It's 10 years since my breakdown

Ten years ago I was in a lot of pain. Not just the pain I felt in my chest from the pneumonia that had knocked me down - and put me in hospital - but the pain that sat deep within that chest and nearly knocked me out.

Then (2014) and now (2024).

That pain - that deep, heavy, dense pain - was harder to diagnose and harder to understand - and much, much harder to soothe. No IV antibiotics or week in hospital could take away that pain. No amount of counselling and love - both of which I received (and still receive) in bucket-fulls - could erase the feelings I had of not being good enough; worth enough; loveable enough; strong enough; enough. 

I can't remember ever wanting to kill myself but I do remember many, many, many times thinking that my wife and daughter would be better off without me. That I was holding them back from happiness. That I was slowing them down. That I was bad for them. That I was just not enough for them. 

That is a pain that cannot be measured; a sadness I lived with for a long time; a feeling that leaves a deep and lasting mark; a sadness that never, ever goes away.

Ten years feels like a lifetime ago but the sadness of that time has never left me. Its scars help me. Its wounds remind me. It drives me every day now to work on my mental health; to make good choices; to only accept and keep people in my life who are good for me; to continue to set and manage my boundaries; to say no; to spend time doing things that make me feel good and positive and happy; to journal every day in the pursuit of the vigilance I lacked when I was heading for my breakdown; to remember my purpose in life; to remember to live. 

Ten years ago I was drowning after years of silent struggling. It was so silent that I didn't hear it. Not even a murmur. I didn't realise it was creeping up on me like a huge wave that was to wash me against the shore. And yet it is so obvious now but I didn’t hear or see it.

The origins of this emotional tsunami were laid years before in the pain and sadness of feeling unwanted; of not being the priority; of abandonments and rejections; of emotional needs not being met; of not feeling seen and heard; of feeling different. But it was my work and my lack of work-life balance which turned the small underwater tremor of my emotions into a gigantic earthquake that swept all before it.

The combination of these underlining feelings with the pressures and stresses of working at 100% all the time was a toxic mix. It's a mix I see in clients regularly but sadly I didn't see it in myself until it was too late and I was under the water. The good news is that I managed to get my head above the waterline and start to breathe again. But it wasn't easy. It wasn't quick. And it isn't over.

I still find each day requires a lot of effort to keep swimming and not drowning. To keep kicking. To keep my arms moving. To keep moving forward. Some days and weeks are harder than others, but I am better at spotting the waves building up on the horizon - and better at taking actions I need to reduce their impact.

Sometimes - as now, with the death of my dad - the waves cannot be avoided. But I am now so much better-equipped to take care of myself when the seas get rough. My radar and sonar alerts me to danger and I am good at hearing the warning signs and not ignoring them.

As I pass this anniversary which is full of mixed emotions - very strong emotions - I reflect on so much change in my life: so much positive change. Not just in my work-life balance and my lifestyle; or my return to university and refocusing of my career; or the sense of purpose I feel through my work; or the difference I can make in others’ life who are themselves experiencing their own emotional tsunami; but in something much bigger and more meaningful. Something that makes it all worthwhile. Something that matters more than anything else.

Even on my worse days now - and I still have difficult, sad, lonely days - I never question whether my wonderful wife and darling daughter would be better off without me. I know that our lives are better-lived together. In the shared love we have for each other. A love that knows no bounds. A love that is unconditional. A love that means I can’t wait for the next ten years.