‘I Thought Recovery was Supposed to be Permanent’: Mental Health Is Not Binary, Fixed or Linear

By Georgina Jeronymides-Norie

*TW - suicidal thoughts*

In April 2021, I became bereft of hope. I was in bed, trying to imagine my future, and I realised something: I wasn’t in it. 

I was the last person to admit that I was unwell. As a therapeutic practitioner, how could it be I that needed help? After confiding in a friend, hearing the concern and authority with which she instructed that I call the doctor in the morning, I did. I was unable to work for seven months, signed off with burnout, anxiety and depression.

Symptoms had accumulated over two years and included chronic insomnia, crying multiple times a day, body aches, overwhelm, irritability, dissociation, daily panic attacks, spiralling, intrusive thoughts, hypervigilance, over-functioning, low mood, meltdowns, lack of appetite, inability to focus and not wanting to continue the life that I was living. 

My family invited me to surrender the reins and give my nervous system a chance to re-regulate. It was a huge relief to be told exactly what to do, from what to eat and what clothes to wear (my brother selected one particularly unforgettable look: a brown sheepskin gilet, a retired pair of black and yellow cargo work trousers, and lime green socks with wellies) to joining them in the garden to plant flower bulbs. 

By March 2022 – almost a year later – I was able to function at full capacity, with the support of psychotherapy, family and friends, yoga therapy, swimming, poetry, nature and myriad tools that I was incredibly fortunate to have been able to access. More than function. I was able to dance, work, make decisions, maintain eye contact in conversations, laugh, experience pleasure, enjoy my appetite and breathe comfortably; I imagined my future and I was back in the picture. I declared myself recovered. I was so relieved and happy to be present in my loved ones’ lives again, and they said how pleased they were to have me ‘back’. 

In August 2022, some symptoms returned – panic attacks, low mood, trouble sleeping – and I was gripped by shame. Even though I knew the cause, l couldn’t bear the thought of telling anyone. I didn’t want to ruin how good things were or put them through the pain of seeing me hurting again. It’s something seldom spoken about, the fear, guilt and shame that can arise when reexperiencing signs of ill health. But it’s important that we do because these feelings stop people from seeking the support that they deserve early on; they’re why I chose denial and kept it to myself until I couldn’t any longer. 

There’s still a stigma around mental health. I had no idea how much until I became aware of how I was relating to myself. Somewhere along the way, I decided that if I ever struggled or needed anyone again, I had failed. I thought that recovery was meant to be permanent and that I should be self-sufficient, that I didn’t deserve any more help or love than I’d already had – things that I have never believed or taught in my therapeutic practice. I feared what others would think and that I would be defined by my struggle, deemed weak or incapable. 

I wanted to protect my image of ‘Little Miss Has Her Shit Together’. There are times that this was true, times when I’ve been happy and very much had my shit together. But there are times when it would have been more helpful if I’d admitted to being ‘Little Miss Sad And Wants A Hug’. When I reached out to my family and friends again in August (and many times since), they embraced me and were glad that I had admitted to them that I was struggling. 

It’s June 2023, and I’ve learned that mental health isn’t binary, fixed or linear: it’s wavy. We are rich with paradoxes. Heroes and villains reside in our minds; the light and the shadow; the well and unwell. Our mental health is transient, temporal, as ever-changing as the look of the sky. Heavy weather has sunny spells. Likewise, when things are all golden sunshine, storms can suddenly appear. Perhaps for an hour, a day, a month, your emotional landscape can be arced by a rainbow because it’s sunny and raining simultaneously, a landscape that holds all of life’s elements. 

Isn’t that remarkable, that we can hold so much? People are incredible. We’re incredible when we’re struggling and when we are ‘living our best lives’. We’re strong and soft, wise and silly, vulnerable and brave. We deserve to be loved, to be seen and to be viewed compassionately, as whole and multi-faceted: flawed, hurt, anxious, depressed, but also funny, intelligent, learning and utterly beautiful. 

When I started writing, I thought that I would challenge the term ‘recovery’ and how it seemed too absolute that it set us up for failure. Instead, I’ve come to read ‘recovery’ differently, as something that, as much as I want it to be, isn’t permanent because of the simple fact that we are alive and living and Life is happening. A part of recovery from a period of low mental health includes returning to a sense of feeling able to manage things again and we reach that place changed by our experiences and interactions, not the same as before. With support, we emerge better equipped for the next challenge. So perhaps we can continue striving to face our fear of and resistance to ‘difficult’ feelings and inner change.