Everyone deserves a break, help and support. Oh, except you
Why do some of us believe that we’re not sad or sick enough to warrant time out?
An audio version of this post, narrated by me, is available here:
Recently, I have had to take some time off work sick. I’m now getting back into the swing of things, as evidenced by the re-emergence of this newsletter (hello!) and my tip-toeing back into visibility both in-real-life and online. While the fact that I’m feeling a bit better is undoubtedly smashing, I have also found it alarming. Emerging from the fog (i.e. my Tracey Emin-look bed) has flagged up just how ill I was, how much I was dealing with, and how far I pushed myself before saying, “Yeah, this is totally unsustainable.”
Feeling ashamed and guilty for not working, socialising or being creative during a period when you’re in and out of hospital in excruciating pain is objectively ridiculous. Yet, it is absolutely not the first time that I have brushed off the gravity of a situation or beaten myself up for feeling shite – and, in doing so, made things worse. I don’t have a martyr complex – quite the contrary: a big part of the problem is a refusal to tell anyone what’s really going on. Instead, I stagger about hoping no one notices that I’ve lost all my LOLs.
And yet, this time I had no choice but to properly clock off, and the shame, guilt and worry I experienced doing so has clarified once and for all that, yes, I clearly do have deep-rooted issues acknowledging my self-worth, values and needs.
So that’s been jolly.
“It could be worse!”
Here’s what I’ve learned:
When you believe that you don’t deserve help or support – that you’re not sick enough, that you’re not sad enough, that you’re not traumatised enough – it can come from a place of deep shame. Even if objectively what you’re going through is an absolute horrorshow, your mind defaults to, “Hey, could be worse – at least my hair hasn’t started falling out again! #grateful #blessed.”
You don’t vocalise your emotions or needs because you don’t feel you deserve that privilege or that space. That’s why you’ve spent much of your life pretending you are A-okay, ta. You find safety in not being a burden and in the belief that everyone else’s lives will be much better (and so they’ll like, respect and love you more) if you just get on with it. This can manifest in everything from not asking for help in building flat-pack furniture to not telling anyone at work that you were in a five-car pile up the week before and suspect you may have a broken wrist (turning green and passing out mid-meeting as I did in the Stylist office circa January 2018).
Everything’s great, pal
This belief that you must crack on, no matter what, can originate in childhood. Maybe you grew up in a household with a very sick relative so didn’t want to be a ‘problem’, your kiddy issues seeming pathetic in comparison; maybe you had to look after younger siblings; or maybe your caregivers were unsympathetic when you did speak up. Lots of scenarios can breed the belief as a kid that life will be safer if you put up and shut up. These beliefs can stay with you as you grow up and be compounded by any/all of the below:
not trusting that you can cope with vulnerability;
prioritising adult relationships where their needs will always trump your own;
attributing all your self-worth to whatever you deem to be ‘successful’;
predicating self-worth on others’ appreciation and acknowledgement;
experiencing the fear of familial financial insecurity or having no financial security net;
having been, or currently being, a caretaker for others;
being rewarded for being ‘fine’;
being surrounded by people who value a ‘stiff upper lip’;
being taught that laughing it off is preferable to admitting it’s bad (“it is what it is”, “cheer up, it might never happen”);
having your needs constantly compared and found lacking (“you should count yourself lucky”, “your brother has it worse”, “what about the starving kids?”);
comparing your situation to catastrophic global events;
the social media trend of trauma dumping making you feel as if your situation and response is somehow ‘lesser’ (if you are active online at all then you live in a world where “announcing” events, feelings and experiences – or even hinting at them cryptically – can seem to culturally, personally and professionally legitimise them);
running your own business or being freelance and so not having systemic support networks to lean on.
(There are lots more reasons, of course, but these are some that are either personal or that I have researched, discussed with experts, and written about previously.)
The shit of it is: denying your needs is never going to end well. You’ll hit a wall eventually. Along the way you may also start resenting those around you for not reading your mind and helping, or those who have found support while you feel you “can’t”. You’ll be unkind to yourself for flailing and that may result in being unkind to others too. You may fear how they’ll see you – as weak, a burden, or unimportant – and want to punish them for it. But you’re projecting and so it’s only you who is being punished; it’s only you who sees yourself that way. In fearing abandonment or judgement, you push yourself to the limit and, conversely, may start behaving in ways (i.e. like an arse) that actually bring about what you’re scared of. Your body will also probably decide enough is enough and channel all that grimness into a proper crash.
So, if you’re reading this while clinging on by your fingernails, yet are pretending everything’s lush, please cut yourself some bloody slack. Forgive yourself. There are reasons you feel and behave this way. You are by no means alone. And yes, you absolutely deserve a break, help and support whatever is happening.
Just One More Thing…
Be it for your physical or mental health, please investigate your company’s in-house services and policies on sick pay, support, burnout, and mental health days. Just looking into these things will feel like a relief: a signal that you’re taking yourself seriously.
If you’re freelance, like me, check out what government help is available or, if you have professional insurance, how that may play out. Freelancers should be able to get sick pay, even if you have to jump through a million hoops to get it (classic). Something that helped me was to finally be honest with current clients. For 15 years, I have operated under the entirely self-imposed rule that I should never let health or personal stuff impact my work. That’s because you either rock up or you don’t get paid – a fact that has skewed my view on what is and isn’t “allowed” when it comes to dealing with bad shit. Yet I have been blown away by the kindness and understanding of clients who have extended contracts, deadlines and offered the kind of support that I didn’t believe I was entitled to or worthy of, either personally or professionally. It’s been humbling and also made me feel like a fucking idiot for the other times I acted like I was living the dream:
“It’s only divorce/death/a car crash/broken bones/stalking/emigrating/miscarriage/anxiety/depression/excruciating pain/pregnancy/existential crisis! I’M FINE. It is what it is, amiright? How are you, mate?”
Please also talk to your friends and fam, consider visiting your GP, and, if you’re in the UK, check out www.giveusashout.org, www.samaritans.org, www.thecalmzone.net and www.mind.org.uk.
Good luck. Stop comparing pain. Trust yourself. Your needs are real and they’re valid. You got this.
You're welcome. There were literally months I didn't even really fancy getting a magazine, but would buy Cosmo anyway just for your column (I don't know if that will make you feel good or a bit creeped out, but there it is 😂). Really pleased to have come across your writing again
Thank you for following, and happy new year to you too x
It sounds like you've been having a real time of it, I hope things are starting to look up.
I can really relate to everything you've said - it's hard to speak up and admit you need help, and I do believe it stems from our childhoods as, let's be honest, most everything does. I currently find it hard to admit if I'm having a hard day with my children. I have three aged 13 weeks, 2 years and 4 years, but have a habit of telling myself I chose this and therefore am not allowed to admit when it's a struggle. I'm working on it.
As an aside, I randomly looked you up this morning after thinking about your old Cosmo column (not sure why I was thinking about it, as if I recall correctly it was many, many years ago that you used to write it) and was so happy to find your Substack!
Happy new year, I hope you have a good one, with no broken bones and very good health X