How To Go About Getting Shit Done

It has been noticed and noted that having a routine is particularly helpful for me in terms of day to day functioning. Within that routine I have techniques that I used to get out of the house on time, to get out of the house at all and to get things done that need to be done, or I want to be done. They are methods and techniques I have quite frankly, made up, over the years. Very little of it is backed by any particular therapy I have completed, or any particular method that I know of being researched. I’ve just made it up via trial and error, and finally, I found some methods that work for me for now.

Since being away for just over a week, and having been away a few times over the summer break, I have fallen out of the routines and habits that have a sole purpose of getting shit done. My sense of routine has slipped, and this could spell the start of a downward spiral. Already I am finding myself not going out when I want to, not getting to places and getting a lot of fuck all done for a stretch of time. I am going to view this as an opportunity to re-install and maybe update my go to methods of made up-ness that get me by. 

It’s nothing major. I wouldn’t call it the begginning of an episode or anything like that. I am just currently out of sync. I just need to re-install these techniques and methods into my daily get go, switch myself off and reboot myself. The grand old ‘have you tried switching it off and on’ is basically me at the moment. 


The main initial hurdle is remembering what my techniques were. This may sound odd, but many of them were starting to become just how I do things and therefore requiring very little in terms of conscious thought. I haven’t even written most of them down, then again we all have our own ways right?

So I’m here, racking my brain for the, ‘how was I doing that before?’ answers, and the, ‘what was I doing and not doing?’. I have missed running crew due to scrolling social media right when I need to be leaving for example. It seems obvious to not do that when you need to leave the house, but it is something I need to constantly be aware of and reign in.

Hacks that involve not doing this kind of stuff are really what the following 10 ideas are about. The 10 methods listed are geared towards achieving a sense of contentment and purpose within my daily activities, and how to get myself to do stuff I want to do really, but maybe want to quit also because I’m tired, or anxious. So here goes:

  1. Don’t browse Facebook or any form of social media when I’m supposed to be doing stuff or getting ready to leave the house. Instead, browse when there really is nothing else to do: whilst travelling from a to b, or waiting for appointments, or avoiding social interactions for example.Keep social media for filler time, rather than I could and would rather be doing stuff time. Or the, I ought to be but I’m not kind of time.
  2. Leave too early for places rather than cutting it fine. You have 10 minutes for the train? Wait it out on the platform rather than from the comfort of your own home. That way, you won’t miss it and the 10 minutes waiting is still 10 minutes waiting. 
  3. Not feeling like doing your training run? Set a final time in your mind of when you will leave for your run. Plan a time and if you need to envision it slightly, do that too. Get out the house and just do it.If it really feels awful and today isn’t a running day you can cut it short. It is better to make this decision having tried rather than before any real effort has been made. That way you know you tried and haven’t given up or let yourself down without an effort.
  4. To Do lists on relatively empty days can fill them up with structure and achieve a sense of purpose from having done something. Include things you ought to do, i.e. chores, washing, dishes, and some things you want to do, i.e. reading, Playstation, Netflix. Really keep it varied between ought to’s and would like to’s.
  5. Check your Filofax in the evening, and plan the next morning if you need to. Also, keep it open and around because this is where you write everything you intended to remember, and you quickly forget when it isn’t open or to hand.It is basically my memory and planning all in one place, it’s a pretty useful tool to keep to hand.
  6. Meal planning.This makes sure you buy food you want to eat as well as making healthier choices. It also cuts the cost of food down, which is quite useful because then you have more pennies for the fun stuff, like the pub, or climbing or buying more stationary because, well… stationary.
  7. Rest when you need to rest. Push on when you need an extra kick to get on with things and learn to tell the difference between the two situations.
  8. Be mindful of your feelings so you can gauge how you are in general. Let emotions happen. Allow your feelings, the good and the bad.When you think your feelings are becoming disproportionate, take some time and space to gather yourself together again.
  9. Nap if you need to, and set an alarm to go off within 30-90 minutes depending on tiredness. Don’t exceed 90 minutes, and preferably keep it under 60 if you can. It is better to rest and refresh than to push on and crash, or risk mood instability due to tiredness.
  10. Be compassionate with yourself. It’s OK to go slowly. It’s OK to stop and rest. Be kind to yourself and others. Don’t quit. Keep on plodding, no matter how slowly, towards spending time doing the things you want to spend time doing, whether that’s studying, reading, learning music, being creative, making crafts, spending time with others.Whatever makes you feel whole and fulfilled is a worthwhile way to spend your time, even if that means watching TV or making art no one else will see. Recharge and be true to yourself.

Most of all, an overarching consideration is who are you doing it all for? Do it for yourself. Do it to feel good within yourself and about yourself. Aim to please yourself first and foremost. If you’re doing it entirely for the sake of others and it’s draining or taxing for you, or you’re not getting anything from doing that whatever it is for someone else, then stop. The most important opinion of you that matters is your own.


I realise I have veered from first person but writing to myself from myself in this way will hopefully provide me with a list of instructions to refer to as I build my stamina for doing things effectively again. Fortunately, once I am back from Berlin there are no more trips in the foreseeable future, and I’m going to keep it that way. 

 

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Moving On From A Haunted Past of Home and The Inner Caverns of Self Hatred

As a child I moved a lot. Sometimes once a year, sometimes within 6 months of settling we were moving again. We didn’t stay in the same area either. We lived all over the south half of the country. When it came to going to high school my parents decided it was time to try to stay in one place. For the duration of those eight years I didn’t live in the same house the whole time: that would be a ridiculous expectation to have from my parents. I did however stay in the same town at least. I also managed to stay at the same high school from year 7 to 13. Unfortunately it turned out that the only school I stayed at happened to be the one I hated the most. It was perhaps the most damaging school I’ve ever been to in terms of self belief, self-esteem and building yourself during your teenage years. I don’t think the role of high school is to destroy you from the inwards out, but it seems to have that impact on many teenagers.

I remember walking up the hill from the bus park and one of my friends stated, ‘these are supposed to be the best years of our lives’ as if some wisdom of hindsight and insight had been bestowed upon her from the future. I hoped she was wrong when she said it. I know she was wrong 10 years later. School was not any of the best years of my life. Not at all. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Never.

When I was in high school I started to develop my first signs and symptoms of mental illness. This quickly turned into a long battle with bulimia, and consequently eating disorders and all the shenanigans that erupted at 21. I didn’t feel supported at school. I wasn’t supported at home, although my parents did somehow get me referred to CAMHs via my GP and this is where the one constant figure of hope and support came into my life. I would see her at the outpatients department of the hospital, which I would walk to most weeks. I was very much left on my own in this journey with CAMHs but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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During those years, mainly 2005-2009 I would haunt around the city streets and parks on my own. I spent a lot of time on my own, struggling to maintain friends and my illness in any form of harmony, such as mental illness goes. I would eat in strange places and vomit in even stranger places. The country lanes where I lived for the most part of time in my home town were haunted with my running and cycling endeavours in a constant bid to lose weight, disappear, punish myself and repeat after me, ‘nothing is more important than losing weight. Nothing is more important than losing weight’.

If I cast my mind back to this period of time it is shrouded in a mass of thick black smog. I couldn’t see my way clearly at all back then. I struggle to see through it without the inner of my emotive self construing into tangles of excruciating pain. Yes, this place is technically my home town because I spent the most time growing up here but it was never home. Where we lived was never home. I felt outcasted, strange and extremely alone in my own dark world of writing in coffee shops, puking in public toilets, hedges and woodland, and trying to muddle through school at the same time.

I did have some good times, mainly whilst drunk. Often these weren’t even good times though because drinking on an empty stomach is a bad idea any time, but drinking on a stomach that hasn’t seen any form of solid food for 3 or 5 days is just a recipe for an involuntary puking disaster. Surprisingly I remember many of these moments well, puking in the gutter outside my friend’s house, collapsing in a field as the vodka spins took over and I could move, curling up in a hay bail in a barn completely disconnected from the music or people around me. Even my year 13 prom ended with me being traipsed home from throwing up in the hotels toilets for an amount of time that no one has any idea of. No one knows how long I had been in there puking and passed out.

Making connections with people was very difficult for me. It always has been. I put this down to moving house a lot and my impending shyness that creeps into each corner of my life. There was nothing healthy about these years. There was nothing positive to come from my life other than it could only get better once I moved away. It did for a while and even during my times of being very unwell in London I wouldn’t say they were as dark as my time growing up. I lived 4 of my 8 years waiting to leave. This hope is the only thing that kept me going and things did get better in my final year. I went to art school and had one of the best years of my life. Finally there was a crowd that accepted my quirkiness and invited me out anyway. Finally I had friends who I could actually relate to and I was old enough to drink my way through all of my problems without needing to sneak around, climb over fences into clubs and get creative in my ways of obtaining alcohol. Looking back, it really is remarkable that I survived those years as in tact as I did. To this day, I don’t know how I did it.

When I left home to move to London for university it very much felt like a second chance at life. It felt like a clean slate to move away from my demons, move away from the turmoil of my home life as a teenager and make my own way. It didn’t go quite to plan but here I found a home. Since I moved to London 8 years ago I have lived here for as long as I’ve lived anywhere and I’ve been to my home town 3 times. The last time was this year. Before that I went home for one christmas in which I was reminded very much how much it didn’t feel like home to be home, and how much it never really had felt like home. I went back a few years later, then left it a few more years before going back again.

The town felt haunted to me. Seeing my old school as I went by on the train sent a great discomfort through my body. Seeing the old hospital I used to walk to each week, sometimes multiple times a week, swamped me with all the emotion tied up in that experience at once. Seeing the old streets upon which I would wonder alone and drunk in a bid to escape my reality filled me with sadness at how alone I really felt at home. The first time I went home I realised how much I actually hated it. I cried and although I didn’t plan to not return for so long it felt necessary.

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The next time I went home it was slightly lesser of a haunting experience but still it felt strange. It was odd and nostalgic in the most unpleasant way in which nostalgia can stir up old feelings and experiences to churn them over into a curdled mass of sour substance within your stomach. This time I went home, it was a last-minute decision. I was hypomanic and struggling with it. It had become uncomfortable for me and I spoke to my Dad. He said he’d pick me up that night and drive me down.

He has moved house a few times since I left home. He has finally settled in one home which oddly feels more like a home than any of the buildings he has occupied previously. With is having been so long since I left and started to build my own life in London, London is my home. London is the place I’ve been more able to be myself, received more intense help for my mental health problems and met people who are ‘my people’. Sometimes they come and they go but being able to come clean about my mental health illness and still be accepted as a friend to people is something I never experienced growing up. My illnesses being met with compassion and support in my education settings since I’ve started studying up here is something else that has been new. Finally, an education institution with support services and compassion and the belief that you can succeed rather than being surprised when you don’t fail is a place I can learn the thrive.

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My experience of life in London has been very different to the one I knew before. It hasn’t always been easy or good by any stretch of well wishing, it has however taught me a lot and encouraged me to grow. I haven’t been suppressed, I haven’t been dismissed in the way I was at school or home growing up, I have been encouraged out of my dark cavern of self-hatred that I had grown to call my comfort zone. I left home more comfortable hating myself and actively acting on it. I am now in a place where that cavern is becoming a place of the past – and because I’ve managed to move forwards in my life, because i’ve made and had so many new experiences that i chose, because i made a home for myself with what I had even when that meant a back shed with slugs, mice and leaky rooftops it was home. It was the first home i had really experienced. All of this nurturing i have experienced from myself, my partner and friends through these years has shuffled me along to a place where I can go back to my home town when I’m unwell and find it a helpful respite from the chaotic surroundings I create for myself when I am unwell.

Life in London hasn’t been perfect but it has eventually gotten better than where I came from. This allows me to go home and appreciate the nature and beauty of the countryside with fresh untainted eyes. It allows for me to go home and sit in a pub with an old school friend and enjoy their company, fully present rather than drinking until I can barely stand any more.

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I have grown since then. I continue to grow and within that growth there is a strength to face those past memories in a less tangled, less curdling to sourness light. I can be. I can enjoy the place for what it is, a nice seaside town, then I can come home refreshed rather than stressed about my history with the place, and finally, my home town doesn’t haunt me, taunt me or internally destroy me ever so slightly more with each day that I spend there. I am also able to remember the good times from that period of my life.

Rules To Live By In Numbers 

I am on holiday. Some people they may ask, ‘from what?’; I don’t work but I do study, part-time. I have been off from university for 2 months now, surely that counts as a holiday? I’m going to say no, not really. Firstly, I spent  ~a month of that time being unwell with the dysphoric hurricane of hypomania. I went in hospital and had my meds increased. I have since spent time trying to find my feet.

Although I’m not having a holiday from working, I am having a holiday, but what from?  I am having a holiday from being surrounded by mental illness. I live in a specialist supported accommodation which means there is no escaping mental illness at home because someone is always unwell, everyone is on meds and we talk about it amongst ourselves. There are no awkward questions about mental health because we all live there for a similar category of reasons. Also you’re constantly having to answer questions and attend assessments for how well, or not you are doing. Whilst here I have to keep taking my meds twice a day, and I need to use DBT skills to keep my emotional expressions proportional, and I have to take care in the heat because of my meds – there is no holiday from yourself after all – I am kind of taking a holiday from mental illness.

I am taking a holiday from appointments, seeing my social worker, psychiatrist and support workers. Whilst they provide me with a lot of support and access to specialist mental health care, it’s nice to not be talking about symptoms, side effects and how am I really so much of the time. I am taking a holiday away from the bubble I live my life in at home. I am exposing myself to new and unfamiliar territory. At the same time I’m staring anxiety in the face as I gain confidence with new experiences.


I’m taking a holiday from living well within the borderlands of self-imposed restrictions. I am taking a holiday from documenting habit trackers and mood charts. I could stop forever at any time but they are an important tool for my overall well-being, awareness and insight. Taking a week out to just be, live and experience is quite the luxury and a welcome break. This can only be done when I am relatively well and stable: which I am at the moment. This is as much of a break from myself I think it is possible to fathom.

Finally, I am taking a holiday from numbers. Numbers have played a significant role in my life for over a decade: calories in and out, body weight, body fat %, muscle mass, weighing food portions and the numerical data from my FitBit that I try to make perfect: steps, calories burned, hours slept, minutes of restlessness and wakefulness during sleep, heart rate, minutes of activity and exercise. My FitBit data doesn’t just quantify my existence, it quantifies the goals of my existence: calorie goals, BMI goals, body fat % goals, sleep hygiene goals, number of days active goals, heart rate goals, step goals – literally any way of quantifying my life via a watch that you could possibly want for under £200, it does. If I had blood sugar and blood pressure monitors, I would record that too. I shit not, I have previously looked into buying them – all in an effort to feel in control and achieve a way to be perfect.

 

I realise now that I treat myself more like a machine, rejecting how anything feels in order to try to obtain numerical perfection. It’s a great watch and that is what I bought it for but it can be tiring and distracting from the bigger picture. It seems this focus on numbers has become a replacement for my eating disorder behaviour. It is healthier and less destructive but that doesn’t mean it is healthy and not destructive. More numbers can be obtained to quantify my existence further with a premium subscription to FitBit. I have so far managed to resist.

When I left for the airport I saw my analogue watch, ticking away in it’s box from having been rooting for something else in the same drawer. I spontaneously, (get me being spontaneous) decided to switch it up. My analogue watch, get this, doesn’t even have any numbers on it. Not a single one. I need to have access to the time, I don’t like not knowing and can become disoriented with myself without a watch. I don’t think this is mental health related, I’ve been like this since I first got a watch and learned the time as a nipper. With this analogue watch I don’t know the time to the exact minute – which is why I haven’t worn it for the last 3 years it’s been sat in it’s box for. How could I possibly tell the time without knowing the exact minute of the hour? In answer, based on this week, just fine. Vaguely knowing the time of day and hour it turns out is enough.

My holiday from numbers includes not stressing about getting enough steps, enough sleep and enough activity to hit goals that equate to perfection. I have been able to let go a little this week. In my world, this small freedom equivelates letting my hair down, wild child I know.  On the way back from the hiking day to the Gorropu Canyon I wondered how many steps I had done that day, as if I needed to know the number as it would validate my experience and tiredness. Then I answered myself in my mind, it doesn’t matter; that day wasn’t about steps or minutes of activity. The day was about the experience, the memories and the nature I saw in numerous various forms. The number of steps wasn’t important to the experience in any way – and I recited this in a forced way in my mind, as if repeating fake it til you make it to myself.  The amount of calories burned was not important. The amount of time spent at fat burn, resting and cardio heart rates was not important. What was important was that my heart is strong enough to adapt to demand and by doing so allowing me to have days such as that one hiking through the mountains.

I feel quite liberated since cutting back on the permanent numbers game I’ve ben playing. I do find numbers calming, it is a form of coping mechanism for me which crops up more, naturally, during times of stress. Having said that, I feel like I do not need so many numbers in my life. They have evolved from a calming coping mechanism that allures a sense of control, to a controlling cage that traps me in trying to achieve the perfect set of figures across all platforms of my life: diet, weight, sleeping habits, heart rate, blood pressure…the lists goes on. Sounds familiar huh?

It is in this way that I have been giving numbers too much power over my life, letting them govern how I feel I ought to live my life and what I think is the right amount of everything. It initially manifested in an eating disorder, morphed into another eating disorder and now this. I’m a walking project of equations and sums. My experience is invalid without numbers in my opinion. I also know this to not be true.

 

I have had a desire to be clockwork and machine like for a long time, again, this was initially achieved by having an eating disorder. More recently it has been achieved by wearing my FitBit. The purpose is to not feel and to function impeccably. I want to do and power through life and for the whole while that my digits remain imperfect i have work to do. It hasn’t always been a helpful approach and has held me back in many ways in addition to always having work to do because I am human. I am an animal not a computer. Ironically, for want of a lack of feeling and human nature, this makes me upset sometimes. Most of us are familiar with not being what we want to be: a marathon runner, a CEO, rich, living in paradise but I have turned one impossible goal for another: being weightless for being numerically perfect in other ways. By doing so I have been choosing numbers over intuition and listening to my body or mind for what it really is.

Using numbers to control and restrict my life is not healthy. I don’t feel like I can preach balance when I am living my life so purposefully out of balance. Balance is not achieving perfection in any way be it weight, hours slept or heart rate. Perfection is not possible and life needn’t be constantly quantified in order to be living well – I am human. I am not a machine of equally spaced cogs designed to work like clockwork. Balance is less balance in the numbers of life and more adapting to the essence of change found in living. Evidently I have some way to go.

The All-or-Nothing Conundrum

The other day I scrolled through Twitter and stumbled upon a poll that went something like this:

‘I feel anxious, do I…?’
a) take a diazepam and risk napping and messing up my sleep tonight
b) drink a coffee
c) other.

In my response I opt for other. I suggest mindfulness. They don’t ‘do’ mindfulness. I suggest the Headspace app, they tell me their opinion of mindfulness is summed up in one word: bollocks. Fair enough. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.

Then I realise something in myself. I am recommending mindfulness because I know the benefits, I’ve felt them. I recommend it as a useful tool for everyone to take a few minutes out of the day to just notice. I say this as if I couldn’t imagine a day without it. I say this as I realise I haven’t practised in over a week. Why haven’t I practised in over a week?

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I haven’t practised because I started to get unwell. I started to feel hectic and out of control. I started to sway from my stay well plan after a while of not being well. This is definitely the time when embracing and holding onto mindfulness would be really beneficial and I’m not. I wonder about why this could be and realise I am indulging in another patterns of ‘all or nothing’.

All or nothing thinking featured during my eating disorders, friendships, studying, relationships, working life, attending uni and now in my stay well plans. I’m getting well? I’m full force ahead: day plans for routine, exercising, goals, writing, eating healthily and of course, mindfulness. I try to stick it out for a while each time I get unwell. As my stay well plans slip and slide on the suds of soapy thoughts slipping in and out of my mind as I lose my routine without noticing until presented with the gift of hindsight I stop. I just stop.

I don’t eat well. I stop work outs on my plan. I skip mindfulness and daily structure plans. Before I know it, all structure is gone and I am at mercy to any whim the weather may take. I am flitting about in wing it mode in regards to filling my time. No longer is not having time in my schedule for helpful things to take an extra benzo or drink a bottle of wine to forget it all the motion of the moment. I have all the time. I have all the unstructured time to get wasted because I can’t handle myself. Self discipline is gone. The will to even engage with my stay well plan ebbs into a low tide further and further from shore.

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I have successfully gone from maintain all of my plan to none of it in days. I realise as i re-offend mindfulness on a pedestal to someone else sailing a ship with anxiety at the helm. I recommend this as I am no different. I know some of what helps me. I know some of what doesn’t. What I haven’t learned yet is fully how to keep going with just something, I haven’t learned mastery. I think moderation is a skill. I am learning. We are all always learning – this is something I realise I need to put more focus and thought into still. Just how I do that I don’t yet know.

How We “Should” Live

During the last weekend of my hospital admission I was granted escorted leave. Initially I was excited. I was relieved because these are the landmarks of an admission towards discharge: lower levels of observations, escorted garden leave, escorted community leave, unescorted community leave for gradually increasing amounts of time. This is providing you don’t end up on section, or 1-1. This is the general run of the mill for a general voluntary admission. These steps can be taken forwards or backwards like a snakes and ladders game. They serve as miniature tests to see how well you cope with the outside world, a gradual gradient of re-exposure to the community from the controlled and predictable bubble wrap world that ward life provides during periods of being unwell.

Before I went in I had noticed a growing reluctance to leave the premises upon which I live except to get to the shop across the road – only when absolutely necessary. Out of toilet roll? Scour the flat for any scraps of anything that marginally represents tissue paper. It’s just a wee? You can drip dry a few times like you’re at a festival or caught short in nature. You keep your number 2 in because that necessitates toilet roll no questions asked. You drink herbal teas you’ve not touched for months when out of milk. You scrap together the scrappiest roll-ups for the time being despite living 20 steps to the left of a 24 hour shop and across a residential road from a Sainsburys local.

There comes a point when the inevitable occurs. There’s more paper than tobacco and you could quite happily eat your own arm with the right amount of anaesthetic because you’re so hungry. It’s a quick scurry across the road and back again in as little time as possible. A sense of safety and relief follows returning home and staying home. It’s not outside per se; the garden is fine but beyond the driveway? That’s where it gets complicated. The more you honour the anxiety the more ferocious it grows. That quick lift of relief really disguises the impeding onset of incalculable amounts of grief ahead.

So I had unescorted leave. I may have been one of the only ones at that time on the ward with such freedom, which is something the others were vocally envious about. They’ve been stripped of their freedom, often detained against their will on section. Some are allowed in a highly fenced enclosure of a garden, through which the outside world stares back at you as you pine for the freedom of those on the other side.

I should have been very happy to be allowed to go out as much as I want. I should have been grateful to not be feeling caged by the restraints placed on me by someone else’s assessment and decision. As I wrote this a fellow inpatient made a run for the double locked doors in an attempt to seize the freedom I have.

I did go out. The truth is though, that I didn’t want to. I didn’t go out on some days when I could have. I didn’t want to then either. Some days I forced myself to swallow my anxiety about going out. I swallowed my anxiety and pushed a few streets past the park the hospital is parked alongside to the next park. I didn’t enjoy it. I wasn’t happy. I should have been happy, relieved and enjoying my relative freedom.

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And this is where the problem lies, ‘should’. I fucking hate that word. I should be happy. I should be working full-time at my age. I should be living independently. I should be a lot of things that I’m not. I should be happy, more than happy to have the choice of going out with a fair window of about 10 hours of the day, on my own and going anywhere within the local area for up to 2 hours a day, and I wasn’t. I’m not a lot of things that I should be.

All of these “should be’s” don’t come from me. They come from the outside. They come from the general consensus of what we should like, dislike, want, not want, do and not do. Our emotions and values are often shaped by the ‘should’ of our culture. This is a fault in the system. It is invalidating for the feelings that are our reality if they conflict with what we should be feeling. Often these messages are also conflicting. I should be body positive and happy with my figure. I should also weigh less, be slimmer and so toned I look sculpted with long blonde hair according to the fitness industry that thrives on this core of conflict around should and should not. Read any issue of a  women’s magazine and the contradictions run rife with such instructions on how i should be living my life and how i should be feeling about it.

You can see the dilemma here? We reduce our reality from what it is to become what we should be – as told by who? Who decides? Ironically, we do collectively. We pressurise one another because we are society. I wasn’t happy about going out on leave. I didn’t particularly enjoy it but decided to push past my anxieties because I know the more I allow it and give it control the harder it becomes to break its suffocating hold on me. What else is my reality that “shouldn’t be”?

I’m not overly in love with my body right now as it is. I try to practice gratitude for what it can do and does for me. I try to reframe self-deprecating thoughts and accompanying feelings. I don’t work. I study, and I don’t even study full-time. I don’t always eat a healthy diet. I am not always happy. I don’t live fully independently. I don’t speak to most of my family. That’s a long list of “should nots” I am committing right there, and it’s by no means an exhaustive list. I have accepted a lot of my situations. I understand them and readily defend them to the “shouldn’t you be…?” commentary often from complete strangers who know nothing about me.

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In this I try to own my discrepancies from the “how should we live” prescribed ideology of western living. No I didn’t enjoy my leave, no it didn’t make me happy and I accept that. I have chosen to own my personal discrepancies and acknowledge which I want to work on because I want to, for me, not for you or for “society”. The question is, do you? Do you accept not only my discrepancies and deviance from our “should be” lives, but do you accept yours too?

How many “shoulds” of our world are your actual existence? And how many “should nots” are you currently living? Acceptance is a silent resistance to the pressures of “should”. In owning our own we reduce the pressure we place on ourselves and each other. Diamonds may be formed under high pressure but they have a monetary value only, whereas you being your best self doesn’t. Go on, be priceless.

The Too Busy to Sleep Phase

I’m sure somewhere there is some wisdom on not sleeping that goes along the lines of, “if you can’t sleep, get up and do something until you’re tired”. This is exactly what I do when I can’t sleep, which doesn’t happen all that often for me.

I am a good sleeper. I always have been. When I go to the higher side of life however, sleep becomes a waste of time. I get up eager to do something, anything other than sleep. At this time, forcing myself to rest despite not being able to sleep is probably the best advice – but the best advice is not always the advice we want to follow. Additionally, it is easy to rationalise the get up and go logic in a world that glorifies the go, go, go of using every day to the max.

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During hypomania getting up instead of resting is essentially a big gust of oxygen on a burning ember at just the right angle and pressure to light a bonfire. Not that I realise at the time whilst I spend the whole night doing a million activities: reading, which feels like I’m breathing oxygen specifically for my amazing mind; playing on my games console which feels like the biggest adrenaline rush I could get whilst staying in as I fight my way through every first person shooter I own; writing, wherein my creative genius just slithers effortlessly out of the end of the pen; smoking because I’m in party mode and the music, the music feels electrifying to my body as I dance and sing ecstatically at 5am.

I should be drunk but I’m not as the activities get progressively more active and progressively more exciting until it’s 6am. I’ve not slept and it feels too late to sort it out because we’re at the start of a new day. Every dawn is a new day not to be tarnished by the last right? – yeah, I probably only follow that 100% when I’m hypomanic too.

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I don’t necessarily realise at the time. I write it off to not being that sleepy, to it being ‘just one night’. This happens a lot with hypomania. I only realise and know in hindsight. In hindsight it is blazingly obvious. At the time I am blinded to it, wrapped up in it and the world is viewed through rose-tinted spectacles wherein there is no way feeling this good could be “bad”.

Sleeping 3-5 hours a night is glorious when there is such an urgent pressure in your belly to do, do, do. It is bloody fabulous in fact because it means you really can maximise and squeeze the fuck out of the potential of every day, every, single, day. Whilst my wee early morning texts reap dead-end conversations as everyone else is a weak human and succumbs to their need for sleep – I however, am more than human. I’m super human.

And just like that the fire is burning. Raring to go for the next day and the next and the next of my new brilliant super human life. I do not get sleepy again. I do not return to my bed to get a few hours shuteye. This get up until you’re sleeping advice is possibly the worst advice during the sleepless nights of hypomania.

 

The Puzzle of Movement: Becoming the Kinetic Energetic

In the final stage of starting to get active the focus is on actually starting to move. Feel free to move in any way which suits you and here are some lessons I’ve learned along the way when turning getting active into part of my permanent lifestyle.

This stage is called, Becoming the Kinetic Energetic.

Balance Ambition and Attainability

With running, it is tempting to go for straight for the big distances. A training plan says you can run a half marathon in 8 weeks, so why shouldn’t you? If you train hard you’ll get results quickly right?

Unfortunately, fitness isn’t always a direct correlative relationship of input vs results. We are human beings not machines: we can’t force out bodies to stick to a constant progressive plan as figured by an algorithm. Injuries happen. Overuse injuries and obtaining injuries from increasing your exercise load too quickly are very real – and are not something be ploughed on through in the name of ‘mind over matter’.

Our bodies do things that may not fall in line with our plans and ambitions. Being realistic with self expectations and self compassionate throughout your journey will harbour much greater results than literally beating your body up physically in order to run too far a distance in too short a time, or dead lift too many Kgs too quickly – and that’s OK.

I can however, make slow progress in line with how my body adapts. I can gain more than climbing higher grades and running faster miles from my journey. This way I maintain a level of ambition and sense of progress that becomes very enticing from exercising, whilst also respecting my body and capabilities. You can too.

Engage with Online Communities for your Activity

I don’t mean follow a bunch of Insta models with chiseled muscle definition and a body shape that requires an unhealthy level of obsession to achieve. What I mean is, if you don’t know anyone who wants to get into your activity with you, go find your people.

One way of doing this is the web – Meet Up, and local clubs and Facebook groups are a great place to start. Engaging in an ongoing conversation with others like you about your journeys, encouraging one another is a great source or virtual community. Some members may be inspiring to you, and you never know, you may yourself inspire others.  You may meet up at an event and do it together – there are hundreds of people just like you who have done just that, and for as scary as that may initially seem – you’ll meet some bloody brilliant people.

Together we’re stronger.

Make it social

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Working out alone can be a good time to clear your mind, focus on yourself and take time out from your day. For years, I ran solo, I went to the gym on my own, and I only climbed in a group because you kind of need someone to belay you – until I discovered bouldering could become a solitary activity also. I enjoy being alone, and know that not everyone likes being alone as much as I do.

For years I totally underestimated the value of working out with others, undervaluing the greater benefit of running with friends, and enjoying the company of other people in a positive space. Since this bomb has dropped, I regularly go to running crew each week.

It has become a place to forge friendships who share my passions. It has become a place to shake out the cobwebs of stagnation from a low mood in the company of others, a place to celebrate achievements of one another and a safe place of acceptance.

The benefit of human contact on a regular basis is something I never valued, until now. And as an awkward introvert who is usually immersed in swathes of social awkwardness I have found the fitness people, and the running crew to be a very non-judgmental and friendly bunch. It may not feel right with the first group you run, yogi or climb with, but keep trying – eventually a you’ll find yourself a you-shaped space to be the missing piece to a jigsaw of a crew you never even knew about before.

Embrace the Power of Post Exercise Mindfulness 

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After a work out take time to sit, breathe and be mindful about how your body and mind are feeling. Just taking a moment to do so gives you time to reflect on where you’re at, how you’re feeling physically and emotionally. Is something bothering you? Is there something you want to work on? Is there a niggle in your knee that needs attention? Or are you just feeling totally zen and absorbing as much of that as possible for a moment? Stop to smell the flowers.

Don’t Focus on Weight or Size

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Weight loss is a viable goal for many but I would definitely never advocate obtaining a certain clothes size or goal weight to be the main or only reason for incorporating physical activity into your life. It is claimed that weighing yourself regularly can help with weight loss in numerous research papers.

However, focusing on weight alone can become very disheartening and a very damaging relationship with yourself. There is no self compassion or love in weighing yourself every day. This gives the scales too much power.

Use the scales if you need to but don’t enslave yourself to them. They’re a tool and deserve no power in your life beyond that. Be real with the scales and let them be real with you – and leave it at that.

Pushing your physical boundaries can be an emotional journey. Let it.

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Pushing yourself, breaking yourself down in order to build yourself up is so much more than a physical journey. ‘Your body is capable, it’s your mind you have to convince’ and this can be a very complicated and windy path of self realisation and discovery.

Sometimes it will be a struggle, other times you’ll smash your own expectations and it’ll feel emotional. You may want to shout or cheer, or even cry – this is entirely OK. Emotions are OK, and pushing yourself in order to break self-inflicted boundaries and  achieving your fitness goals can be an emotional journey. Let yourself own it.

Stop believing in tomorrow. Start today

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Tomorrow I’ll start running. Ok, It’s Wednesday and I didn’t go – I’ll start over on Monday. Next week is definitely the day I’m going to start going to the gym. I’ve signed up now, there’s no excuse, other than the excuse you’ll give to yourself when Monday comes.

Sound familiar?

Stop giving tomorrow so much power. The day is today. What can you do today to prepare yourself and take a step in the right direction? It might not be lacing up right now, but maybe it’s thinking of how you could start. Something may be in the way at the moment: work, study or commitments, so tomorrow may be necessary sometimes but put a deadline on it.

After a month of tomorrow’s start switching to today thinking. Tomorrow will be better from the actions you make today. Get yourself out there. Show yourself what you’re made of – and have a bloody good time doing it!