This time last week I was writing my way out of a particularly dark hole. Each word clawed my battered self an inch closer to the light. I had been shocked to discover someone had felt my blog was unloving to my daughter and found myself questioning everything and seeing disapproving eyes everywhere I went: the nursery gate, the supermarket, our street.
I had only been able to start writing by imagining nobody was reading, or at least by imagining the readers were all clones of my mum, cut and paste on repeat across the ether, telling me everything was good. When you are naturally shy (I was the one hiding in an alleyway so I didn’t have to read my poem out to Mrs Higson’s English class) it is hard to broadcast your words, and far easier when you can block out the image of your audience. So it was a bit like someone had switched a light on in the auditorium, and the face it illuminated was filled with disapproval and criticism. I felt suddenly panicked like I had woken up naked on stage surrounded by hecklers.
That is why this week has been one of the most important in my recovery. Instead of hiding away and letting the fear I felt define me, with the help of those I love I chose to be brave. I honestly didn’t know how that plunge into the unknown would work out. But from the moment I posted my blog post, I was overwhelmed by love. It was like a light sweeping through the auditorium, alighting on kind and smiling faces, willing me to succeed.
I had messages and comments from so many people: those I knew, those I have never met, men and women, young and old, journalists, nurses, football fans as well as a really touching one from an amazingly brave woman I had sat across the circle of a psychotherapy group from, each of us cringing in silent pain. The feeling of being judged, the fear of opening yourself up to criticism, the feeling that you must hide your darkest moments to shield others, all seemed to have resonated with people.
I really hope I can hold on to this response throughout my life. As a naturally anxious and depressed person, the world can feel like a test you have already failed. You look and wait for the proof – knowing it is only a matter of time before the reality is revealed. After my call from social services I felt the proof had arrived: that I was arrogant and deluded to think I could escape the inevitable guilty verdict. Sometimes, though, by exposing your fears and sadness the world can surprise you. Instead of telling you off and diminishing you, people hug you and tell you that you are worth something.
So whilst it is hard to know how many people are suffering too, it is a powerful thing to know you are not alone. And the people with you can give kindness, love, forgiveness and bravery not judgement, disapproval and fear.
I have come to realise that bravery is only possible if you are afraid. When you are frightened it seems impossible that you could be brave – it feels like that is the domain of the bold, the fearless and the confident. But I have come to see fear as the very essence of bravery. I have surprised myself, and others, by how I have coped with the challenges of the last week. A year ago I would have crumbled into despair. Back then fear consumed me. I thought you had to be stronger before you were brave, but now I see that it is the very act of bravery that makes you stronger. You leave the ground, leaping into the unknown, with shaky knees but land more firmly than you stood before. So don’t wait to be strong, don’t write yourself off as frightened. The more afraid you are, the more you have to be brave to get through every second of every day, and that is real strength.