe depression. There is no doubt being active in the outdoors, surrounding myself with the grandeur and beauty the Isle of Mull has to offer, is beneficial for me. I am most comfortable with myself when I am out in the wilds. I am a confident and accomplished outdoors person being fortunate to have accrued an incredible amount of wisdom and knowledge through my many years working and adventuring in the wilds. Because of this, my interactions with wild spaces and Nature tend to err on the more adventurous and possibly physically demanding. It’s through a combination of subliminal connection to nature and facing challenge that I gain the most from these experiences for myself. However, as beneficial as this usually is, it’s not always the most healthy or safe approach for me to pursue.

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There are time when Nature may not be the panacea for my depression and I need to take care. This has nothing to do with facing the actual risks associated with adventurous outdoor activity, though of course these are a factor to be considered. It is more about me keeping myself safe from myself.

The extreme safety consideration for me is my level of ideation for completing my suicide. I wrote about this a long while ago and you can read about this - here. It makes complete sense that I do not embark on a solo sea kayaking trip if I’m at the depths of a depressive episode when I have strong desires for my suicide. This is a safety consideration akin to asking some one to abseil without a rope. I wouldn’t do it. Despite my strong desire for death during these difficult times in my depression, there is enough of a sense of preservation within me to know that kayaking on my own would possibly be a bad idea. The safety factor which I attend to most when making these decisions, is asking myself - “How impulsive do I think I am at the moment?” If I’m confident I’m in control of my impulsivity, then I might consider it safe for me to maybe kayak on my own around Tobermory Bay, having given Karen clear details about my plans and the time I expect to be ashore again. The benefits of such a sojourn in my kayak would undoubtedly outweigh the risks in that particular kind of scenario. If though I am thinking of a longer journey with a night or two away, then even though I might feel in control of my impulsivity, I would decide against embarking on such a journey because I would not know how I would cope with any stressors on the way, or how I would cope with my solitude.

To be honest, when I’m at the depths of my depression, I usually lack the motivation to embark on a lengthy kayak trip even if the weather and sea conditions were perfect.

It’s in my make up to expect a lot of myself, to be strong, to persevere and not give in. When I am well, this trait of mine can be an attribute, enabling me to undertake some demanding adventurous challenges - and enjoy doing so. However, when I’m not well, then having this desire to push myself hard can be counter-productive. It’s probably this fact alone which I have increasingly learned to pay attention to when making a ‘risk assessment’ about my engagement with the outdoor realm. The question I find I have to ask myself is - “What do I want to achieve?” The answer to this will be internally debated, weighing up the merits of the endeavour, opposed to the risks of possibly failing to complete the task and what these may mean for my mental health. An example of this occurred a year or so ago. I was not long out of a prolonged hospital admission and in a customary show of bravado, I stated I would kayak solo around the Isle of Mull. I plastered my intent over my social media outlets and blithely set off down the Sound of Mull, overweight from unconstrained hospital eating and dreadfully unfit. Needless to say, I managed just two days of the trip before I phone Karen and asked her to collect me and take me home.

A positive reflection of this experience is the fact I knew I needed to stop my expedition and acted on this. I took care of myself. In fact this one experience forms the bedrock of my decision making processes since then. While I may not have been at risk of completing my suicide because where I was in my recovery at that point, there was considerable to stunting or even reversing this recovery through the consequences of ‘failing’. I push myself hard with an expectation of succeeding and when this does not occur, I can be painfully self-critical. Self-criticism is one of the driving forces for my depression, so avoiding situations where there is a risk where this may occur makes good sense. In hindsight of course, I ought not have set out on an ambitious circumnavigation of Mull given I was just out of hospital. As I write this I notice I’m internally berating myself for even thinking that kayaking around Mull at that point my life would be a good idea. The result of this internal criticism is a huge sigh and exhalation and a profanity laden exhortation. Thankfully though, at the moment I’m strong enough not to allow this one negative thought, lead me into a self-destructive cycle of rumination and instead, I have moved on to think about the positive outcomes of what I am sharing here.

The point I think I’m labouring here is, there may be times when immersing myself in Nature may not be a beneficial option for me, if my expectations of my ability outweigh the realities of the same. The negative consequences of incompletion and a sense of failure would be detrimental to my fragile mental health. This may be true even for considering to paddle around our local Calve Island or not. This is a trip of just a couple of hours and of no great challenge at all. However, there are times in my depressed state when my energy levels are so low, that to undertake even this, might leave me wanting.

Currently I’m at a place in my life where I’m able to assess these situations with a strong level of self-care in place. It’s not difficult for me to judge whether an activity in the outdoors will be good for me or not. Paddling out to the Isle of Rum and back in three days is a great example of this. There was always the risk I may have stumbled with regard to coping with the strenuous nature of the endeavour, but the outcomes to my sense of self would not have been adversely negative. As it turned out this one trip, and possibly the one before it to the Treshnish Isles, have been transformative. As a result of the truly incredible experiences I enjoyed on both these journeys, my self-esteem is stronger than ever before and I’m enjoying a level of personal contentment I can’t recall feeling in many years. With both these adventures, the possible benefits exceeded the risks of incompletion or a sense of failure.

I’m well versed in personal risk-assessment when it comes to my interaction with the natural and wild realms. It’s a dynamic process for me, multidimensional and sometime complex. The bottom line is my safety of course, but what I may positively gain for myself through the endeavour is of equal consideration.

If there is any wisdom I have gleaned from my experiences which I think may be useful for others, then it is this. Be aware of what you are feeling. This will guide you when deciding how and at what level to interact with Nature. You will know yourself best and you will understand what your feelings are informing you. For example, you may find yourself thinking it a good idea to go for an all day walk, but you feel incapable of such a challenge. In this case, it becomes a decision based on what the outcome will be for you if you fall short of your plans and how this may affect your mental health. If it were me, I would err on the side of caution and choose a definitely manageable route and thoroughly enjoy walking it without worrying about incompletion.

Finally, I think this bog post proves how complicated my thinking can be at times and how I’m forever inquisitive about the choices I make and whether these are good for me or not. It also shows my interactions with Nature and wild space are never without thought or consideration. The positive outcome of this is how impactful every moment I spend outdoors can be for me.

Mental Health Awareness Week 2021

From today, the 10th May, it’s Mental Health Awareness Week with its underlying theme of ‘Nature’. As such, I’ve made a public commitment to contribute my thoughts and experiences with regard to my own journey with severe depression and how immersion in the natural world helps me with my recovery. When thinking about what I would offer, I soon realised I had a huge amount of information to share and innumerable illustrative tales to recount. For a few hours I found myself overwhelmed with the numerous avenues I could follow, from which I would offer a range of personal insights and wisdom I’ve gleaned through my nearly sixty years. In fact, for a brief moment, I thought there was enough for me to write a book but I hastily put that idea to bed since I have promised the world two books, yet to be completed.

Instead, I have decided to follow a natural path, allowing myself the leeway of choosing as they come to my mind, some of the pearls I hope will be helpful for others. Since the theme of this awareness raising week is ‘Nature’, it’s apposite I should allow myself the opportunity to travel the trail less travelled and enjoy the adventure. Quite literally, share through my online channels, anything which crops up and which I think will be of interest and I have the time to create, write or film.

The first thing which jumped into my mind when I thought of this awareness week and its theme was the word ‘life’. It has been clear to me for many years now, that my immersion in nature is life sustaining, quite literally so. In fact during recent kayaking trips over the past few weeks I have somehow been acutely aware of this as I witness the proliferation of pelagic and littoral life with the advent of the Northern Hemisphere spring. There is a quality of ebullience to the sea, coastlines, islands and cliffs at the moment. When thinking of this I recalled I had written about this, or something like this, in the first draft of my book of when I kayaked around Scotland in 2015. This book has yet to see the light of day but I thought I would share this long excerpt here as a way of introducing my personal philosophy about my connection to nature and why I choose to do what I do.

The story picks up at Aith on the mainland of Shetland, the most northerly of the R.N.L.I. lifeboat stations of the 47 around the Scottish coastline I was visiting in one continuous solo sea kayaking journey. The theme of my adventure to this point had been coping with the seemingly incessant strong winds which plagued me. Indeed the title of this uncompleted book is “Strong Winds Are Forecast”. I hope the rest makes sense.

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Aith R.N.L.I. Lifeboat, Shetland

One task I had to achieve was my laundry. There was a washing machine at the lifeboat station, and I made full use of this facility, hanging my freshly washed clothes to hang in the blustery sunshine on a rudimentary clothes-line I had created from my tow-line. I laughed to myself as I hung my clothes over the rope in a haphazard manner, thinking of my wife who never allows me to hang out the washing. According to her I never do it properly! There’s not much to do in the hamlet of Aith, so I spent my day off kicking back in the crew room and gazing out of the picture window at the magnificent view up the Voe. I worked out I had four days of paddling ahead of me to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland to reach Lerwick. The forecast was mixed with strong winds promised for much of the time. There were a couple of exposed sections of coastline to contend with, particularly Esha Ness with a reputation for rough seas and few places to hide. For the briefest of moments, I pondered portaging from the west side of mainland Shetland to the eastern side into Sullom Voe over the curiously named Mavis Grind, a neck of land which separated the west seas from the east. Mavis Grind it turned out when I asked Hylton, wasn’t a 1950s dance but a derivation from Old Norse meaning gate of the narrow isthmus. The isthmus, under thirty-five metres wide at its narrowest section, is the land link between the Northmavine Peninsula and mainland Shetland. Even though portaging here would considerably reduce my journey to Lerwick, I wanted to enjoy the achievement of kayaking around the whole of the island.

In hindsight, as Hylton (the lifeboat Coxswain) suggested, I ought to have stayed at Aith another two days, because shortly after setting off I found myself struggling into the teeth of a minor gale. The winds were from the north west from the direction I was heading. I paddled slowly out of Aith Voe, one laboured paddle stroke after another, realising I was exiting a natural and excruciatingly long wind tunnel. I cursed my stubbornness in insisting I would press on, no matter what. As I struggled to gain forward momentum, my conscience niggled with criticisms of my impetuousness. I mouthed silent thanks I had left Aith too early in the morning for folks to spot me struggling away up the voe.

Eventually I passed Papa Little island and crossed to the island of Muckle Roe. Along the shore here I was out of the worst of the wind and I caught up with myself a little, this easing my bad temper. Despite the wind, the day was gloriously sunny, the sea glittering with thousands of dancing diamonds. I looked up at the Scandinavian influenced farmsteads and dwellings and felt again the exoticness of being somewhere wonderfully foreign. I turned from Busta Voe, a name which made me smile because it sounded like a 1980s Ska singer, under the bridge linking Muckle Roe to the mainland, and into Roe Sound. Ahead of me through the narrow stretch of water was the expansive St Magnus Bay across which, nine miles away, was the headland of Eshaness. The wind was blasting down Roe Sound and once again I found myself digging my paddle blades deeply hard with a sweat inducing effort to make headway.

I was less than a mile from Turvalds Head (who was Turvald I wondered?) This was the point where I faced a choice to turn eastwards for Mavis Grind and the short portage into what assuredly would be the easier seas of Sullom Voe or press onwards towards the Eshaness headland. Choosing the Mavis Grind route would ensure the wind would be gratifyingly behind me whilst I paddled the remainder of the route to Lerwick. As I reached forward over another choppy wave and pulled hard, this choice was an attractive insight. I was sorely tempted by the prospect of easier paddling. I was half an hour away from having to make my decision.

The forecast assured me the strong north westerly winds would persist for at least two days, possibly three. I would struggle against them if I continued up the west coast of Shetland. The seas off Eshaness would be nasty and recalling my fearful experience along the west coast of Orkney, I didn’t want to face those conditions again. It seemed to me wisdom should prevail and with a heavy heart I was close to acceding to the inevitable. The glitter went from the day despite the diamonds continuing to dance about me. Despite the prospect of encountering easier conditions in Sullom Voe, my disappointment was palpable. My heart was set on completing a circumnavigation of Shetland mainland. It seemed to me my journey was in danger of unravelling. I was losing purpose. My original somewhat ambitious plans for my adventure, had included paddling right up to Muckle Flugga, the most northerly piece of land in the British Isles. In the cosy comfort of the small saloon aboard our yacht, and with the alluring aid of Google Earth, I had glibly drawn a route to this most northern point without much thought for the reality of the weather conditions I now faced in a rather bleak Roe Sound. As ever with a decision such as this, there were variables to consider, each validly presented. My task now was to sort through these in a logical fashion to arrive at an eventual choice.

The natural realm, the great outdoors as we often like to call it, tests me in many ways. From the dawn of time, humans have pitted themselves against the elements. I would imagine for hunter gatherer peoples, the natural environment was their world, the milieu where they lived, thrived, and coexisted with wild beasts in this mutually shared space. I could not imagine they sought to climb a mountain simply because it was there or paddling a log boat along the coast because they saw this purely as a personal challenge. I imagined for them, life held primary purposes; gathering food, finding shelter, and protecting their children. The essentials of life. As humans moved away from a transient lifestyle to one of settlement and permanent shelter, our aspirations through the millennia shifted and altered to the point here I was, a modern human, sitting in my kayak, on a wind whipped Shetland sea, enjoying the luxury of fulfilling a personal aspiration to kayak around Scotland. If there was no life sustaining purpose to me being here, what did this moment serve me? What did it matter if I chose to cross Mavis Grind and curtail my circumnavigation of Shetland, instead of pushing further westwards to realise my aspiration for a Shetland circumnavigation?

I discovered the answer was this; the personal purpose of my adventure was indeed life sustaining. It was offering me an important opportunity for growth and development. Physis is a Greek word which describes an innate natural force within every living entity which drives us to grow. In humans, physis refers to the energy invested in health and the expansion of our personal horizons. This is the urge to do something different, the aspiration to be who we want to be, and to choose our destiny. Good mental health is not only the outcome of sound relationships but also the fulfilment of essential universal drives within us including belonging, self-fulfilment and survival.

Physis involves change. No living thing can avoid change, we are constantly in the process of evolution. However, because we crave equilibrium, continuity, and safety in our lives, change is often difficult to accept. We hold onto what we know because this provides us with certainty. This desire for stability is called homeostasis, the opposite to physis. Humans are therefore pulled by these two opposing forces, homeostasis and physis. It is this unresolved struggle which underpins many of the unhappy responses we have to our life choices.

My struggle with clinical depression is most likely an outcome of this tussle within me, which is why, suddenly, the decision to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland or cut it short, had become a vitally important one for me to resolve. It wasn’t simply a matter of portaging into Sullom Voe to avoid the winds. It was about the importance I placed on facing, or not facing, the challenge the strong winds presented. Homeostasis determined I would seek the less demanding route, to ensure I maintained my schedule and avoided the probability of serious and demanding sea conditions. Physis on the other hand, invited me to push on, even though success was uncertain and there was a high probability of becoming storm bound with inevitable delays. As so often when faced with this process, it is conducted beyond my consciousness. What I am aware of though, is rationalising the presenting facts of the issue and ascertaining the consequences if these are ignored or considered. The underpinning factor is personal safety, so an indication the task being considered was completely reckless, would determine an immediate avoidance. If though, the risks were such harm may occur but with care, could be avoided, then the task was worthy of consideration.   

It would be simple to avoid the complexities within the decision-making process, to not heed them or desire self-understanding. For me though, this would diminish the opportunity for self-awareness. I consider this to be integral to an adventure experience. Without understanding, there is no wisdom to be gained. It was clear from the outset that my journey around Scotland was so much more than simply visiting the lifeboat stations. It was an opportunity for me to gain deeper insights into my ‘self’. This would help me grow into the older man I hoped to become. I didn’t want to slide into my old age. I wanted to arrive with as much energy and enthusiasm for life as I had when I was in my twenties.

Lang Head from Egilsay

So it was, with renewed determination Turvals Head slowly slipped behind me. I continued out into the steep and uncomfortable waves of St Magnus Bay. The 1950’s dance, Mavis Grind would be enjoyed another time. Despite my resolve to face my adventure head on, shortly after setting out into the bay, uncomfortable sea conditions seriously challenged me. I had previously coped with trickier conditions but somehow, I wasn’t in a sound frame of mind to cope with this continuous onslaught of broken waves and powerfully gusting head wind. Searching as far ahead as I was able to, I saw conditions around Lang Head, my next headland, were dreadful. Even from my low sea level elevation I could see an angry race kicked up by wind over tide. I was faced with another crucial decision. I was able to turn back to Mavis Grind or I could find somewhere to stop nearby in the hope the conditions eased during the day. Pressing on around the headland in these conditions was not an option.

I resolutely held onto my desire to round Shetland. I pressed on another mile through some lively seas to a small island called Egilsay where with a relieved scrunch, I landed on a shiny pebble beach. A small cohort of common seals welcomed me in, snorting and splashing in the waters behind me. I pulled the kayak up the stones and wandered over to the far side of the island where I would gain a better view of Lang Head. From the raised elevation it was immediately clear to me I had made a wise decision not to attempt to get around. It would be a nasty piece of water to be kayaking alone in these windy conditions. I wandered back to the boat and dug out my flask of lemon and ginger tea, always a soothing drink when my mind is troubled, and I need to think things through. I had managed only ten miles out of the thirty I had hoped for in the day. If I stopped here, the wind would only increase in strength and I would be stuck for a couple of days at least, the seas around Lang Head worsening in the near gale force north-easterly. I looked morosely back to where I had come from minutes before. The entrance to short voe leading to Mavis Grind was clearly visible, only a mile away. With the wind behind me, I would reach there in no time at all and within the hour I would be unpacking my kayak and portaging my kit, my boat and myself across into Sullom Voe. I sighed deeply, noticing the seals looking back at me, almost it seemed with sympathetic gazes.

“Fuck!” I shouted and was immediately answered with a few splashes in the small bay as my profanity caused some alarm. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I was fed up with the winds and I was fed up with what seemed to be a continual process of evaluation and re-evaluation. Why couldn’t I simply enjoy a carefree passage along this stunning Shetland coastline? Was fate trying to tell me something?

I refused to entertain the idea of giving up on the circumnavigation and belligerence within me mobilised my inert body. I heaved myself to my feet and set about unpacking the kayak, making a comfortable camp on short cropped turf a few metres away from the beach. My mind was unyielding. I would sit out the gales after which, endeavour to complete my circumnavigation of Shetland.

The small island of Egilsay became my home for two days and three nights. It transpired, this enforced castaway existence became one of the magical experiences of my journey. There was no phone signal and therefore no internet connection either. For some reason I could not pick up Coastguard broadcasts on my VHF radio either. I was unable to communicate beyond the shores of the island. I was not concerned for my safety because I knew that the YB-Tracker would indicate my location, even pinpointing where I had placed my tent. Nevertheless, I did wonder if the Aith Lifeboat would pay me a visit because they might wonder what had occurred. Without communication there were no on-line distractions which joyfully offered me the opportunity to appreciate uninterrupted solitude. When I was a boy, the tale of Robinson Crusoe enthralled me and ever since I wanted to experience island solitude, the unique alone-ness which a body of land surrounded by water affords. The coastline of the island was a natural boundary beyond which I was unable to venture without paddling in my kayak. Devoid of humans apart from me, my company was the small group of seals, screeching terns, skittering oystercatchers, rather dreamy fulmars, and a cantankerous black-backed gull. To the east, over a mile into Mangaster Voe there was a ubiquitous fish farm. Thankfully with the wind from the direction it was, I wasn’t disturbed by any noise this produced. I chose to ignore it most of the time. One vital thing the island did not contain, was a fresh water supply. Not for the first time or last, I acknowledged with gratitude my obsession, insisting I carry at least ten litres of water every day.

The joy of enforced time ashore creates a delicious sensation of relaxation. There is permission to lie in bed in the morning, brew coffee or tea whenever I feel like it, read, write, read, or simply wander and explore. The time is also valuable for making and mending, attending to bits of kit which require caring for, and re-evaluating plans for future route options.

I embraced my island solitude with enthusiasm. The angst about losing time was easily forgotten and replaced with a tranquil enjoyment of my island surroundings. I explored every inch of Egilsay, clambering along the rocky shoreline, striding over the sheep cropped slopes and ambling alone the small beach, eyes cast down in the hope of finding interesting flotsam. I looked for signs of ancient human heritage, a Viking grave perhaps or evidence of an iron age home. I carried my binoculars everywhere and would sit motionless on the rocks gazing out to sea, wondering if I would spot a killer whale. I desperately wanted to see a killer whale. I sang to myself, loudly and out of tune, idiotic made up songs which were bawdy and full of nonsense. I read, and I slept. I caught up with my journal. Then I wandered around the island again, and again, and again. At six hundred metres long and two hundred and fifty metres wide, it didn’t take me long to stride around the island.

At one point I pondered solitude as an experience. When I worked for Outward Bound, one of the most significant experiences we offered on the classic three-week courses was what we termed, ‘solo’. This important course element would occur midway through the programme (a personal development course for adolescents and young adults). This was the point when self-awareness was becoming apparent for the participants. Ideally, the solo experience lasted for forty-eight hours; two nights and two days of solitude. Each student was provided with rudimentary materials to construct a basic shelter, a change of spare clothes, their sleeping bag, enough water and minimum rations. They were encouraged to keep a written journal but not allowed the distractions of watches, cameras, phones, music players, or books.  The purpose of the solo was mindful self-reflection. Out in a forest or a wild area, each person was placed so they were out of sight of the other group members. They were given clear boundaries for their solo site and asked not to wander, both for their safety and not breaking another person’s solo. Their safety and welfare were monitored throughout the forty-eight hours by the course instructor, such as me. The solo was a pivotal moment for many students during the course, when significant personal insights were achieved. This opportunity for solitude is rarely attained in our modern lives.

One Of My Egilsay Neighbours

I was enjoying my personal enforced solo, though I did have a watch and other distractions which broke the rules. I quickly became aware the effect my presence on the island was having on the lawful inhabitants. Unwittingly, I had pitched my tent a few metres from a tern’s nest. Thankfully this did not disturb the guardian birds who took flight when I emerged from my tent quickly returning when I had wandered away. In the hidden seclusion of my tent I enjoyed listening to the parent’s soft chuckles as they went about their egg warming duty. The seals were extremely nervous, and I wondered if this was due to the proximity of the fish farm. However, by the time I came to leave, one or two of them appeared less eager to slip into the sea from the beach any time they glimpsed me wandering around the island. The highest point of the island belonged to a large male black-backed gull who protected his domain with a vengeance. Anytime I dared come close to his spot, he launched into the sky with screeching cries, wheeling above, gaining height before turning like a fighter plane, accurately diving for my head, causing me to involuntarily duck. I usually scuttled away. The flock of terns were just noisy! If I wandered too near where they were perched, as one entity they would rise into the air, yelling and screeching in their high-pitched tones, all the while flapping like wooden bird marionettes. I attempted to minimise my disturbance on the island but recognised too there was little I could do about my presence. I was not there to cause harm to any creature.

I was relieved to find on the third morning the wind had sufficiently dropped for me to proceed with my journey. I said my farewells to my feathered neighbours and enjoyed the company of a few seals for a fair distance after I had paddled away. I think they were seeing me off their property. Lang Head presented no problems and it wasn’t long before I was crossing St Magnus Bay towards the eponymously named Drongs, a magnificent cluster of bare and jagged stacks standing a mile offshore. These were the first natural highlight of what developed into one of the finest days on the sea during my journey. The sea state was lumpy but not unmanageably so. Crucially the wind had diminished and shifted to become a now helpful south westerly.

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So there you are. I eventually succeeded in my quest to paddle to the Scottish lifeboat stations, eventually arriving at Eyemouth one thousand and eight hundred and fifty miles after setting off from Kirkcudbright four months earlier.

Over the coming week I am really looking forward to using this as the basis from which I share my thoughts and ideas about mental health and why being in Nature is so good for us.

Thank you.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Sunday - Always Hope

Sunday 24th May and the last day of Mental Health Awareness Week. I hope my daily blog posts through this week have been of interest and even better, raised crucial awareness about aspects of living with mental illness and the concept of recovering from it. Throughout my writing this week, I have been aware of a reoccurring theme for me, and this is the one of ‘hope’.

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Hope is a word I use a lot when I describe my recovery. It projects me into the future where I attempt to forecast my well being and mental health. Recovery from my depression is a certainty. After a bout of severe ill health, I will recover from this. What is less certain is the enduring nature of the recovery and the achievement of the ultimate aspiration of a lengthy period of stability. Given the truth I will recover despite the illness persisting, there sadly is always the possibility the depression will triumph in the end. The hope then is, it will be me who will prevail and manage to achieve healthy homeostasis for a months and years.

I am pleased to say I do not leave the achievement of a hopeful outcome to chance. I am active within my recovery and as I grow in strength during post depressive bouts, I bring to bear my increasing levels of self-awareness to actuate helpful changes in my life. This is very much a dynamic process and requires determination on my part, each and every day. Sometimes this can be mentally if not physically exhausting. However, I am certain my eventual recovery will not have occurred purely through good fortune. Neither too am I totally alone on this repetitive journey. Karen is by my side as are my wider family and my cohort of friends and supporters. Karen in particular though, is a keystone in my process and without her steadfast tolerance, understanding and love, I would not have the ability to access to my personal resources when I need them most. She is there to hold me still when I feel at my most vulnerable and wobbly.

Alongside my personal supportive network, I am blessed with an excellent collaborative professional relationship with the Community Mental Health team, in particular my Community Psychiatric Nurse. Without this warm person-centred professional support and intervention, I would not have managed to maintain a realistic level of personal safety when edging towards, or immersed in, moments of depressive crisis. My regular appointments with Mairi and knowing she is there at the end of the phone, enable me to ground myself in reality when I have needed this the most. It is extremely helpful too the language used during these interactions is one of hopeful uncertainty rather than unrealistic certainty.

I am eternally grateful for all the support and love I receive.

I am well along my pathway towards what I believe to be an enduring period of robust good health. All the positive indicators are there for me. I am extremely hopeful at the moment (and I wrote this with a smile on my face). However, I am at the moment proceeding with caution because I am aware of my tendency to grasp at every straw floating my way and state these moments indicate a completion of my recovery process.

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog and for interacting with me if you have. I appreciate the interest you show and the comments you make. If you suffer from mental illness then I hope your recovery processes are well under way and you are enjoying a settled equilibrium in your lives.

My very best wishes to you all.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Saturday - Real Self

I often state, “When I’m in the outdoors, I can be my true self.” It is true I am most comfortable with myself when I’m in my kayak out the sea or wandering the wild hinterlands. This is why I attach so much importance on my connection with the outdoor realm to my mental health recovery process. I believe I gain greater insights into who I am and how I can move beyond my discomfort when I’m outdoors than I ever do in the more normal aspects of my lifestyle. I remember once being challenged by a therapist during group therapy when I stated this. He wanted to know why it was I could be ‘myself’ out doors and not ‘myself’ at home or anywhere else. At the time this intervention stumped me.

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#1

Many folks are familiar with the psychological concept of the ‘true self’ and the ‘false self’ and may have seen this theory explained in a variety of forms. Because I find my relationship with the outdoors to be a simple one, I like the simplicity of this concept. There is no point for me to analyse the process any more complicatedly than need be. It follows, I am happier with myself in the outdoors than I am in more regular settings. Therefore, when outside I am who I truly am. I return to my core individuality, unencumbered with various strategies to cope with a life where I expect myself to be viewed in certain ways. The simplicity of this concept is best described through Diagram #1.

This is my interpretation of the concept. The inner circle denotes ‘My Self’, who I was born as and who my core attributes are. This is the me without the impediments I employ to enable me to exist in the manner I do. From a very early age I began to adapt my personality to meet what I perceived was required of me, or which helped me feel the most comfortable for my existence. This ‘Adapted Self’ is denoted by the outer circle in the diagram. The adaptations of my personality are not the true Nick. For example, I have a tendency to want to please people, not to disappoint them, and to do so even if this means I feel unhappy doing so. The pay off for me doing this will be what I think to be recognition and it is this psychological reward I am seeking through my behaviour. Delving further into this particular example, I may become self-critical of my perceived lack of being ‘good enough’ if I believe I’m unable to please others or I think I let them down. What is happening, I’m searching for this outer circle of my existence to be soothed through my adapted behaviour rather than feed my true self, my core, with genuine responses to my genuine capacity for compassion, kindness and generosity. In fact my outer circle is so powerful, it prevents any genuine recognition for my core capacities from getting through meaning I will forever be self-critical.

When I am outdoors however, my relationship with myself is far less complicated. Out ‘there’ so to speak, I do not feel I have to adapt myself to relate with the natural world. Nature will never judge me and indeed has no expectations of me other than who I am. Within minutes of paddling from the shore, away from the normality of my onshore life, I feel the weight I place on myself dissipating and the many masks I wear drop away. In doing so, crucially, the relationship I have with myself becomes less fraught and noticeably less critical. I continue to mull things over in my mind and of course I replay many memories where I’m unhappy with my conduct. However, in these I am able to rationalise them without laying huge amounts of blame on a personality I dislike and wish would disappear. As Nature does not judge me, neither can it forgive me. This is what I do for myself. I can achieve this balance though with Nature’s guidance, where my immersion in the natural realm feeds the healthy psychological hungers my core self desires.

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#2

In Diagram #2, there are six psychological hungers as determined by Eric Berne, the originator of the Transactional Analysis Psychological Theory of Personality. Again there are variations on a theme with this particular theory and this is the one which makes sense for me. In fact, this particular model is at the forefront of my mind when I’m contemplating the processes at play when I’m outdoors. The key word when describing these psychological hungers is, healthy. It’s possible for these hungers to be addressed through unhealthy responses which will not feed into my true core but only serve the outer circle and sustain the critical view I hold of myself. Sometimes I may not be aware of this differentiation and follow a course of action where I feel I am healthily meeting my core needs but end up harming them.

• Contact. This hunger is determined by Berne to be our human need for physical contact, our healthy desire for touch in whatever form this may be. Hugging, caressing, a kiss, handshake or a simple pat on the shoulder. Through this healthy contact our sense of identity is enhanced. Of course, since much of my time outdoors is enjoyed solo, I do not have others around me to fulfil this for me. However, I have determined Nature is a perfect substitute. Through the physical contact I receive from the wind, the waves, the rain, the sun and sounds and smells, I gain a strong sense of my identity with a realisation I am human and there is an importance for me to receive physical contact.

• Recognition. This refers to our psychological need for healthy acknowledgement from others. Again, although much of my outdoor activity is conducted in solitude, I enjoy being recognised because of this. I recognise myself as a person who is comfortable with my alone-self where solitude is a healthy aspect of who I am. It is helpful for me to have this validated by others who respond with warmth to my accounts of my solitary outdoor experiences. Likewise too, when I do share the outdoor realm with others, I receive recognition for the ease with which I am related with in this environment because of the ease I am with myself.

• Incident. This is the hunger which feeds our healthy need for a frisson of excitement in our lives. This is a strong reason for my propensity to seek adventures in the outdoors. I knowingly seek risk and challenge because through these, I feel alive. I do not set out to place myself in harms way where my life will be at risk but the challenge is such that there is a perception this may be the outcome. It is always the case I assess these risks within the context of my personal ability and skills. At a very basic level, living with incident in my outdoor life enables me to move beyond my comfort zone to where I learn more about myself.

• Stimulus. This is the healthy fulfilment of all our senses being healthily aroused and soothed. It goes without saying being outdoors assails me with myriad stimulations which feed my senses of sight, sound, smell, touch and taste. Nature provides all of this without any cost to me apart from my investment of my time and energy.

• Structure. There is a psychological requirement for frameworks within our living which provide a sense of purpose and meaning. Nature provides me with the natural rhythms of life which I easily form into a structure within which I exist. From sunrises to sunsets, the times of tides, the seasons and other more subtle considerations such as weather lore. I choose to frame the structure of my time so it fits with the natural order and by encompassing this, I am able to achieve the personal goals I wish to attain. When I’m on a long kayak journey, the structure of my life is entirely natural, determined by my understanding of Nature and my non-combative relationship with it.

• Sexual. This is the natural healthy fulfilment of our human desire for procreation and pleasure in doing so. We are sexual beings. Nature is awash with procreation, displaying a vibrancy for life which is joyously inspiring. As a human male, I am forever reminded of my own sexuality when I am in the outdoors and my capacity for passion and romance. This psychological drive is not only completed through the act of copulation itself, but through a healthy awareness of my desires, my ability to love, to experience passion and to enjoy sensuality. All of these can be fulfilled by my awareness of the fecundity of the natural world.

My recovery from depression is best served when I healthily address my psychological needs. I know how do to this when I venture into the outdoors. The experiences I enjoy ‘out there’ provide me with innumerable metaphoric anchors with which I’m able to reference when they are needed most. I have a healthy and vibrant relationship with Nature where I’m not judged or where I overly judge myself. The benefits for me in undertaking regular meaningful immersions in the natural world are tangible to say the least. Equally the outcomes from these are helpful within my relationships with others, in particular my wife. By regularly gaining insights into the healthy core of me, I am more at ease with who I am.

As stated in my previous blog entry, this journey is far from complete. What I am certain of is my fundamental relationship with my healthy ‘Self’ when out in Nature. By embracing this and transferring this awareness to my life outwith Nature, I will develop the ability to live more from my core being rather from the perception of the protection of my outer circle, my ‘Adapted Self’.

The story continues to be written.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Friday - Nurturing My Nature

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My parents tell me as soon as I could walk, I would trot alongside my Dad through the bush down to the sandy dry Mzingwane River when we lived at West Nicholson in Matabeleland, Zimbabwe (then Southern Rhodesia). By the age of five I regularly went out with him on ‘Patrol’ into the wild and uninhabited lowveld bush around Triangle in Zimbabwe where we would sleep under the stars beside languid rivers within which the eyes of Crocodiles would be reflected back by torchlight, wake in the night with Hippo grazing around us, and get up in the dawn to watch the sun rise over the African bush from the high vantage point of a granite domed kopje (a low rocky hill, pronounced koppie). My early life memories are infused with many encounters with the wild, learning to walk silently on the balls of my feet, to sit for hours at a time without flinching, silent, eying the fringes of the bush for movement and the eventual reward of a wildlife sighting. How to follow animal spoor, interpreting their size and their intentions. How to simply ‘be’ in the wild, appreciating the fecundity of nature around me. Our family holidays were always camping trips to isolated parts of the country where we immersed ourselves in the wilderness, absorbing every nuance it had to offer.

Moving to Britain in my early teens, I continued to live a life where the open air and wide spaces were integral to my existence. Not one to follow a more usual teenage pathway, many of my weekends were spent camping on Bredon Hill in Worcestershire where sitting by a campfire was more fun than partying in friends houses. Later I would hitchhike to the Lake District whenever I had the chance to immerse myself in the fells and explore the mountain tops. My academic studies took second place to my passion for my involvement in the Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award and the school Combined Cadet Force. I volunteered as a Cotswold Country Park Warden building stiles and dry stone walls. I learned to fly gliders solo before I could drive and every weekend I would head out into the country to explore, history and nature being my passions.

It was no wonder then, I miserably failed my academic studies and my pathway into adulthood led me further into the world of outdoor activities and adventure. At the age of twenty one I became an instructor for Outward Bound and the rest as they say, is history. My life since then has been incredibly rich where I have been privileged to have shared so many wonderful moments of sheer outdoor joy with friends, colleagues and course participants and clients. I have worked in Wales, the Lake District, Lesotho, South Africa, Zimbabwe and Scotland, all the while facilitating personal development awareness for a huge range of people, young and adult. All these experiences have imbued a richness in my life which to be truthful, I find difficult to quantify. Suffice to say, I am truly grateful for the thousands of opportunities I have faced.

Now at the moment, my life is governed by my recovery from severe depression. As best I am able, I continue to live a life of wild outdoor connection where I take myself sea kayaking along the incredible Scottish coastline and set myself reasonable personal challenges. I love nothing more than spending nights out under canvas, somewhere silent and empty of humans. Key to my recovery process is nurturing my natural draw to nature and a need for personal adventure. Without access to this, I very much doubt I would have sufficient meaning within my life to inspire me to keep up the fight.

Outwith the moments of insight in the depths of my depression, my most powerful personal life lessons have occurred during my adventures. There are innumerable moments when my experiences in the wild have proved to be potent metaphors for my life and ones I continue to draw on time and again. In the moments when I’m in the desperate grip of a depressive episode, it’s these metaphorical insights which help me maintain a semblance of self-identity. For example, when asked who I am and what I do, I say my name and that I’m a sea kayaker. I do not qualify this but within myself I know I am a person who is an adventurer with a deep connection to the wild and natural realms. My adventuring spirit does not pit me against nature, but immerses me within it so I come up against myself. It is within this process I learn the most about who I am and my life. In tomorrow’s blog I will explain this in greater detail.

Nurturing my natural connection to nature is fundamental for my existence. I believe this to be true for millions of people too and there is nothing extraordinary in claiming this truth for myself. However, it’s not until recently I have fully embodied this awareness and to some extent, given myself permission to accept its validity. I think I continued to hold onto the notion of fitting myself into societal norms and certainly undertaking a more cautionary medically influenced approach to my recovery from depression. I am not out of the woods by a long stretch, but my understanding of my recovery and the importance of my nature within this is far clearer. There are hurdles to overcome and these require considerable focus on my part. Essentially, I continue to struggle with the belief I do not hold worth and until I rationalise this, my potential for change and success will continue to be locked within me. Paradoxically, it is through my adventures and my natural experiences where I challenge these notions of worthlessness, and again this is why it’s crucial for me to nurture my nature.

My story continues.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Thursday - Recovery

I was first diagnosed with clinical depression in 1995 when I was admitted to a mental health respite care home when living in Wales. At the time I had no idea what depression was let alone understanding the concept of mental health recovery. I remember the term used to describe my long period off work at the time was ‘experiencing a breakdown’. My next admission, this time to a hospital psychiatric ward was in 1998 in Kendal. After a further two admissions over the next year, it wasn’t until 2000 when I started working in the Mental Health field I came to hear of mental health recovery as a particular process.

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I don’t think it’s true now, but in those early days, my experience of engaging with the concept of mental health recovery was a political one (with a small p). Service users as we were known were gaining voice with regards to our right for our involvement within our mental health treatment. Up until this period in time, as far as I could make out, treatment for mental illness was administered with medical authority where the expert was the psychiatrist. Through a growing movement for change within service user groups and charities, the model for mental illness treatment was shifting from an authoritative top down approach to one where the patient’s personal experience and awareness was increasingly taken into account and validated as shared expertise. In short, it was becoming accepted that mental health sufferers were very much experts in their own suffering.

In 1993, William A. Anthony Ph.D., then the Executive Director of the Center for Psychiatric Rehabilitation at Boston University wrote a paper titled, “Recovery from Mental Illness: The Guiding Vision of the Mental Health Service System in the 1990s.” (link here). Within this article he explored and outlined his understanding and vision for a recovery-oriented mental health system. Essentially, he describes a treatment oriented approach as one where the symptoms of mental illness were managed and alleviated. He describes a recovery incorporated approach as one where recovery can occur even if the illness is not ‘cured’. Recovery from mental illness involves much more than recovery from the illness itself.

It is that last sentence which hugely impacted me when I first read it in 2000 and for the first time, I began to consider my own mental health recovery process.

Twenty years later and I’m still working through the implications for myself of the recovery philosophy W.A. Anthony so wisely espoused. It is his wisdom which continues to inform me about my mental health journey and my pathway towards recovery. Indeed, this is a journey without a destination but always with achievable horizons. There are many other recovery centred models which are variations of a theme. However, I chose to adhere to this one simply because I like the apolitical nature of it. I have never signed up to the political nature of service user emancipation. Although I am antiauthoritarian, I do trust the expertise of the psychiatric professionals involved in my care. I prefer to work with them within the psychiatric system as it is, rather than ‘against’ the system where I determine my rights for recovery set precedence over anything else. This is not to say I do not disagree with those who follow a different path to me and in fact, I support many who have negative experiences of past mental health treatment and seek change as a result. I accept too there are many aspects of our current mental health system of care which could be enhanced, but I hold the view, we are fortunate to have access to what we have here in Scotland and I’m appreciative of this.

This is how I endeavour to live my recovery from my mental illness, the roots of this process set within the words from W.A. Anthony. I understand my recovery is a deeply personal and unique process where I’m developing my attitudes, feelings, goals and skills based on my mental health at any given time. My recovery is about me fostering new meanings and purpose in my life as a I continue to grow beyond the effects of my depression. I am hopeful this will lead me towards living a satisfying life where I believe I contribute even within the limitations set by my illness.

Helping me along my recovery path are these truths.

• Recovery can occur without professional intervention. This is important for me to accept. I hold the key to my recovery, not anyone else. It is down to me when to seek the interventions and support I require. By accepting this personal responsibility, I become responsible for my eventual recovery from a depressive episode. I do not rely on the mental health system to ‘cure’ me and rather view my relationship with them as a partnership.

• A common denominator of recovery is the presence of people who believe in and stand by me, the person in need of recovery. Crucial to this statement is the non-judgemental relationship I need with those close enough to be involved in assisting me through my mental illness. Key of course is my marriage with Karen and her unswaying support throughout my distressful episodes and subsequent periods recovery. Without her love I would not be here today. My collaborative relationship with my Community Psychiatric Nurse is another key example of where I am supported in an equitable and empowering manner. Knowing I am not being judged for being depressed is fundamental to my recovery.

• A recovery vision is not a function of one’s theory about the causes of mental illness. It is extremely helpful to me in my recovery process for an archaeological exploration for the roots my depression to become a key element in my treatment. The fact I suffer from the illness is enough and there is little to be gained by seeking the causes. Understanding a triggering catalyst may help in terms of increasing awareness for the future.

• Recovery can occur even though the symptoms reoccur. This is hugely important awareness for me to embody. By doing so, I accept the possibility of becoming ill again as a reality. This way I will never hold the expectation I will never suffer from depression again. I may hope this may be the case, but this is different to expecting it to be so.

• Recovery changes the frequency and duration of symptoms. Essentially, symptom reoccurrence becomes less of a threat to my recovery as I become increasingly accepting of living with depression as an illness.

• Recovery does not feel like a linear process. As someone who’s professional life has been involved in facilitating personal development awareness for others, I understand my recovery will involve growth and setbacks. There will be periods of change and times of little change, moments when I experience powerful insights, and times when I feel directionless. It is an acceptance that there is nothing gained from planning my recovery and hoping for systematic outcomes.

• Recovery from the consequences of the illness is sometimes more difficult than recovering from the illness itself. As an example of this, I continue to struggle with the awareness because of my last episode of severe depression, I damaged important relationships in my life at the time. Coming to terms with this is just as difficult for me as it is suffering the symptoms of my illness.

• Recovery from mental illness does not mean that I was not really mentally ill. Again this is an important truth for me to embody. As I become increasingly lucid after a depressive episode, I have the tendency to become apologetic for ‘being the way I was’. I minimise the illness as a character failing rather than an integral aspect of my overall health.

All of this is of course not the complete story of my recovery process. There are many subtle nuances which contribute, some more helpful than others. The key for me to understand and accept is the fluidity of my recovery and with this to be patient with its developmental path. Key too is trusting the fact I will recover, the truth that periods of depression will pass to be replaced with opportunities for my life to be lived to its fullest extent.