World Mental Health Day 2025 - My Story
Today (10/10/25) is World Mental Health Day. On their website at https://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/our-work/public-engagement/world-mental-health-day it states the following:-
On World Mental Health Day, let’s all come together to talk about mental health and show
everyone that mental health matters. Talking about our mental health can help us cope better with life’s ups and downs.
So here is my story. This is very personal and something I have not shared publicly and least of all, within a professional context. I am doing this, because mental health does matter and by sharing my story, I hope to help others.
It all started in the winter of 2020. We had just relocated from South East England to Edinburgh and we’d been living in “Auld Reekie” for just over six months. January 2020 marked 25 years since I lost my father to cancer, at the age of 58; I was 24 at the time. Do the math, as they say, and you probably worked out that 2020 was also the year I would be celebrating my 50th birthday. I wanted to do something to mark both key events, so I started journalling. I started with a letter to my dad on the anniversary of his passing. It simply started, “Dear Dad”. Little did I know then that this would become 140,000 words and 56 letters to my deceased Dad. A novel. My last letter was written 4 days after I turned fifty, in September 2020.
On 17th March 2020, I joined a writing club in Edinburgh and sat upstairs in a pub, reading one of my letters out to fellow members. It was St Patrick’s Day, and the pub was empty. The following day, Britain went into lockdown; Covid-19 had set in.
By this time, I was already seeing my counsellor. Some things remain personal and will always remain so and therefore, I won’t explain how I ended up seeing her, but suffice to say, this was an elected decision. It was my choice, largely borne out of feeling inadequate and that there was something wrong with me. My relationship with my wife was also falling apart. On 10th April (Good Friday), my wife asked me for a divorce. The following day, I broke down. I accidentally broke a Galileo thermometer bought for me by one of my oldest friends, Jo; I went to nursery school with her. I just burst into tears. My youngest son, William comforted me. He thought I was upset about breaking the thermometer, but in reality, it was just everything and mainly, the breakdown in my relationship. Good Friday was a very Bad Friday for me and my lowest point.
I remember seeing my counsellor, Linda, for the first time. At the end of our session, she asked me if I’d had any suicidal thoughts. I said “No”. I guess a counsellor must do this as a duty of care. The fact is, I probably did have those thoughts. I remember having a meeting in London, before lockdown and wandering aimlessly around London Bridge, with all sorts of thoughts in my head. My life was falling apart, and I couldn’t really talk to anyone about it. In fact, it wasn’t until September 2020 that I told my immediate family and closest friends. I even had to endure a celebration 50th dinner with my ex-wife, my children, my mum and my brother and his family, knowing that my marriage had ended and that I wasn’t in a great place. A couple of weeks later I told my mum and my brother.
My mental health struggles were focused on my relationship with my ex-wife, but it also brought in my relationship with my mum too; two quite domineering women in my life and the impact that may have had on me. To be honest, I enjoyed the counselling, and I learnt a lot from it and the largely Jungian psychological underpinnings, learning about anima and animus and the shadow! I also argued with her at times but that probably wasn’t a bad thing! The counselling helped. It taught me how to be present and not think about the past or the future. I learnt to meditate and to breathe and just enjoy the world around us. It genuinely made me feel more relaxed and it taught me to focus on me and not others around me. That’s not selfish. It just means that by focusing on me and by healing, I will get better and therefore, my relationships with those around me too, will get better.
I also wrote furiously. Lockdown put an end to meeting up in person, but the writing club in Edinburgh continued on Zoom and I looked forward to our weekly sessions. Other writers, far better than me, sharing their beautiful words and thoughts. I continued to write my “Dear Dad” letters. Really this was a diary of a fifty-something, a kind of “Adrian Mole – Aged 49 and 3/4!” I wrote to Dad about what was going on in the world and what he’d make of it now. VAR in football. Mobile phones. Electric Cars. Netflix. Ocado. Boris Johnson! None of which he could have possibly foreseen! I’d write about my counselling. About Mum, who was still alive but very unwell. About my relationship. “Dear Dad” will remain a deeply personal body of work and one I am highly unlikely to ever share. But it was the thing that saved me. I poured out all my thoughts and feelings onto paper and every time I finished a letter, I felt a sense of euphoria. In fact, when I wasn’t writing, I became anxious. Writing was my drug. It was my therapy to help me deal with my mental health issues.
In September 2020, I finished “Dear Dad”. I felt a gaping hole in my life. I was still seeing my counsellor. I wasn’t fixed. Well not yet anyway. Are we ever fixed? Bigger question maybe? I needed my drug again. I spoke to Linda about this, and she suggested that I write letters back to myself; the response to my letters from my Dad. I wasn’t so keen on that idea, but I did have a sequel lined up…
In October 2020, I started my next book, “Dear Mum”. I told mum about this, and mum being mum instantly wanted to read the letters I was writing to her! This never happened. Mum had an indifferent view on mental health issues. I remember visiting her and telling her about me seeing a counsellor and how I was using my writing to help me. She was completely dismissive of mental health being an issue at all and cited those on daytime TV who she thought were just using it as an excuse. I think she came from a generation and a family where they just “got on with it”. She had a tough upbringing herself. The youngest daughter of three. She felt that she was never loved by her mum and fundamentally, this impacted her mental health. She was widowed at 47 and never really recovered from the grief of losing her one true love. She had an issue with food and eating that eventually took her life through diabetes. In June 2021, halfway through “Dear Mum”, she passed away. I carried on writing to mum for another six months. Again, this helping me with my mental health and coming to terms with the loss.
I met my partner, Becca in 2021, and she has been the best thing to have happened to me. She simply loves me for who I am. We are now living together and building our lives together. But most importantly, we talk. We’re very open with each other and we discuss our own mental health challenges. We support each other. We’ve both had our own mental health issues. We’ve both had counselling, and we recognise when we need help.
So where am I now in terms of my mental health? Well, the struggles and challenges are always there. Some of the most common causes of mental health issues are difficult relationships, death, divorce, money issues, childhood trauma and negative thoughts. These can lead to things such as depression, stress, anxiety and substance abuse, to name but a few. The mental health website states that 15% of UK workers are estimated to have an existing mental health condition. Only this week I was talking to someone who admitted to having a gambling addiction and how it was affecting his relationship.
The office for national statistics publishes data on suicide and these two figures stuck out for me:-
The risk of suicide among low-skilled male labourers, particularly those working in
construction roles, was 3 times higher than the male national average.
For males working in skilled trades, the highest risk was among building finishing trades; particularly, plasterers and
painters and decorators had more than double the risk of suicide than the male national average.
Us blokes don’t talk about it. We need the conversation. We need to feel able to and confident enough to speak about how we feel and what is going on in our lives.
There is no magic wand. I said earlier “are we ever fixed?” In short, I would say “No”. Scars remain but what we can do is manage those scars. I see mental health issues as something we all have, and we all deal with it in different ways. What works for one, might not work for another. For me it was a combination of counselling, writing and being in a good relationship. Americans are a bit ahead of us on the other side of the pond. They view their “shrink” as important as their doctor and having counselling is medicine for the brain.
Even writing this has helped me today. I’m feeling a little anxious about a few things right now, but through writing, I am able to channel my thoughts and get clarity and focus.
So, fellas (and of course the ladies, but I’m reaching out mainly to us fellas because we’re just not so good at conversation), please don’t die inside and bottle up your feelings. Find someone to talk to. If you need professional help, see a counsellor. If you want to try a few things yourself, then go outside, go for a walk, breathe in fresh air and if, like me, on a rainy day, you can’t be bothered, then write it all down!