Showing posts with label Caroline McMenamin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Caroline McMenamin. Show all posts

Monday, 23 January 2017

Our Lives are in Constant Motion...


I always feel like I’m on a unicycle, trying to gain
a balance in my life; learning and studying what moves it takes to gain that balance. Yet, it’s the very process of ‘finding’ the balance that consumes our lives...

We as individuals have a diverse set of conditions by which we live. These Conditions of Worth are set by those around us and ourselves. Most of the time these conditions are not talked about or simply not consciously acknowledged, but they are palpable in every household, society, school, etc. 
For Example, I always thought that 'I will not be content and successful until I graduate and have my graduation photograph on the wall between my brother and sister’s graduation photographs.' 

However, that being said, my parent’s never once put pressure on me academically, they always told me that my best was enough. It was myself from which the pressure came.
It’s surprising how we measure ourselves against the Conditions of Worth we set ourselves because most of the time these conditions manifest from what we see others doing.

People live and work within superficial mind-frames that only focus on how they can be better than others, rather than just bettering themselves. This is because they’re trying to find that balance within themselves, even though they’re not conscious of it. 
We would benefit from thinking about what it is we want, what part of us needs fulfilling.
I find that people yearn for substance in their life, and they think that alcohol and societal status, material gain and wealth is the answer. But it’s not.
I am a girl who loves her clothes and shoes and makeup, and I love shopping, but the feeling of buying something new is short-lived and the ‘buzz’ soon wears off... I know some people can identify with this, whether they like to admit it or not.


"Stand up in the midst of the turbulent water of life and regain our balance."


What I do find fulfilling is looking inward and listening attentively to what my soul and mind needs.
It’s important to attend to your holistic health, because when you tune into your mind and body and soul you will then begin to master the art of balancing your life and you will realise what matters.
Our balance depends on our values, adhering to them so that we know where we stand in the face of adversity and trial instead of being consumed by thoughts of ‘what will I buy when I get paid?’. 
Our values affect our goals, our decisions, our beliefs and behaviours. It lets us become more self-aware, to nurture ourselves and to understand ourselves so that we can rejuvenate.


Stephen Cox, the writer of the blog Balanced Existence, writes that “the waves come in, break and recede. Then they roll on in again. Instead of fighting and being tumbled painfully ashore, feel the waves coming and ride them out.”

So let me ask you to think of something...

➜Imagine yourself standing on the shore of the ocean, faced with the constant motion of our lives (the waves), and think of the waves as the changes of life.
Some may be small and others will come and crash into us, changing our position  and setting us off balance. To regain that balance we must be strong in our mind, our soul and our body. 
Being holistically strong and aware of our values, allows us to stand up in the midst of the turbulent water of life and regain our balance.


Monday, 12 December 2016

Oh Christmas Tree...




Christmas is always a time of year where a variety of mixed emotions are running high.
Trying to save money to buy presents for all your loved ones and trying to keep on top of bills can cause stress to creep in, including remembering our loved ones who have passed, not to mention the effect of the dark nights upon us. Christmas in fact can be quite a stressful, depressing and lonely time for some of us.

Whilst I’ve always dealt with a touch of SAD Syndrome (Seasonal Affective Disorder), a very common condition that causes the individual to have symptoms of depression due to the lack of sunlight, I’ve always enjoyed Christmas.
If I’m feeling the symptoms of S.A.D syndrome I know what to do to control it and to counter-act the effects because I’ve always experienced it, even as a child.  

“We’re not at a place where mental health is discussed as openly as the weather...”


As winter has progressed I’ve been hearing about more and more people feeling ‘low’, or feeling ‘panicky’ and likely dealing with S.A.D syndrome. However, these are people who have never really experienced mental health issues before, and now don’t know what to do about how they’re feeling. They feel different, trapped and afraid. It can feel like you’re losing your identity, and that’s terrifying. This is why the stigma attached to mental health acts as a barricade to those who need help. 
If mental health was discussed as much as the common cold, then it wouldn’t be such a struggle to deal with.
Unfortunately, we’re not at a place where mental health is discussed as openly as the weather whilst waiting for a bus, or casually brought up as a reason why you’ve been absent from work. We always give a different excuse for why we are not being ‘ourselves’, “I’m tired” or “I’m not feeling well’’ is usually the excuse for what we really want to say.
We’re actually quite like the Christmas tree.
We are like the tree with different branches of personality. 
However, we decorate our branches with a fa├žade of false emotions, and we pretend to be happier and more cheerful than we really are.
We create a delightful image of joy and what we think it means to be happy. But a lot of us are decorating ourselves to conceal the rough bark of our minds, and the painful jab of our pine needle thoughts.
Why do we weigh ourselves down with these false decorations? Why can’t we talk about how heavy we feel with these false pretences?
We see other people who are ‘happy’ and fear that if we do come forward to speak up that we would be the only ones to do so. Coming forward to speak up about mental health can have more positive effect than you can imagine. You can encourage and help others with their own mental health by becoming an advocate for your own well-being.
By doing so you’re contributing to removing the stigma attached to mental health.
Mental health doesn’t discriminate. We’re all Christmas trees from the same forest, we can all experience the same thoughts, feelings and emotions. It is up to us to let others



“We’re all Christmas trees from the same forest, we can all experience the same thoughts, feelings and emotions.”


I’ve come to realise that when I speak openly about my mental health I find that others come forward too to speak about theirs, and there’s such liberation in that.
Isn’t it time to put our real selves forward this Christmas? It’s okay to admit that we may not want to drink alcohol because it makes us feel worse, and it’s okay to say you need time to yourself to rejuvenate. 
Give yourself the present of honesty and self-care as this New Year begins.

It is important to not blind those around us with our twinkling lights - and realise that we can be all vulnerable and scared, but by coming together we can create a forest of strength that doesn’t allow the mental health stigma to cause damage like an invisible wild fire. We can look out for each other by empowering ourselves to look after our own mental health and stand forward and challenge the social stigma.




















Monday, 5 December 2016

A Trail of Glittering Experience

I have been recently discovering a lot of snails about my garden...

And, I, in my tendency to succumb to the seduction of a silent reverie, found myself wondering about snails, their purpose, and why they are the way they are. Why a shell? Why have they their houses on their back?
Then I thought ‘Snails are independent in a weird way’.
They rely on themselves for their shelter, their security; unattached 
to anything but themselves. 
They travel leaving only a trail of glittering experience of the path they’ve taken, despite how long it has taken them.

A snail didn’t choose to be a snail, it didn’t choose to be slow and burdened with its shell, but despite its wavering purpose in nature, it still carries itself and travels to a new place, independent of all that surrounds it, and irrespective of what humanity thinks of it.
With its beautifully grotesque shell, intricately designed by the hand of nature, the snail climbs up walls, unaware of what is before it, never questioning.
It goes on, until a bird comes and ends its insignificant life, fulfilling its purpose as a meal for its avian predecessor on the food-chain... and the world goes on.

And I think, perhaps I’m too like this snail. I, too, am burdened by an unreckonable force upon my back, that is, my Mental Health. With such a heavy burden I’m tempted to wait in hope of a winged figure to pluck me from the perils of my physical encasement on this Earth.
But, despite the weight, and the fear of an ominous shadow, I have become accustomed to it.


“despite its wavering purpose
in nature, it still carries itself
and travels to a new place, independent of all that surrounds it, and irrespective of what humanity thinks of it”
I, too, can keep going despite what humanity thinks of me. It’s only with my beautifully grotesque mind, my perseverance and struggle that I can leave my glittering trail of experience. 
Perhaps my purpose is to show that despite the weight of my mental illness, I can still travel to new places, explore new grounds and live, unattached to the stigma and social ‘impressions’ of what it means to have a Mental Health problem. To show, that despite all the odds, I can still live.
I have come out of my shell and accepted who I am.
My Mental Health disorder has conditioned me to be strong, to persevere through everything that life offers. I chose to turn something negative into something positive, so going to therapy, taking medication and working on myself holistically has taught me to realise that I can have control over how I feel.
I consider what I thought was a curse, as a blessing. I feel blessed because what was once a burden is now a monument that signifies my success through the toughest struggle that I’ve ever endured, and I’m leaving my glittering trail of experience.

Living with a Mental Health disorder doesn’t define who I am as a person. Having a Mental Health disorder does not make me any less a dreamer, any less a daughter, sister or girlfriend. Being a snail doesn’t mean it’s any less an insect. Having a Mental Health disorder means I just have something extra to deal with in my daily life.
There was a time when I considered myself ‘cursed’, questioning why I was inflicted with such mental torment, convincing myself that I was being punished.
How I perceived my Mental Health disorder is indicative of how society can penalise and ostracizes anything that is ‘abnormal’ or ‘taboo’. In the daylight hours society doesn’t blatantly outlaw those who have Mental Health issues; in fact, it encourages inclusion and well- being of everyone. It’s only in the dark corners of quiet moments, when the day has yawned and the tie is pulled off, that the other face of society looks warily from the corner of its eye upon us and wonders are we actually monsters, psychopaths and murderers like the people in those horror movies.

Society paints a sloppy picture using only limited colours to portray those with Mental Health issues. 
We deserve to be painted by our own experienced hands, we who have experienced the inner turmoil that Mental Health can cause. If each of us could choose to contribute to what Mental Health is like using our own artistic technique, our own stroke of the brush, our own unique colour upon the canvas of society, then perhaps the art depicting Mental Health wouldn’t be abstract art, but simply naturalism, a reflection of our minds, our struggles, beautiful dashes of colour with trails of glittering experience. 
We owe it to ourselves to keep going and to make our own purpose despite what nature has given us. 

Tuesday, 29 November 2016

The Green Sofa


At the age of 8 I moved house. I moved three miles up the road to another estate.
I was leaving my world as I knew it.
I was leaving my best friend and my routine of ‘calling in’ for her so we could go out in our roller blades or go on our bikes.
This was all being diminished because I was moving house. It may not seem very dramatic to an adult, but for me, at 8 years old, it was traumatic.

My casual walking down to school with my best friend was now going to be replaced with having to
sit carefully, on the clankity old Ulster bus seats, in hope that the movement of the bus wouldn’t disrupt my position and cause my legs to shift onto the freezing cold chrome edges of the seats.
This is when I started to feel strange. 


My best friend Carla (Left) and I



"I too, felt like I was covered, wrapped and stitched in complete unfamiliarity."


I remember opening the door into the living room of our new house. The only familiarity that I saw was our green sofa that had made the journey some hours before.
I stood in the doorway, and I stared at the green sofa.
That sofa had been a different colour once, but my mama had got it covered in a new material earlier that year.
I looked at the sofa. What was once a brown, familiar and molded with routine sitting sofa, was now covered in a new fabric.
I too, felt like I was covered, wrapped and stitched in complete unfamiliarity.
At 8 years old, I remember the overwhelming feeling of fear. I was consumed, by what I know now, was acute Anxiety. I was for the first time, experiencing Mental Distress.
Little did I know that this was the start of what would be a very long journey spent in complete mental wilderness.

"I was losing my childhood
 to the ‘bad feeling’ that 
my young innocent 
self labelled it."

I didn’t know how to explain how I felt. I was a child, and my vocabulary was limited.
I began saying that I “didn’t feel well” and when I was asked where I was sore, or how I felt, I just replied, in hopelessness “I don’t know”.
After many a trip to the Doctors I was told “It’s all in your head, stop worrying”, but it was in my head, and it was festering. That was it, I had to deal with this feeling because the Doctor and nobody else  could understand me.  My mum was always trying to distract me from the silent torment of my mind by saying “let’s bake buns” or “let’s go up into town to get new shoes”.

Nothing worked.  

I was losing my childhood to the ‘bad feeling’ that my young innocent self labelled it.
I wasn’t young anymore, I wasn’t carefree anymore, and we all knew it.
I, who was completely in awe of Disney’s ‘The Little Mermaid’ and sang every song during every second of every day, had stopped singing. The house was quiet now. My voice was silenced by the turmoil in my young mind. Before I was 10, I wanted to die, I couldn’t cope with it. 
At that age I had believed I wouldn’t live long, because I felt that it was not normal to feel so bad without dying soon.

Let’s fast forward to 2013. I’m still alive. I’m 24 now.
Since becoming mentally unwell from that young age of 8 I’ve been on three different types of anti-depressants not to mention the multitude of anti-anxiety medication and sedatives.

But I’m so happy!
Never did I think that feeling this good was possible for me.
Looking back, I know today that those feelings that I had when I was 8 was the beginning of the Depression and Anxiety, and ultimately a clinical diagnosis of O.C.D.
It has been over two years since I’ve been diagnosed with O.C.D. I was diagnosed due to a crisis, and I couldn’t cope and I had a major breakdown.
The coping strategies that I had developed since I was 8 had crashed and burned in face of this crisis where a family member had become unwell.
It came to a point where I refused to let the Doctor tell me that “exercise would lift your moods”.    

I swallowed my pride and demanded professional help.

My pride, my awareness of the stigma attached to mental health that came from society and even myself didn’t stop me. I didn’t care anymore. I needed help because the other option was Suicide and I refused to let Suicide be an option any more, even though I had Suicidal ideation.
And so, I was given an appointment for a psychiatric assessment. On the day of the assessment I was petrified about what would happen to me once I started to talk about how I was thinking and feeling.
I have no idea what I said that day in that room, but I remember I felt like there was a black cloud that had just burst open with rain and was now relieved.
A couple of days later I graduated with a degree in Drama. I was proud of myself and I was happy to have my photograph mounted on the wall between my brother and sister’s graduation photos.

The day following my graduation I had received a letter from the place where I had gone for my psychiatric assessment. I had sat down on our new black leather sofa and read the letter. The letter described my disorder; the letter deemed my disorder ‘common’ and contained a treatment plan of new medication specific for my disorder and C.B.T.

That letter meant more to me than my degree, because even though my degree proved that I studied drama for 3 years, my letter from the psychiatrist meant that I could now get better after 15 years of mental struggle.
I sat on our new black leather sofa and I cried with relief, liberation and catharsis from the unknown shadow that I could now name, and now control.

Celebrating my birthday in Melbourne, Australia

I wasn’t like the green sofa anymore. I was becoming more like our new black leather sofa, I had aged with struggle, but I was tougher now, I was durable and I was now more resilient, despite who or what impacted on me. 


Friday, 17 October 2014

A Wedding in Rome

I sit here writing this post whilst listening to the rain pelting off the windows, it feels like bullets wounding my daydream and bringing me back to reality. There is a soft rosy hue from the lamp beside me, it reminds me of its company with a subtle flicker now and then. It’s my only form of light now since darkness is winning the battle with the light of day.

I’m listening to ‘Benedictus’ by the 2Cellos with my earphones in whilst Peter Barlow is pleasantly silenced, sparing me from his insufferable acting, and letting me imagine that there’s a completely different plot…and I suddenly I think ‘What if I were a screen writer?’. – No chance Caroline, you’d not be able to turn Coronation Street into a Sherlock Holmes meets The Lord of the Rings musical with the fashion of the Upper East Side.
I give the thought up immediately.

It continues to rain, and I find myself in a daydream again. This time I find myself staring at a Weeto on the floor that I seemed to have dropped when I decided to have a bowl of Weetos an hour ago.
I stare at the Weeto and find it’s crusty circular circumference reminding me of the Colosseum, and I find myself lamenting my brilliant time at the wedding in Rome I was at recently with spectacular people who I’d love to be sharing wine with this very evening.
So, my blog post is dedicated to the amazing friends and my gentleman of a boyfriend for making my time in Rome one that will be remembered with all the eternity of the city of Rome itself.























Thank you for reading.

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