Anyone who’s been through a tough mental battle knows that recovering from it is hard. Personally, I’ve read heaps of self-help books, seen two therapists, and done plenty of research on mental health in an attempt to heal from my own experience. After almost two years, I can say that I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, though I wouldn’t say I’ve ‘completed’ my healing journey; it’s a lifelong process.
My own journey was the result of a horrific semester in Geneva that left me with severe anxiety, leading me to take time out of my studies. Although every healing journey is unique with its own timeline, I often wondered why it was taking so long for me to recover from a compulsory part of my course. Everyone seems to go on about how amazing years abroad are, so what was I missing?
Over time, I’ve learnt that certain thinking patterns, such as the one expressed in the last two sentences, were keeping me stuck. I wrongly believed that if I simply learnt all there is to know about mental health, then I’d be cured, among many other reductive outlooks. Because of this, I wanted to share them to avoid you from running into the same problems. So, this post will walk you through the five biggest mistakes I made.
1. A critical inner voice
A tendency I had for a long time, is that I’d over-romanticise my life before my crisis. I had this narrative that “I was perfectly fine before my year abroad and now I’m stuck with anxiety that won’t ever leave”. This led me to pathologise my very normal emotions and resent the person I’ve become since my year abroad. I was ignoring the fact that I wasn’t ‘perfectly fine’ before; I still had anxiety, as humans do, and I was passive in not being particularly happy.
I spoke to my therapist about this and she told me that I can’t really view it as a comparison because I’m never going to be who I was before. In fact, we change constantly and who I was yesterday isn’t who I’ll be tomorrow. It opened my eyes to the reality that many qualities of my current self are better than of my past self (NB: ‘better’ is a somewhat subjective evaluation). Since Geneva, for example, I’ve tried to take charge of my own happiness and consider the impact of certain actions and self-talk on my mental health. I never did this before, so I’d call that growth.
I wholeheartedly believe that if I’d realised the power of my inner voice, I wouldn’t have suffered for so long. However, in accordance with this point, I don’t beat myself up for my imperfections. Rather, I view it optimistically and assume that it happened this way to teach me important life lessons.
2. Having self-awareness, but not using it
I recently finished a book called How to talk to yourself by Ro Mitchell, where she discusses everything to do with positive self-talk. One of the book’s earliest chapters is all about noticing the negative self-talk as this is essential to softening it. This is why I think that self-awareness is the key to meaningful progress, in both mental health and everyday life. It allows you to calmly observe your thoughts, understand your behaviour, accept your entire self, and everything in between. Acquiring self-awareness is a very gradual process, which was largely helped by my therapy sessions, reading, and habitual meditation.
It’s important to note that self-awareness can be a slippery slope. I fell into the trap of being aware, perhaps even *hyper-*aware, of what to do to cultivate more positivity, but I didn’t change. It’s a bit like someone who constantly talks about their dream of starting a business, all the research and planning they’ve done, yet they haven’t taken a tangible step. It’s no secret that the unknown can be scary, which is why people do this, but self-awareness is only useful if it leads to action.
3. Having unrealistic expectations
The over-romanticisation of my past life extended to over-romanticising my future life ‘when I’d overcome my anxiety and everything would be fine’. I’d fantasise about some distant future where my amygdala would cease to exist and I wouldn’t worry about anything, but that just isn’t how we’re wired. My old therapist once said to me, “if you were on a desert island, you’d still find reason to overthink”, because the brain is constantly scanning for threats. It doesn’t mean that anything is wrong; the brain is literally fulfilling its purpose.
This led me to the importance of having realistic expectations. Instead of envisioning a life with zero anxiety, I envision one where blips may come, but I can move past them. The quote ‘progress isn’t linear’ rings especially true here; a bad day on a healing journey doesn’t negate the steps you’ve already taken. I’ve also found that after a difficult period, even the mundane feels like a blessing, so I remind myself to be grateful about the little things. This lifts my mood in spite of the difficulties I face.
4. Letting spirals ruin my day
While we’re on the topic, realistic expectations have a positive knock-on effect inasmuch as they help you to overcome spirals more easily. Getting caught in a spiral used to ruin my mood for the day as I’d feel like I’d failed and “I’d try again tomorrow”. I lived in total ignorance of the reality that even those without mental illnesses feel anxious sometimes.
My new outlook means I understand that spirals and anxiety are part of the human experience, but they’re only temporary. I now find it much easier to rationalise my thoughts, which reduces the anxiety naturally. It would be a lie to say that I never get stuck in spirals, but I allow myself to feel my emotions and remind myself that they, too, shall pass. Buddhists love the quote ‘accept what is’, which I also love because it grounds me, and reminds me to focus only on what I can control.
5. Forgetting everything I enjoy
At the peak of my crisis, I was very pessimistic about almost everything. I wouldn’t describe it as depression per se, but I allowed my anxiety to override any sliver of joy because “what does it matter? I have a mental illness so I’m always going to worry”. While not exactly wrong, the mistake lay in my belief that anxious people can’t simply live in the face of the unknown.
It reminds me of one of my favourite Matt Haig quotes, from his book Notes on a nervous planet:
“Uncertainty is the cause of anxiety, but also a solution. While everything is uncertain, everything is hope. Everything is ambiguous. Everything is possible. We exist on a spinning coin. We cannot predict how it will land but we can enjoy the shine as it spins.”
One of the most useful ways I embody this, when everything is possible yet ambiguous, is by (re)connecting with my passions. This explains why I suffered so much in Geneva — I was disconnected from everything I enjoyed. For me, my biggest fundamental passion is acquiring knowledge. This means that when I’m worrying, I bring myself back by imagining everything I want to learn! It can be anything, so long as it provides comfort, as it’ll remind you of what’s truly worthy of mental space.
Haig is right that everything is uncertain and ambiguous, but that also means that anything can happen. My anxiety tries to tell me that everything is bad, but it can’t see into the future. Yes, some things might not go to plan, but there’s an equal chance that they will. If I do choose the wrong move at times, I know I’m capable of withstanding change and adapting to the result. That’s how I got through my year abroad.
If you’re going through a difficult time, then everything I’ve written applies to you too. You might not do the ‘right’ thing 100% of the time, but you’re only human. Don’t repeat my mistake of constantly self-berating for feeling things or ‘messing up’ sometimes. You are capable of withstanding change and overcoming your struggles.
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