I started writing The Real Tilly Fairfax blog during Mental Health Awareness Week in 2020 to help with my anxiety – back then it was still pretty high – exacerbated by the surreal events taking place in the dystopian world I found I was suddenly living in. This week is my 50th blog and as I give myself a little pat on the back, I realise Mental Health Awareness Week is upon us once again. I’ve written every week for a whole year- apart from when I gave myself two weeks off around Christmas, assuming no-one wanted to read about my wrinkles while they tucked into their turkey or nursed a New Year hangover. Although I initially focussed on my anxiety, I have covered all sorts of topics ranging from panic-attacks to procrastination; grumpy teenagers to mum-guilt; sexism; insomnia; hugging and hygge; shopping in pyjamas and all the habits and humdrum that life throws at me in-between.
Writing, for me, helps me focus – I spend less time getting worried about my anxiety if I am caught up in the magic of memories or trying to think of a word that fits better into a sentence. My racehorse brain still runs fast – it dashes this way and that, flits from thought to thought but writing has helped me tame it a little, helps me focus and gives me a little sanity into my thought process. For me, especially for my work, it is important to be able to juggle and multi-task. However, if I can never stop the whirring long enough to listen, this manic way of thinking is pure fuel to the fire for my anxiety.
Writing lets me breathe.
When I write, my thoughts come quicker than I type, which is OK as I can go back over and correct the spelling, the typos and the syntax. When I speak, I cannot. When I am particularly nervous, or excited, or tired or stressed (added into the brain fog which surrounds the menopausal mind), the wrong words come out. Or the wrong names. Or the wrong order. Although I may appear on the surface that I know what I am talking about - underneath I am pedalling like mad to make sure I don’t say emaciated instead of emancipated (which I have done. At work. With Important Clients. Very embarrassing). Or say pacific instead of specific, effect instead of affect; or worse - use the private nicknames I have for people when I try and remember their real names. I refer mentally to two of my clients as Obi-Wan Kenobi and Matt Bianco (why this 1980s pop group sprang to mind, I really don’t know). However, I have done this for so long, I cannot remember what their real names are thus live in fear of having to introduce them to each other at a swanky work event.
See what I mean about my anxious racehorse brain? Writing gives me space to think.
I went for a glorious dog walk with my friend yesterday and alongside talking about bathroom renovation, dog-training and toenails (no subject is taboo), we touched on mental health week and she mentioned a concept she is introducing to her primary school class that I hadn’t come across before. The ‘sit spot’. The sit spot, as far as I understand, is a physical place you go to, outside, in nature (or as near to nature you can get) to get an understanding of your environment, connect with the natural world, spotting and watching what is going on around you. Similar I suppose to the concept of nature bathing which comes from the Japanese practice called ‘shinrin-yoku' - or ‘forest bathing’ where you benefit from taking in the energy and clean air of the trees around you. However, the ‘sit spot’ doesn’t have to be in the middle of the woods or on a windswept beach overlooking the sea – it can be in the garden, or school playground, on a balcony, on a park bench or even by an open window if you can’t get outdoors. But what you do is sit. And spot. Ideally you go to the same place near home as often as you can and sit, in quiet observation, for about fifteen minutes at a time. To stay aware of my own mental health, I like to try and take some time to meditate or go for a walk on my own. One of the techniques I have learned, is to use my senses to ground me – 5 things I can see, 4 things I can hear, 3 things I can touch, 2 things I can smell and 1 thing I can taste. It is just something I have been doing for a while when I need to calm myself or when I take some time out of my day to meditate between emptying the dishwasher and feeding the dog.
However, after being introduced to the concept of the sit spot, I tried this last night when I took the dog out for a quick evening walk. Instead of marching ahead, impatiently waiting for her to perform her ablutions, I decided to take a few minutes to just be me. I caught the moment just right as the sun was setting and sat on a bench, tucked away at the back of the churchyard overlooking the countryside where I live - and I just breathed. I listened to the birds – each shrill and chirrup louder than the one before. I smelled the blossom, felt the sinking sun on my face and the breeze in my hair. I watched the clouds make shapes in the sky and the squirrels and pigeons cavorting around me in the trees (which wound my dog up, somewhat breaking the spell). Nature was just carrying on regardless, and it made me realise in that moment – that day in, day out - whether I was watching or not – the world was going to continue to spin making new days and new nights. I felt privileged to be a part of it – that I had joined in, glad to be alive, watching the day peacefully slip away.
Not surprised therapists, and schoolteachers alike, are advocating sit spots and forest bathing.
I slept like a log last night.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
