We wish you an anxious Christmas

I started writing yesterday and really struggled. I was struggling because yesterday wasn't bad. There was still an underlying sense of dread, but overall, I was OK.

The end of last year was really difficult. My youngest daughter is struggling with her mental health, and that has put stress and strain on the whole family. The lead-up to Christmas was the worst. Not because there were any major issues, arguments, or anything like that, but because there was this unspoken anxiety that Christmas would be terrible. Christmas has always been a time when we all spent time together and enjoyed each other's company. We are a very small family and don't generally spend too much time with anyone else. This makes the idea of being together even more important. In recent months, being together has been a rare occurrence. We tried a family holiday in the summer, which lasted less than 24 hours.

The thought of a Christmas of isolation was too much to bear. Luckily, that wasn't the case. Christmas was good. No arguments, and we all spent time together. It felt like it used to. We laughed. It is amazing how the simple act of a family being together can bring such relief. If it hadn't gone that way, I don't know how I would be feeling now in the new year. How would I answer the question, "Hey, how was your Christmas?" that everyone I see asks in the first weeks of January? I'm not sure I could have held it together. But I didn't have to. It was good.

It is all so fragile, isn't it? One wrong word, and it could have all come tumbling down around us. The anxiety of every minute, hoping, praying that no one would upset each other, was almost unbearable. I look at that situation in a couple of ways: first, it was good, and I can use that as a positive step forward to help my recovery, but also as a reminder that I have to keep working and be prepared for the bad times. I hope Christmas is a sign of things to come, but I will try to be ready in case it isn't.

Filling the bath

It's funny; I didn't even think about my own mental health until I was 40. Before then, my brain was fit as a fiddle. I knew poor mental health was someone else's problem—people not as mentally strong as me.

Then it all changed. Too much stress and pressure built up inside me, like someone left the tap on full blast in the bath. It took a while, but it eventually filled. My body is the bath, and about a year ago, it overflowed. I could literally feel it in the pit of my stomach—the feeling of dread and almost a sense of guilt. It would rise in me, higher and higher. Occasionally, I could grab the plug and let some water out, but most of the time, it is full to the brim. Another drip from the tap spills water all over the floor, seeping through the floorboards. When it overflowed, I broke. I lost control.

The term "panic attack" never sat quite right with me. I know that's what happens when my mental bath overflows, but it's more than panic. It's despair, helplessness, and fear. It is resignation, in a way. It is a kind of giving in to the water, letting its cold death grip take me. I can't breathe. I feel like I am drowning.

If my wife hadn't been with me when this happened, I don't know how I could have survived. The power and influence the people who love us can have on us is inexplicable. She pulled me up, made me breathe, and held me. That got me out of a desperate situation, but she didn't "fix" me. I think I have to do that, but I don't yet know how.

The bath is still full and can overflow at any minute. Some things help—walking the dog helps stop the tap a little. Talking to my wife does too. Some things probably don't help, like alcohol and poor diet. This is a journey, and I am trying to find my way. Maybe next time I need a drink, I should find the dog and get outside. Maybe I won't, though.

New Year, New Me?

 "I'll have a lemonade; I'm doing Dry January."

"I can't meet today; I'm off to the gym, trying to get fit as my New Year's resolution."

"Can't eat that; I'm doing Veganuary."

I think I speak for... well, myself, when I say to these types of people: I DON'T CARE! Well done, you’ve made a little promise to yourself, which will no doubt lead to a miserable January and be forgotten about by February.

I think most people can see the appeal of trying to make a big change at the start of a new year. I’ve been guilty of it myself and still am, to a certain extent. But the biggest issue is that people’s goals are too big. If you think about what the last week of December looks like for the majority of Brits—with bubbly for breakfast, chocolate for lunch, a kilo of Blackstick Blue for dinner, and the only exercise being a 20-minute walk after Christmas lunch to "burn off the turkey"—then expect not only to go back to the diet and activity levels of pre-December 24th but to completely change your lifestyle... Never gonna happen.

In my job, we talk about SMART objectives a lot. SMART stands for Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, and Time-bound. All targets, goals, objectives, and resolutions should be SMART. Many New Year’s resolutions are not SMART. For starters, most aren’t achievable.

I do have a few "resolutions" this year, but they are not unrealistic. One is to walk more, to get more steps in each day. Is this SMART? Well, the way I’ve done it, YES!

Last year, my phone told me I achieved an average of 7,170 steps a day. Clearly, I’m not the most active person, but hey, it’s something to work on. Initially, I thought, "Let’s do 10,000 steps a day." I generally achieved over 10,000 steps only a couple of times a month last year. As a goal, 10,000 is not realistic. What is realistic? 8,000. So that’s my goal—an average of 8,000 per day for the year.

If I achieve that, I should be a bit healthier by 2026. The great thing about this is if I only do 10 steps tomorrow, it’s not the end of the world and not the end of the resolution. I can make up for the odd day over the course of a year.

If I were stopping drinking and had a beer, that would be it—I’d have failed. Failure isn’t fun, so why set myself up for it? That’s why I’m making realistic targets that won’t be lost by January 7th. That wouldn’t be good for my mental health