Tag: wellbeing

  • 20 things dragging me through this living nightmare that is midlife

    20 things dragging me through this living nightmare that is midlife

    1. Treats: 70% dark choc cocoa and above, I’m told the chemistry helps low mood, so it’s medicinal AND a treat.
    2. Connection: talking to like-minded friends old and new, being challenged, relating similar experiences, but simple eye contact and smiles with strangers helps too.
    3. Movement: exercise, walking and qi kung to get the body circulating, guarding against stagnation.
    4. Voices: Richard Herring and I have spent some long dark nights together; letting people’s laughter and funny nonsense wash over me was a welcome distraction in those long dark nights of the soul. 
    5. Escapism: trashy sci-fi novels, journeying into my imagination means less space to worry and overanalyse (when I need a break from the feels).
    6. Melody: like a teenage dirtbag, lyrics have special significance, music moves me, skirting songs I daren’t hear.
    7. Meat-petting: respecting the state of my fragile nervous system, trusting its signals, proving I’m safe and present.
    8. Feeling the feels: having a good cry/rant, welcoming emotions, noticing the porosity and contradiction, being affected when capacity allows.
    9. Acceptance: going with what is, letting go, noticing things pass, all without approval.
    10. Be.Do.Have: my trusty model for cycles of behaviour/motivation, following myself rather than forcing or resisting.
    11. Improv principles: spontaneity, feeling affected, going big, presence, listening, accepting help from others – it’s a way of life.
    12. Self-love: contemplating love and giving myself that (emotional and practical), learning to date me; checking-in, appreciating, affection.
    13. Art: creating things and doing with DIY, solving problems in moderation to restore agency.
    14. Journaling: offloading what’s clogging up my focus with gratitude and morning pages.
    15. Bodily desire: noticing signals for food, rest, entertainment, chatter, in the moment, trusting this sack of meat that’s really quite good at keeping me alive.
    16. Presence: mindfully noticing and labelling things on dog walks, then not at all, just witnessing them appear without judgement helps clear the mind; dog, tree, cloud, sick.
    17. Theatre: TV drama like Ozark for people having a shitter time than I am, yet still coping, doing their best in their very human, nuanced way.
    18. Laughter: a perverse antidote to anger I’ve discovered, somewhere for the tension and energy to go, instead of cramp. Like mini-eruptions at the comic, futile ridiculousness of existence.
    19. Arranging: temporary fixtures in life, my home life-raft, social events to look forward to with friends, adventures and journeys.
    20. Relaxation: pampering, spa day warmth and womb-like withdrawal and regrouping, if only for a short while.

    Disclaimer: none of these are substitutes for intervention by trained mental health practitioners. If you are struggling with your mental health, please tell someone – talk to a medical professional, a loved one or seek help from an organisation like Mind (UK) or The Samaritans.

  • When you feel neutral, unsure or just ’meh’ about life

    When you feel neutral, unsure or just ’meh’ about life

    We’ve a curious relationship with emotions. At least in the post-industrial, productivity obsessed rat-race we call the developed world. 

    It’s as if they’re an affliction. A mild inconvenience. Vague, distracting – emotions are to be endured, yet largely suppressed. Like trapped wind or a hang-nail.

    I don’t know about you, but darker parts of me judge folk who go overboard on emotion – as irrational, false, volatile, gushing or oversharing.

    There’s something about all this emotional stuff scares me a bit too. They can escalate without warning. Choice and control rarely come into it. They can mug us off.

    How about you?

    Perhaps it’s for these reasons that some of us feel neutral or nothing in particular a lot of the time, when it comes to matters of the heart.

    I see this often when I coach people navigating midlife – it’s difficult to explore how we really feel or what that even means.

    Feeling the feels

    Neglecting our emotional inner world seems like a loss to me. A missed opportunity that I’ve lamented acutely through adulthood.

    For a while, I experimented with what I called ‘emotional literacy’ – like there was a language I wasn’t very good at speaking. Then I coined a new term: ‘emotional fluency’ – like there was some way to get good at my emotional experiments. 

    I read books on compassion and scrutinised emotion word-clouds to grasp their mechanics. I listened to sad songs to make me cry – to see what it felt like. 

    None of this really helped. 

    I still felt unmoved, much of the time. Just neutral. Not uncaring. Just ‘meh.’ Yet something inside, I suspected, was perpetually errant, lacking or wrong. 

    Meet apathy

    Apathy, it turns out, is an emotion too. Hooray! I thought. I’m human after all. I feel something (even if it’s nothing). That’s progress, right? 

    I discovered that apathy is a kind of emotional constipation. A sort of muted, dulled aliveness that’s probably designed to protect us from feeling those inconvenient (dreaded?) feels.

    For whatever reason – trauma, schooling, people like us learned restraint, towards baser emotional impulses like anger, fear and shame. So they don’t get a chance to emerge, more fully expressed. Instead they remain awkward and uncomfortable feelings our egos would rather avoid. 

    Yet if you cancel one emotion, you cancel them all. Hence this universal ‘meh’ feeling people like us can experience, about most things in life (even stuff that OUGHT to move us).

    We’re not broken. What if we just got stuck?

    Our meaty bone sacks are built for safety rather than happiness, apparently. Which means our neutral feeling is a sort of safety from pain, which makes perfect sense, from an evolutionary perspective.

    What helped me shift beyond neutral/meh is the premise that you and I, all of us, have an innate emotional life. Sometimes though, we just fall out of practice. Our emotional muscles can atrophy a bit, for want of a good stretch. 

    All this is very human, by the way.

    This is where things get edgy 

    If you follow my Instagram, you might have seen some gingerly shared stories from the front-line of a harrowing marital separation I recently survived. 

    Well, this particular big change shook me out of feeling neutral, or nothing in particular.

    I’m not advocating anyone puts a thermonuclear bomb under their life, as a speedy route to feeling more feels. However, what I am curious about is how change – especially the profound, painful and disruptive sort – can rapidly transform our emotional experience of life.

    When the heart breaks, it breaks open

    Humans respond and adapt REALLY FUCKING WELL to new, uncertain situations. I say that feeling both delighted surprise, and extra side-surprise that this still surprises me.

    When big change comes (expected or otherwise), when we move towards what’s deeply comfortable, it’s like we wake up. All our systems come back online, including the heart. 

    Like a reboot.

    Since things blew (fell?) apart in life, my spectrum of emotions broadened. Here, have some learns:

    • We fear feelings not things: imagine the thing you fear most happens; your response – that’s what we’re really scared of, feeling that pain, rather than the thing itself having happened.
    • Your literacy/fluency is innate: maybe there’s nothing to learn here, only deepen your understanding of. What if all emotions are already waiting in the wings for a cue? 
    • Emotions are signals: we got ‘em for a reason, so what if it was just another sort of intelligence, an extra advisor or source counsel, like your trusty creativity or analysis? As opposed to a true story…
    • They are gassy: one emotion bleeds into another, often at the same time, even opposing ones. Like a buffet of mixed farts. No one tells us this. Maybe that’s what’s so tricky and shifts us to neutral?
    • Labelling isn’t much help: sad, mad, glad, bad… What do you need more or less of? What is this sensation pulling you towards or pushing you away from?
    • They come in waves: by degrees rather than simply full on or off. The only way out is through – sure they knock us over, but it’s just like paddling in choppy water, you can ride it out until the storm passes.
    • Feelings change and always pass: no matter how awful, they will relent and mutate into something else, even disappear, they are never forever. When was the last time you felt different to now? See.

    This is a lifetime’s work

    I’ve realised there’s no such thing as ‘getting better’ or ‘doing it right’ when it comes to emotional stuff. The templates we need to navigate life are already in there. And feeling neutral or nothing in particular, like we do from time-to-time, is just another kind of emotional experience.

    You got this far – may I presume you’re inquisitive, wary even, of what’s going on beneath your surface? 

    Perhaps you too feel frustrated, wary or confused too (also emotions!). Like neutral-ness is wrong or bad in some way. Like there should be more, or you’re impatient to discover some message wrapped up in all of this, but you don’t know what. 

    Big change in some facet of your life, like the kind that’s catalysed my experience, might not be for you. But I suspect that if you sense change is coming, or you’ve a hunger for it, or even if it mugs you by surprise – that might be one way to explore your emotional curiosity, and experiment with what it is to be human. 8

    Did this article land with you?

  • Monday vomit

    Monday vomit

    It feels almost too cliche to write about, but Mondays for me bring baggage. Emotional weather. At least habitually. 

    It begins Sunday evening

    A sense of foreboding. An atmospheric changeover. Like duty descending as an ethereal burden. A sandstorm of uncertainty gathers on the horizon, closing in, leaving the next morning in its wake. 

    There’s possibility in there, of course – space and opportunity. But for folk like me (who like a bit of structure and apparent ‘how’ in their lives) – the scope of the week ahead can sometimes get the better of us. 

    Monday can be a vulnerable time

    Yet rather than tackle problems alone, these days I’m trying something new. 

    I dredge for curiosity and connection in those murky feelings – how do others relate to their week ahead? What are they going through? 

    More often than not, I find it’s the lonely bit of Mondays, the stoney-faced struggle, the seriousness, that gets in the way. 

    Sounds like an excuse for an experiment

    Three weeks ago, I launched the Monday vomit event: a space to process the dread, hope, fear or excitement of your week ahead. To meet others. Feel the feels. Regain perspective. And focus on what really matters.

    It’s kind of like a pep-talk, leaning heavily on group coaching. And it follows a proven therapeutic model for exploding those Monday morning narratives and underlying motivations. 

    All in a quick 30 minute session

    The metaphor I’m toying with is like puking up whatever is on your mind, then picking out the chunky bits. But that’s where the imagery ends, because the final bit is about accountability – working out what’s valuable to us in the coming week ahead (do people bottle puke?)

    So far, we’ve had people bring dilemmas, stories, mistakes, overwhelm, victories, tears, laughter and everything in-between. Anything goes really. 

    If you’re an enterprising individual at a point of change, an entrepreneur or employee, a leader, or just fancy a bit of space in your working week – this might be for you.

    Just bring an enquiring mind and willingness to share and try something different.

    Here’s your invitation

    Next week (19th July) the Monday vomit event goes public (so far it’s been an inner circle thing…). It’ll be a regular event, every Monday morning.

    If you want to try one, just sign-up on Eventbrite. It seems to work best as a tiny, intimate event so grab one of four places before it fills up.

    Join us for connection, honesty and levity. Gloom might be the (my?) pretext, yet I’m surprised by how many people vomit sparkles in the sessions too.

    Subversion will be my compass, through the emotional weather that sometimes clouds the start of our week – what’s yours?

  • Can’t get motivated? Bad mood? De-escalate, join, tune in

    Can’t get motivated? Bad mood? De-escalate, join, tune in

    Come, bear witness to the theatrical delight of a poxy magpie pecking a blackbird to death over a measly scrap of bread. And savour the continental ambience of brutal, grey concrete benches, smashed and striated by a thousand joyriders, all cowering under the watchful gaze of tower blocks and antisocial housing.

    Welcome to the Grebes housing estate, people – a dilapidated, bin-themed fairground near where I live in Yorkshire, sure to inspire that Monday morning feeling any time of the week. Helplessness, existential dread and lingering despair are never in short supply here. And grebe is a state of mind.

    I found myself traipsing morbidly through Grebes estate one morning not all that long ago, en route to the office. The previous day, I’d knowingly avoided all the things I knew I ought to do. And today I’d resolved to get them done: finding and mingling with changemakers I long to serve, as I built my coaching business.

    But, like the billion dog eggs bejewelling the Grebes estate road, so many unknowns lay in my path. What problem am I solving? For who? How do I help? Where are they?

    And if there’s one thing the mind doesn’t need on a stroll through the Grebes estate, it’s uncertainty. I tried my best to walk purposefully, but that familiar treadmill of doubt span and creaked in my mind, slowing me down. 

    What began as slight hesitancy soon revolved into full-blown, existential panic. I’d resolved to take action, I just didn’t know what or how. So why bother even trying?

    Then, right on cue, came feeling bad for feeling bad 

    I cowork in a converted flax mill near the Grebes estate, where poor young nippers were literally mangled to death crawling beneath heavy machinery, so that toffs might have more comfortable socks. 

    Comforting thought, I thought. Now we’ve lost perspective too, and replaced it with post-industrial class guilt.

    If you’ve ever built a business from scratch or launched any ambitious project, these feelings might sound familiar. It’s not unusual to feel beaten before you begin, and kicked when you’re down, over and over and over again. 

    That’s what you get for chasing your dreams, when grit isn’t your forte

    I used to cope by diverting my attention to well-defined, achievable tasks, like bleeding a radiator or buying some screws. Until brute force or resignation eventually showed up, forcing me to confront the unavoidable, those tricky tasks, with frustration and disappointment.

    These days the stakes are higher for me. While it’s OK to feel what my clients feel, it’s deeply inauthentic to not practice what I preach as a coach – meeting challenges like these with a more helpful attitude.

    So this article is my reflection upon new ways of coping and getting motivated. Of how a black day turned grey, then off-white, and eventually yellow. Yellow being good, because it’s kind of warm and sun-coloured like golden sunlight (another colour alien to the Grebes estate).

    Maybe they’ll work for you too?

    First, de-tangle and de-escalate

    When I worked with naughty boys and girls at an inner city school (ineptly I might add), we were taught to de-escalate if a scrap looked imminent. That means bringing heightened emotions down to a manageable level, so our brains act a little less reptilian.

    One way to de-escalate alone is by journaling (or morning pages). It doesn’t resolve unknowns, it just downloads them, so they’re out of your head. Doodling or wittering works well too. 

    Journaling helps identify what’s really going on and what’s really on your mind. It breaks lumpy thoughts into individual nuggets, giving them coherence. With the brain less dark and muddled, threads of ideas and options emerge, like pulling earphones from a cat tod. 

    On that fateful morning, journaling revealed five or six different themes in my coaching, possible lines of enquiry for the whole ‘who and how do I help’ problem. Too early to answer, but they were jammed in there all the same, throttling valuable CPU time.

    Journaling bought relief and space. It was kind of exciting too, to know creativity was in there somewhere. Playfulness was emerging; laughing at the ridiculousness of sipping an oat milk latte inside a former temple to the crushing forces of ruthless capitalism.

    How might you step back from the brink, and maybe even enjoy a laugh with yourself?

    Second, join something bigger 

    Coincidentally, I’d applied to join a group called coaches helping coaches a few days earlier. So, after braving the toxic cross-fire that is Facebook, I discovered my membership was approved. 

    Isn’t it funny how doom halves when you hear others feel equally doomed? Perhaps this works best when we aren’t looking for answers, like how-to explainers. Although we might think we want to be told the right way to do something, what we really need is understanding and connection from others. 

    I tried that and felt a little better still, as well as empathy and compassion. 

    Although still unresolved, my concluding remark here is that this business development stuff is tricky as fuck. Yet everyone goes through it, there’s no avoiding it or quick fix. 

    But could it be that the very thing you’re up against – effort and persistence as a barrier to entry, is what distinguishes you from those who give up?

    Third, tune in

    With my mood lifted, I had a good hard stare at the canal through a mill window. A grey wagtail balleted purposeful on the frozen water, flashing its yellow underbelly while scrabbling at fags and empty cans of Galahad lager.

    Nature is so restorative, isn’t it?

    Feeling more objective, I wondered what all this resistance might be telling me. Strong feelings are often signals. Perhaps I was doing too much saying – wanting to rush straight to market with a fully formed idea of the whats, who, hows and whys of business. 

    So what would listening involve? Asking? Talking? Would that be a more appropriate, agreeable way to connect with people? What would that look like?

    After realising I’d just coached myself with some magnificent questions, I resolved that getting into conversation with people as an exercise in market research (“hello what’s your world like? Would you like some help with that?”) is a splendid way to shape a business.

    What would it take to lift your mood?

    In my experience coaching, when people have calm and perspective, their questions answer themselves. When I felt less defeated and morose after this remedial action, creativity came back online and suggested five specific things I could do to find my kind of people to coach. 

    That would never have happened, had I let the Grebes estate mentality shape my day.

    What’s especially notable is that the three things I put at the heart of coaching others – playfulness, compassion and curiosity, are the very same three things that lifted me out of this particular rut. Who’d have thought?

    Maybe there aren’t any boundaries between career, business and life? Perhaps it’s all one big adventure? Perhaps there are clues to what lifts your mood, in what you already give others?

    Bum days are inevitable

    When you’re in a bleak mood, how might a little less urgency and a little more ‘working up the levels’ towards a more useful state of mind, like I did, help you?

    Attitude is the perennial blocker of many, if not all, routes to where you dream of being, and back on the Grebes estate mine was all kinds of wrong. If that dreadful feeling of doubt and inaction is all-too-familiar and all-too-tiresome, then maybe it’s time we worked on new ways of showing up in the world? 

    Ever had a sluggish start to the day. What happened? How did you recover?

    Photo by sunrisesoup

  • Make Wednesday great again

    Perhaps in lieu of the toxic fug that haunted our childhoods on the Mersey estuary, the local authorities saw fit to grant us youngsters a few hours’ R&R every Wednesday morning. 

    This was back in the 1990s. 

    And when I say ‘respite’, what I actually mean is a filthy game of rugby in biting cold winds, during Mr Buckton’s double P.E at the comprehensive school I attended. But at least it was outdoors, it was exercise – communal, and theoretically in the spirit of enrichment (albeit only for sadists).

    In the shadow of Widnes’ thousand chimneys, belching ominously transparent gases more or less directly into our lungs, Wednesday mornings were a mental pause for teacher and pupil alike, punctuating the tribulations and tedium of another week at the National Curriculum’s coalface.

    Wellbeing Wednesday (working title)

    By sixth form, wellbeing Wednesday was even higher on the agenda, meaning study leave or recreation. For some, it meant catching-up with yourself after a busy Monday/Tuesday. For driving lessons, or to socialise. For others, it meant inhaling lighter fluid behind the 5th Widnes Scout hut, giggling incessantly at crude knob graffiti.

    Beyond the stench of Merseyside, at university, wellbeing Wednesday seemed like a permanent, eminently sensible hook to hang your week upon. Why wouldn’t you want a spacious, midweek afternoon to decompress, rest, tie-up loose ends, switch-off or nourish the mind with knowledge?

    Yet for some reason, once I got a job – once I was a grown-up, it all ended. No more Wednesday breakouts.

    Being a grow-up is shit

    These days, with adult commitments, dwindling energy and increasing demands placed upon it – that midweek circuit breaker (to coin a phrase) is practically a necessity. Not just for crucial errands, but our actual bodily health, the welfare of our families, communities and culture at work.

    Hard evidence suggests poor mental health costs UK employers up to £45 million a year, and we’re already losing on average about 20 days every year, per person, because of stress, burnout and workplace-related depression and anxiety. And research from 2012 revealed half of working Americans said they were always rushed, and 70 percent felt they never had enough time.

    So there’s a compelling case for ring-fencing space for active wellbeing, or encouraging folk to at least unwind, right smack-bang in the middle of the week when life often gets a bit too serious and stressful. Just unplugging digitally for a while, or putting things on pause to check-in with ourselves and our circles might be a start.

    Or look at it this way. Maybe Wednesday is time to be learners again. Open-minded, reckless, irresponsible and curious. For just a few hours, we get a little space to play with – a gap between being a serious grown-up, most of the time.

    Downtime doesn’t have to be productive (that’s sort of the point)

    Putting wellbeing pride-of-place, midweek, like a stake through the heart of 9-5 presenteeism culture (which is often more onerous when working remotely, I’m told) would be quite a symbolic commitment, wouldn’t it?

    What if, by mutual agreement, we all came to an understanding – that every Wednesday AM or PM, we allowed ourselves a bit of a breather, to enrich ourselves – however we see fit? 

    Sure, some might indulge, but I’ve a feeling many of us would (eventually) pick up an old hobby, launch a side-hustle, or look into that training we’ve been toying with. Kind of like many of us (lucky ones) have already been doing during lockdown with our sourdoughs, fitness and crafts.

    This would be paid, of course

    Because happier, healthier people are more productive people. It’s proven – no matter how counter-intuitive it might feel to slacken the leash by reducing people’s working hours. I’ve seen this happen over and over again, back when I wrote case studies on novel working practices at some of the world’s leading progressive organisations. 

    Dare I say it, but could we have in our midst, a ready-made, tentative stepping stone to the self-evidently sensible four-day week too? There’s often no demonstrable gain in human output, yet significantly, none is lost – indicating something deeply dysfunctional is afoot in the way we run (ran?) our working lives.

    What would change look like?

    For some reason, once we turn 18, space for growth and freeing-up our minds ceases to be a priority. It’s as if we collectively decide it’s time to get on with the important job of being perpetually busy, stressed, and emotionally and physically unwell grown-ups. Because that’s real-life and that’s just the way things are.

    To which I respond is it? Who said so?

    So what would change look like for you? What would you do with a formal, midweek circuit-breaker? I’ve known coaching clients to exercise, dig, lose their phone, walk, talk, try something new, or simply stare into space for an hour or two.

    Perhaps we might scale up wellbeing Wednesday for all – a tried-and-tested idea, one that’s a straight-forward up-sell to the cynics, and one within easy reach.

    Just an idea. And it’s not all that crazy, apparently. What do you think?