You Are allowed to Contain Both Light and Dark

What if growth is not about removing the parts of yourself you dislike, but understanding why they are there and learning how to hold them alongside the parts you already like and deem acceptable? What if I told you this is what makes you fully you, and is what makes life feel rich and your human experience have depth? It’s beautiful and not something to fight, but something to be aware of and accept.

Do you ever feel ashamed of some sides of yourself and frustrated that they even exist? In Jungian psychology, the shadow refers to parts of ourselves that we push out of conscious awareness because they feel unacceptable or inconsistent with the person we think we “should” be.

I’m not going to reveal all the parts of me I deem inconvenient, messy or less acceptable. But I will share some for context. I’ve definitely had people describe me in ways like gentle, even like an angel, and caring, and this side is real. But it led me to feel frustrated at being boxed into a label that felt convenient to others, while I was suppressing the sides I thought would make me vulnerable or judged if I showed them. There was a fear that I’d be left alone if people saw the full me. Ironically, the full me sometimes came out in a far more intense way through suppressing it.

So I hid frustration, sadness, the fear that no one would want to see those parts of me, and wanting closeness and space at the same time, to name a few shadows. But it felt hollow and not true to me to not accept these contradictions in myself and recognise there are reasons why I am the way I am.

Sometimes these rejected parts show up in much smaller, more ordinary ways.

To illustrate this literally so you have a picture in your mind, I have to admit I’m sitting here writing this at lunchtime and I haven’t even got ready yet. And as a perfectionist, a part of me is annoyed at myself for this, but another part is more accepting of it than I might have been in the past.

Doing things in a slightly random way is something that frustrated me about myself in the past. I tried to reject it and ended up exhausted. I may be the person sitting in their pyjamas at 1pm, but I’m also writing something I deem valuable. That also doesn’t mean this is always me, or that I couldn’t get up at 6am tomorrow and have a more ‘normal’ day, because I can and it’s my choice.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to have a routine and good habits. That’s the aim. But if I don’t manage it one day, what’s the point in beating myself up over it? There’s always next time. And maybe if I’d had that perfect start to the day, I wouldn’t have felt inspired to write this. Who knows.

Another thing I sometimes judge about myself is being sensitive. I’ve worried about whether I have that trait too much and I’ve even been criticised for it.

Recently my pet died unexpectedly while I was travelling. I got the news when I was at the top of a skyscraper, of all places. The view was beautiful, but after hearing I’d lost the little creature who had been such a source of comfort to me, it became ugly. All I could do was take in the view without really seeing it and cry my eyes out. Part of me was judging myself in that moment: I’m crying in front of a bunch of strangers and this makes me feel vulnerable.

But there’s a flip side to this. If I wasn’t sensitive and didn’t care so much, maybe I wouldn’t be the person I am, someone who cares deeply about others but also experiences the world in its full beauty. The sadness, the joy, all heightened.

I’ve also found myself drawn to this quality when I’ve seen it reflected in other people.

An encounter that stayed with me was meeting someone who, to me, reflected this. We even talked about how they had embraced both their light and dark side. On the one hand, they had genuine emotional intelligence, an openness I’ve hardly seen in anyone else, and an energy about them that felt like they wanted to experience life to its fullest. And yet they had made some dark choices, and perhaps society would say they had ‘gone down the wrong path’ to cope.

And yet they seemed to see themselves clearly and accept this about themselves. I see this as strength, even if they didn’t see themselves that way. It takes strength to continue and not let your past define you. Interestingly, this person made me feel very seen.

For me, accepting these sides of myself isn’t about letting them take over. It’s about noticing them rather than immediately pushing them away.

If I’m feeling longing, something I have felt and judged, instead of telling myself I shouldn’t feel that way or that it’s silly, I can ask why it is there. Maybe it comes from wanting closeness from someone, and maybe it’s okay to want that. There is something freeing about allowing the feeling to exist before deciding what to do with it.

One way I’ve accepted the complexity of having different sides and complex emotions at the same time is through listening to music.

One song is ‘Come Back to Earth’ by Mac Miller and the lyric “I just need a way out of my head.” For me, this captures the feeling of being overwhelmed by your inner world without neatly resolving it. There’s the feeling of drowning in your life, but also relief at recognising and expressing it. What I love about the song is the honesty and rawness, but also its tenderness and vulnerability.

Another is Mac Miller’s ‘Self Care’, which is about withdrawing inwards, acknowledging difficulty and taking responsibility for yourself without pretending it’s all fine.

Another artist is Lana Del Rey, and a specific song that fits this is ‘Mariners Apartment Complex’, which is about being misread as fragile: “you took my sadness out of context” and “they mistook my kindness for weakness.” She refuses to reduce herself to other people’s interpretation.

She presents herself as someone who can contain sadness and darkness while still being grounded, loving and capable of guiding someone else. The lyric “the darkness, the deepness” particularly resonates with me. These qualities don’t cancel out the light in someone; they add to someone’s identity and wholeness, “all the things that make me who I am.” It isn’t about eliminating the more difficult qualities, but making room for contradictions and wholeness rather than self-editing.

So I want to say thank you to the musicians who’ve helped me feel understood in this way.

Journalling has helped me too. Although I use and have created a guided journal, stream-of-consciousness writing has been particularly useful. Sometimes I just brain dump everything I’m thinking and feeling and then notice what I want to explore further.

Creative expression does something similar for me. Writing, music, art, whatever form it takes, can give the parts of us that are harder to express somewhere to exist. Something uncomfortable can become something meaningful.

I wanted to close this by saying, because sometimes I need to hear this too: you are worthy as you are. If you want to improve and change, you can, but that’s up to you. The combination of all your traits makes you, you, and that’s something you deserve to appreciate.

What No One Tells You About Growing Up With a Mentally Ill Parent

What I Gained, Not Just What I Lost

Growing up with a parent who has a severe mental illness can be incredibly challenging. What often saddens me, though, is that much of the content and many of the perspectives I see about this experience focus only on the negatives, or centre on cutting the parent out entirely and the damage it has caused.

I can empathise with those experiences, and I feel genuine compassion for people whose lives have been shaped in that way. But that hasn’t been my full experience.

While growing up with an unwell parent has been difficult and has impacted me in real and lasting ways, I also want to share a more balanced perspective, one that doesn’t deny the hardship but allows room for complexity, meaning, and even growth.

For me, this experience has shaped who I am in positive ways as well. It has made me more sensitive and empathetic, more inclined to understand others, to give people chances, and to see the beauty and humanity in all kinds of people. Despite the challenges and heartbreak that can come with it, I also have a deeply meaningful and beautiful relationship with my parent.

The Realities People Don’t Always See

I don’t want to brush over the challenges, because they are very real and very present. One of the hardest parts for me has always been the unpredictability. Life was, and still is, uncertain. There can be a new crisis at any moment, and you never quite know what to expect. There is also the constant awareness that this illness can be life-threatening.

Growing up in that environment can leave you feeling unsteady. It can make it harder to navigate the world, create an ongoing sense of pressure, and affect how safe or secure life feels. I think this is very difficult for others to fully understand unless they’ve experienced mental illness themselves or lived closely alongside someone who has.

Recently, someone said to me, “Well, it’s been going on a long time, so this isn’t really anything new for you.” But that misunderstands the reality. This isn’t something that happens once and then settles. It’s ongoing stress over a long period of time.

Making Meaning Without Minimising Pain

That said, I believe that experiences, even painful ones, can shape us in meaningful ways. The relationships we have with our parents are among the most formative in our lives, and I’ve reached a place of acceptance around the reality of who mine are.

When challenges arise, I’ve realised they have helped me learn a lot about life and grow.

Growing up in an unstable environment is undeniably hard. But I can also see how it has made me try to be less judgemental of others who are struggling, who find life unpredictable, or who are carrying unseen burdens. Even when I don’t immediately understand someone’s behaviour, I tend to reflect and ask why.

I find uncertainty particularly difficult because of my upbringing. But in a strange way, that has become a gift. It means I’ve had to learn how to create stability for myself by showing up for myself, keeping promises to myself, building habits, and prioritising self-care. That has taught me responsibility, self-trust, and resilience in ways I might not have learned otherwise.

A Relationship That Is Different and Still Beautiful

My relationship with my parent is genuinely a beautiful one, and I wouldn’t want anyone to think it’s any less meaningful than another parent–child relationship. It is different and, in some ways, it’s harder, though I know everyone has their own challenges and comparisons don’t really help.

Our relationship is filled with care and concern, but that isn’t a negative thing to me. I’m grateful that I have someone to care about. Perhaps if my parent hadn’t been so ill, we wouldn’t be as close as we are now. I’m glad that I get to be there for them.

We also laugh. We joke. There is a lot of love between us, even if that love isn’t always expressed in the way a parent might traditionally show it.

When I can’t see them, I send cards, and they have over twenty of them displayed on their wall. Knowing that they bring them comfort makes me feel deeply loved in return.

Challenging the Idea of “Less Than”

Something I really struggle with is the idea, often reinforced by society, that someone with severe mental illness is somehow less than, or simply someone to be pitied. Empathy is essential, of course, but pity strips people of their dignity. People with mental illness are not less human, less valuable, or less worthy.

My parent is one of the kindest people I know. They are always thinking of others. When they were in hospital and there was a smoothie-making activity, they didn’t make one for themselves; they made smoothies for the entire medical team. That’s who they are.

I’m not saying every person with mental illness is the same, but there is often a deep sensitivity there, alongside the illness, not erased by it. The illness is part of their experience, but it is not the sum of who they are.

There is also a strong creative side to my parent. They are highly artistic and expressive, not only through creative activities but in the way they communicate and see the world differently. I am in awe of them.

While they haven’t been able to have a conventional career or live the kind of life many people expect, and, in many ways, have been robbed of those opportunities, they are still an incredibly talented, special, and meaningful person.

Their life has value. Their humanity has value. They are not less than anyone else.

What This Experience Gave Me

This upbringing has shaped the way I see other people. It’s made me want to look for the good in others. I sometimes think that if my parent hadn’t been ill, I might have been more self-absorbed, more protected, or less aware of other people’s pain.

Instead, I feel a strong pull to understand those who are suffering. I don’t instinctively judge someone if they’re homeless, struggling with addiction, living with mental illness, or carrying visible struggles. I’m curious about their story rather than dismissive of it.

That commitment to empathy feels like a real gift, one I’m deeply grateful for and wouldn’t want to lose.

Seeing Humanity Up Close

I’m also aware that this life has allowed me to see a side of the world that not everyone gets to see. I’ve spent a lot of time in mental health wards, not only visiting my parent but learning how to communicate with medical staff. That’s a skill I wouldn’t have developed otherwise.

I’ve also interacted with other patients, and that experience has reinforced my belief in human goodness. Mental health wards are often imagined as frightening places, but in my experience, they haven’t been. Strangely enough, they’re some of the places where I’ve felt happiest.

They can be deeply supportive environments. Nurses genuinely care. Patients often care for one another. I’ve seen people brushing each other’s hair. I’ve had patients come up to me, hug me, and interact with me in the most gentle, human ways.

Those moments have stayed with me. They’ve shown me that even in the midst of suffering, people can offer extraordinary care to one another.

That truth exists alongside the difficulty, not instead of it.

Growing Up With a Parent Who Has a Severe Mental Illness

Growing up with a parent who has a severe mental illness can be incredibly challenging. What often saddens me, though, is that much of the content and many of the perspectives I see about this experience focus only on the negatives, or centre on cutting the parent out entirely and the damage it has caused.

I can empathise with those experiences, and I feel genuine compassion for people whose lives have been shaped in that way. But that hasn’t been my full experience.

While growing up with an unwell parent has been difficult and has impacted me in real and lasting ways, I also want to share a more balanced perspective, one that doesn’t deny the hardship but allows room for complexity, meaning, and even growth.

For me, this experience has shaped who I am in positive ways as well. It has made me more sensitive and empathetic, more inclined to understand others, to give people chances, and to see the beauty and humanity in all kinds of people. Despite the challenges and heartbreak that can come with it, I also have a deeply meaningful and beautiful relationship with my parent.

The Realities People Don’t Always See

I don’t want to brush over the challenges, because they are very real and very present. One of the hardest parts for me has always been the unpredictability. Life was, and still is, uncertain. There can be a new crisis at any moment, and you never quite know what to expect. There is also the constant awareness that this illness can be life-threatening.

Growing up in that environment can leave you feeling unsteady. It can make it harder to navigate the world, create an ongoing sense of pressure, and affect how safe or secure life feels. I think this is very difficult for others to fully understand unless they’ve experienced mental illness themselves or lived closely alongside someone who has.

Recently, someone said to me, “Well, it’s been going on a long time, so this isn’t really anything new for you.” But that misunderstands the reality. This isn’t something that happens once and then settles. It’s ongoing stress over a long period of time.

Making Meaning Without Minimising Pain

That said, I believe that experiences, even painful ones, can shape us in meaningful ways. The relationships we have with our parents are among the most formative in our lives, and I’ve reached a place of acceptance around the reality of who mine are.

When challenges arise, I’ve realised they have helped me learn a lot about life and grow.

Growing up in an unstable environment is undeniably hard. But I can also see how it has made me try to be less judgemental of others who are struggling, who find life unpredictable, or who are carrying unseen burdens. Even when I don’t immediately understand someone’s behaviour, I tend to reflect and ask why.

I find uncertainty particularly difficult because of my upbringing. But in a strange way, that has become a gift. It means I’ve had to learn how to create stability for myself by showing up for myself, keeping promises to myself, building habits, and prioritising self-care. That has taught me responsibility, self-trust, and resilience in ways I might not have learned otherwise.

A Relationship That Is Different and Still Beautiful

My relationship with my parent is genuinely a beautiful one, and I wouldn’t want anyone to think it’s any less meaningful than another parent–child relationship. It is different and, in some ways, it’s harder, though I know everyone has their own challenges and comparisons don’t really help.

Our relationship is filled with care and concern, but that isn’t a negative thing to me. I’m grateful that I have someone to care about. Perhaps if my parent hadn’t been so ill, we wouldn’t be as close as we are now. I’m glad that I get to be there for them.

We also laugh. We joke. There is a lot of love between us, even if that love isn’t always expressed in the way a parent might traditionally show it.

When I can’t see them, I send cards, and they have over twenty of them displayed on their wall. Knowing that they bring them comfort makes me feel deeply loved in return.

Challenging the Idea of “Less Than”

Something I really struggle with is the idea, often reinforced by society, that someone with severe mental illness is somehow less than, or simply someone to be pitied. Empathy is essential, of course, but pity strips people of their dignity. People with mental illness are not less human, less valuable, or less worthy.

My parent is one of the kindest people I know. They are always thinking of others. When they were in hospital and there was a smoothie-making activity, they didn’t make one for themselves; they made smoothies for the entire medical team. That’s who they are.

I’m not saying every person with mental illness is the same, but there is often a deep sensitivity there, alongside the illness, not erased by it. The illness is part of their experience, but it is not the sum of who they are.

There is also a strong creative side to my parent. They are highly artistic and expressive, not only through creative activities but in the way they communicate and see the world differently. I am in awe of them.

While they haven’t been able to have a conventional career or live the kind of life many people expect and, in many ways, have been robbed of those opportunities, they are still an incredibly talented, special, and meaningful person.

Their life has value. Their humanity has value. They are not less than anyone else.

What This Experience Gave Me

This upbringing has shaped the way I see other people. It’s made me want to look for the good in others. I sometimes think that if my parent hadn’t been ill, I might have been more self-absorbed, more protected, or less aware of other people’s pain.

Instead, I feel a strong pull to understand those who are suffering. I don’t instinctively judge someone if they’re homeless, struggling with addiction, living with mental illness, or carrying visible struggles. I’m curious about their story rather than dismissive of it.

That commitment to empathy feels like a real gift, one I’m deeply grateful for and wouldn’t want to lose.

Seeing Humanity Up Close

I’m also aware that this life has allowed me to see a side of the world that not everyone gets to see. I’ve spent a lot of time in mental health wards, not only visiting my parent but learning how to communicate with medical staff. That’s a skill I wouldn’t have developed otherwise.

I’ve also interacted with other patients, and that experience has reinforced my belief in human goodness. Mental health wards are often imagined as frightening places, but in my experience, they haven’t been. Strangely enough, they’re some of the places where I’ve felt happiest.

They can be deeply supportive environments. Nurses genuinely care. Patients often care for one another. I’ve seen people brushing each other’s hair. I’ve had patients come up to me, hug me, and interact with me in the most gentle, human ways.

Those moments have stayed with me. They’ve shown me that even in the midst of suffering, people can offer extraordinary care to one another.

That truth exists alongside the difficulty, not instead of it.

You Don’t Have to Be Perfect to Love Yourself You Are Enough

Beauty isn’t just about your physical appearance. It’s something you cultivate through the relationship you have with yourself and the way you choose to live.

I’ve struggled with externalising my inner state. There have been periods when I felt I had lost my spark. Everyday tasks became overwhelming, I struggled to take care of myself and my space, and I felt ashamed.

When life was difficult, or I felt low or sad, I would criticise my appearance. In reality, there wasn’t always a logical connection. My appearance simply became somewhere to direct everything I was feeling. It was a way of beating myself up, but I also realised that, for me, it was a form of control. If I focused on something external, it felt as though I had found something tangible that I could change.

On the days when I felt my best internally, it was much easier to like what I saw externally. When I was exhausted or low, thoughts such as I’m ugly or I’m useless became louder, even though neither was true.

The way I saw myself had become distorted by the way I felt.

Beauty Is Bigger Than What We See in the Mirror

We live in a society that is increasingly focused on how we look on the outside. That isn’t entirely a bad thing. Taking care of yourself, taking pride in your appearance and using your style as a form of self-expression can all be positive and meaningful. There’s beauty in that. Beauty is multidimensional.

However, from a young age, many of us absorb the message that we should look a certain way, that beauty is one of the most important things we have to offer, or that it is what people will value most about us.

When that message is repeated often enough, it’s easy to start believing that our worth is tied to our appearance.

But beauty is so much bigger than what we see in the mirror. It’s found in our character, kindness, resilience and passions. It’s in the way we make other people feel and, just as importantly, in the way we make ourselves feel.

I think one of the most important things we can do is take the time to really get to know ourselves. Ask yourself: Who am I? Who do I want to be? Not based on other people’s expectations or approval, but on what genuinely matters to you.

When I began trying to reconnect with myself, I thought about what I had naturally loved as a child. I loved being active. I enjoyed cooking, being creative and reading. Returning to some of those things helped because I believe they are still part of me at my core.

Maybe this is the first step towards feeling beautiful: discovering what makes you feel most like yourself.

That can include how you want to present yourself physically. If exercising, staying fit, following a skincare routine, wearing makeup or taking care of your appearance makes you feel confident and happy, that’s wonderful. If you love your bare face, embrace it. Do what aligns with who you are, not what makes you more acceptable according to somebody else’s standard.

For me, this means looking after my body because I appreciate it, rather than treating it as a problem that needs to be fixed.

Honour your body. If you’re tired, rest. If you need a slower day, allow yourself to have one. Your worth isn’t measured by how productive you are or how perfectly you maintain an image.

Cultivating Beauty From the Inside Out

We often talk about skincare, makeup and fashion, but we don’t talk enough about the things that nourish us from the inside out.

Do fresh flowers in your space lift your mood and connect you with your spirit? Make room for them. What books inspire you? What music makes you feel alive? Does spending time in nature help you feel grounded? What makes you laugh?

Maybe writing in your journal, listening to a meaningful podcast, making a nourishing meal or sitting quietly with a cup of tea helps you slow down. These rituals might seem ordinary, but they can become beautiful acts of self-care.

To me, beauty isn’t about perfection. It’s about living in a way that feels authentic and aligned with who you truly are. When you build a life that nourishes your spirit, you begin to radiate.

Some of the things that help me feel connected to myself are:

● Keeping promises to myself. Following through on a workout, a commitment or even my skincare routine makes me feel cared for and reinforces my self-respect.

● Learning and growing. Studying, journaling and listening to podcasts help me feel that I’m becoming the person I want to be.

● Speaking to myself with respect. Instead of focusing only on flaws, I’m learning to notice qualities I appreciate in myself, such as curiosity, determination, compassion and a willingness to improve.

● Creating a peaceful environment. Making my space feel calm helps me feel more connected to myself.

● Expressing myself creatively. Creativity gives me a way to explore who I am and what matters to me.

● Being present. Beauty can also be found in slowing down and allowing yourself to experience the life you’re creating.

When Kindness Comes at a Cost to You

Kindness is a beautiful quality. The world needs more empathy, compassion and people who genuinely care about one another. But what happens when your kindness begins to come at a cost to you?

This is something I’ve had to reflect on in my own life. Sometimes, our desire to help stops being purely about expressing love and becomes a way of trying to earn it.

We might seek approval, acceptance or reassurance that we’re a good person. We might believe we have to be helpful, undemanding or self-sacrificing to deserve love.

For some people, this pattern begins in childhood. Perhaps you were praised for being mature, easy-going or for never causing problems. If you grew up around conflict, illness or unpredictability, becoming the peacemaker or the reliable one may have felt like the safest role to play.

Eventually, that role can become part of your identity. You become the one who always helps. Because people appreciate that version of you, it can feel frightening to change.

From my own experience, this was me and, to some extent, it still is. I was carrying too much of other people’s pain while paying too little attention to my own needs. Eventually, it contributed to burnout and depression.

I don’t want to lose the caring part of myself. I’ll probably always be empathetic and want the best for other people. But I’ve had to learn that I deserve the same compassion I give so freely to everyone else.

One of the hardest parts has been letting go of guilt. I felt guilty when other people were suffering, when I couldn’t fix everything and whenever I chose myself.

But guilt isn’t always proof that you’re doing something wrong. Sometimes, it simply means you’re doing something differently.

If you’ve spent years putting everyone else first, setting a boundary will probably feel uncomfortable. That doesn’t automatically mean the boundary is unkind. Healthy relationships can adapt. But if someone consistently becomes angry or dismissive whenever you express a need, it may be worth considering whether they benefited from you having none.

The next time you’re about to do something for someone, pause and ask yourself:

Am I doing this because I genuinely want to?

Or am I afraid of disappointing them?

Am I expressing love, or am I trying to earn it?

Kindness should not require you to abandon yourself. Caring for yourself doesn’t mean caring less about other people; it means recognising that your needs matter too.

You are the person you will spend your entire life with. So be kind. Be generous. Show up for the people you love but do it from love, not for love.

Connection Can Remind Us of Our Worth

There was one particular day when I was very tired and felt dull. I was taking a guided tour alone. Looking back, I’m proud of myself for being curious and independent enough to do that. At the time, though, I wasn’t in the best mood and was being quite self-critical.

The tour was one-to-one in a tuk-tuk, and the person leading it was certainly a unique character. Yet we ended up having one of the most interesting conversations I’d had in a long time. We discovered shared interests in mental health, art and culture. The conversation had real depth.

Towards the end, the guide said something that stayed with me:

“I don’t normally bother showing people everything I’m showing you. You’re a rare exception. You actually care and are interested.”

At the end of the tour, he hugged me, and that meant something. It reminded me that I had made a difference to his day, just as he had to mine. It felt like a meeting of minds.

It didn’t matter that I had started the day not feeling my best. I could have stayed home, but I didn’t. I went out, gave the day a chance and experienced a meaningful connection. It helped me see my worth again.

Sometimes, when we can’t see it ourselves, other people help us remember what is already there. A sincere word, a hug or a meaningful conversation can remind us that we matter. Connection can pull us out of self-focus and back into our shared humanity.

When we’re open, even a brief encounter can shift the way we see ourselves. It can remind us that we are curious, kind or thoughtful, even on the days when we feel off.

This isn’t about depending on other people to create our worth. It’s about allowing them to reflect truths we have temporarily forgotten.

Sometimes people hold up a mirror and help us see who we are.

Learning to Validate and Love Yourself

There will be times when people misjudge you, misunderstand your intentions or simply fail to see your full worth. When that happens, it can shake your sense of self if your self-worth depends entirely on external validation.

That’s why building self-love from within is essential. It isn’t arrogance, and it isn’t selfishness. It is the foundation that keeps you grounded when the world doesn’t reflect back what you know to be true about yourself.

Self-love can look like:

● knowing your value even when others don’t see it

● being gentle with yourself when you feel left out or unseen

● making space for your emotions without needing anyone else’s permission

● staying aligned with your values, even when it’s unpopular

● allowing yourself to be appreciated without making praise the source of your worth

Your passions and curiosities are also part of who you are. They exist beyond how attractive, productive or confident you feel on a particular day.

Whatever is good about you, celebrate it. Acknowledge it. There is only one you. Be you, and practise loving yourself on your best days, your not-so-good days and your worst days.

If you make a mistake, learn from it. Ask yourself, How can I do things differently going forward? Worthiness and growth can coexist. You can love yourself now and still want to evolve.

All of these days are your days. The richness, the ups and downs and the moments of uncertainty are part of your story. You don’t become less worthy when you are struggling, and you don’t have to become perfect before you are deserving of your own love.

Ways to Begin When You Don’t Feel Good Enough

Challenge the inner critic. When you notice a harsh thought about yourself, write down something positive that challenges it. If that feels too difficult, choose a neutral, more objective thought that you can believe. Instead of I’m useless, you might write, I’m tired and having a difficult day, but that doesn’t define me.

Treat yourself kindly through your actions. Self-love is not only something we think or say. It can be expressed through our habits, boundaries and the choices we make every day.

Offer yourself care when you need it most. You don’t have to earn rest or comfort. If you’re exhausted, that may be exactly the time for a long bath, a nourishing meal or anything else that feels like self-respect.

Reconnect with your passions. Write down what you love, what makes you curious and what you would like to welcome back into your life. You can also consider what you are ready to change or let go of.

Look at a photograph of yourself as a child. Place it somewhere you will see it often. That child is still you. How would you want them to be treated? With gentleness, patience and love. You deserve that same kindness today.

Notice the evidence of who you are. Think about how you show up in the world. What are your values? Are you kind? Are you empathetic? Are you curious, brave or willing to grow? Let those qualities count. Don’t be afraid to be appreciated.

Beauty isn’t something we have to constantly chase. It is something we cultivate through the way we live, the way we care for ourselves and the person we choose to become.

This is something I have struggled with and still find difficult at times. But I’ve realised that I am still worthy in the moments when I don’t feel it and so are you.

You don’t have to be perfect to love yourself. You are already enough.

Finding Peace and Perspective When Home Isn’t Perfect

Ideally, our homes are safe, comfortable, and a reflection of our personalities. Sometimes, though, reality doesn’t match that picture, whether it’s a noisy neighbour, an unglamorous area, or circumstances that don’t feel like our “ideal”.

Growing up, my family didn’t have much. Our home was small, cramped, and unconventional. People sometimes seemed surprised by where we lived or made judgemental comments about it. But to me, it was still home. It felt safe, and it held all my memories.

My mother always kept our home spotless and aesthetically pleasing, which made it feel special. That experience taught me that happiness at home isn’t about grandeur, space, or status. It’s about how you feel in your surroundings.

Now, I’m lucky enough to live in my own place, something I had dreamed of for a long time. But I’ve also had the bad luck of ending up with a disruptive neighbour. Instead of letting that ruin the experience, I’m choosing to rethink what home really means and how I can make the most of my situation while helping others who might feel the same.

Creating Peace in a Noisy World

If you’re dealing with disruptive or intimidating neighbours, it can feel overwhelming. Small steps, however, can make a meaningful difference:

• Play calming music or white noise to help mask shouting or street noise.

• Use earplugs on nights when it feels impossible to rest.

• Create a bedtime routine that calms your nervous system, perhaps with tea, gentle stretching, or a soothing playlist.

These things may not fix the environment, but they can help you reclaim some control over how you experience it.

Making Your Home a Haven

Even if you can’t control what happens outside your walls, you can create comfort within them. You don’t need a large budget:

• Thrifted or inexpensive finds can bring character and cosiness.

• Small touches such as a throw blanket, cushions, fairy lights, or candles can transform a room.

• Fresh or dried flowers can add beauty and life.

• Little rituals, cooking your favourite meal, having a bath with salts, or creating a cosy film night, can bring warmth and joy. Even a projector can make the evening feel magical.

If you have a larger budget to make your home special and it would bring you joy, why not? The point isn’t how much you spend; it’s creating a space that feels like your own.

Your home is more than its walls. It is your sanctuary and place to re-charge. Investing in your surroundings can be an investment in your mental health.

More Than a Feeling?A Guest Blog by Psychotherapist & Counsellor Margaret Ward-Martin

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“Nobody, ever, has the right to dismiss, minimise or contradict your experience. ”

Maybe not. Let me explain.

As a mental health professional, I have become increasingly aware of a tendency to “pathologise” normal, appropriate, protective, and effective, emotional responses. I have experienced this in professional and personal conversations as well as in social and mainstream media. This article does not claim to be a substitute for qualified, medical diagnosis and advice,* it simply serves to facilitate a conversation about what is “normal.”

Uncomfortable or distressing feelings and emotional responses inform us about how to protect, care and pay attention to ourselves and can include physical, visceral responses, for example, feeling nauseous, needing the loo, stomach and headache as well as a sense of something not feeling “right” or something being “off”. You don’t need to overthink or dismiss it, just acknowledge the feeling and validate your response. In the moment you might not know why you feel what you feel, that’s ok, it’s how you feel.

I have experience of individuals describing their “poor” mental health when what they are sharing with me are normal reactions to difficult or distressing situations. One example might be following a break-up, they may be sad, feel rejected, low for a while and wary of getting into a new relationship. This, in and of itself, is not a critical mental health issue. This is a natural way to process loss of confidence, the person, time and even hope and dreams.

What it is not, is something needing neutralising with medication or over analysis. When there is a death, divorce, redundancy, and exams looming, we feel different. Life hurts sometimes and it is a heavy, human burden. What it is not, is poor mental health. Uncomfortable emotions are not our enemy. We cannot airbrush our pain, we need to learn to live with it. Part of the problem of the world in which we live is that we are often left second guessing what is real and what is fake.

We might then apply this to ourselves and conclude that we are wrong to feel how we feel.The additional stressor of toxic positivity does not help. Bin it, at source. Nobody, ever, has the right to dismiss, minimise or contradict your experience. It is your responsibility to honour your feelings and remove yourself from toxic, invalidating, unsafe and damaging people, individuals and communities, real world and online.

And give yourself time to feel as you feel, without judgement. Sooner or later the cloud will lift, hope will return, and anxiety feel less like a dagger in your stomach. If these feelings are prolonged, it may be helpful to see your GP or arrange therapy. Learn to appreciate ALL of you.

Happier feelings are no “better” or “worse” than difficult feelings. Emotions are not neat or binary. All feelings inform us and are to be appreciated equally. Listen to them and learn who you are. Seek out good people and ensure you cultivate a zero-tolerance policy for disrespect of any kind from anyone.

Very sadly, humans can be cruel. They can hurt. Sometimes, individuals project their own failings into others. Acknowledging this fundamental possibility need not make us cynical and it can help us to look after ourselves better. Fortunately, there are good, kind people and they can play a part in healing and growth.

Be discerning in who you let into your life, what you share and make sure to set boundaries in all relationships. Take your time and pay attention. Loving relationships are a marathon, not a sprint. Above all, learn to love, appreciate, advocate for, and treat respectfully, the person you are.

*This does not apply to feelings of self-harm, suicidal ideation, or suicidal thoughts. In this

case, please discuss your health with your GP, call 999 or access The Samaritans helpline

Breaking the Stigma: Suicide Awareness Month

Why I Don’t Believe Suicide Is Selfish

Content note: This post discusses suicide, suicide attempts, bereavement, and suicidal thoughts. Please take care while reading.

If you or someone else is in immediate danger, call 999 or go to A&E. In England, you can call NHS 111 and select mental health option 2 for urgent support. You can also call Samaritans free, at any time, on 116 123. Young people under 35, and anyone concerned about them, can contact PAPYRUS HopeLine 24/7 on 0300 102 2470 or text HOPE to 88247.

World Suicide Prevention Day takes place on 10 September. In recognition of it, I want to share my perspective on what it’s like to have a family member survive a suicide attempt.

My hope is to take a small step towards de-stigmatising suicide, highlighting the need for greater understanding and support, and showing the profound impact it can have on loved ones.

Why I Don’t Believe Suicide Is Selfish

The idea that suicide is selfish is something I completely disagree with.

Suicidal thoughts and attempts can arise from unbearable psychological pain, whether that pain has existed for a long time or has been intensified by mental illness and a sudden, severe drop in mood. Someone in that position isn’t necessarily trying to hurt the people who love them. They are trying to find a way out of pain that feels impossible to survive.

People experiencing suicidal thoughts can still care deeply about others. Some believe they are a burden, even when that isn’t true. Hopelessness, trauma, or mental illness can distort someone’s perspective until it feels as though there are no other options, even when help exists.

None of this erases the profound effect a suicide or suicide attempt can have on loved ones. It means we can acknowledge that impact without turning a person’s most painful moment into a judgement of their character.

A Memory That Stays With Me

I remember being on a train to suicide-prevention training for work. The train stopped mid-journey, and a crew member announced that someone had died by suicide, delaying our journey.

A wave of sadness hit me. Then a woman on the train loudly called the person selfish and complained about being late.

I felt frustrated and saddened. Someone had been in so much pain that they had lost their life. Their suffering mattered far more than anyone’s inconvenience.

That moment showed me how misunderstood suicide can be and how urgently we need compassion instead of judgement. It was also deeply triggering because I have come close to losing one of the most important people in my life to suicide more than once.

How It Felt for Me

Knowing that I could have lost someone I love was overwhelming. I’m incredibly grateful that my loved one survived, but the experience brought grief, fear, sadness, numbness, and ongoing waves of anxiety about it happening again.

Supporting someone through this is difficult. It requires patience, compassion, and gentleness towards both your loved one and yourself. Sometimes it can be hard to stay strong when someone you love is in so much pain. It can take a great deal out of you, yet there is often guilt in even admitting that.

The experience changed me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be quite the same. It still affects me deeply. These feelings don’t always surface immediately; sometimes, as they did for me, they appear months or even years later.

All I wanted at the time was a hug and someone to tell me, “It’s going to be okay.” I still sometimes wonder, “Will it be?”

Supporting a Loved One

After my family member’s suicide attempt, I focused on supporting them in ways that may also help others:

Communicating with medical staff, where appropriate, to understand their care.

Visiting and calling to show my presence and concern.

Offering small gestures—flowers, a card, a teddy bear, or something else I knew they would appreciate.

Listening without judgement and giving them space to process.

Reminding them that I loved them and was there for them.

Love and presence matter, but they cannot replace professional care. Family members should not have to carry the responsibility alone, and they deserve support too.

My Own Experience of Suicidal Thoughts

Something I’m not ashamed to admit is that I’ve also experienced moments when life felt unbearably heavy and I had suicidal thoughts.

It isn’t a weakness, and it doesn’t define me. I have never acted on those thoughts, but I have reached out for help, including calling suicide helplines when I felt completely overwhelmed. I’m grateful that I did, because sometimes hearing a kind voice can make all the difference.

What I experienced would be described as passive suicidal thoughts: thoughts of not wanting to live without any intent or plan.

Looking back, I can see that on the same days I felt that way inside, I probably looked fine to everyone else. That’s why it’s so important to be kind—you never know what silent battles someone may be fighting.

When Loss Becomes Hope

I previously worked for a mental health charity, and one of the most memorable people I met through my fundraising role was a father who had lost his daughter and her partner to suicide.

Together, the family raised an incredible amount of money and awareness and supported the charity in other ways. But that isn’t what stayed with me most.

What touched me was how, in their grief, they chose to honour her memory by doing something that could help others. They transformed some of their pain into purpose.

If you ever find yourself in this position, however, please remember that everyone processes grief differently. For some people, taking action or creating something meaningful can be healing. For others, rest, self-care, or quieter forms of processing are just as valid.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve.

Moving Forward

I hope that, as a society, we can create sensitive and open conversations about suicide. It is not shameful. It deserves understanding, attention, and care.

Someone experiencing suicidal thoughts needs compassion and appropriate support, not condemnation. The people who love them also need somewhere safe to place their fear, grief, and exhaustion.

If you need support:

Immediate danger: Call 999 or go to A&E.

Urgent mental-health support in England: Call NHS 111 and select mental health option 2.

Samaritans: Call 116 123 free, 24 hours a day.

PAPYRUS HopeLine 24/7: Call 0300 102 2470 or text HOPE to 88247. The service supports young people under 35 and people concerned about them.

Suicide is not a moral failing. Behind it is a person in pain, and around that person are others who may be carrying more than anyone can see.

You don’t always know the pain that people carry, please remember to always try to be kind.

Embracing Your Period as a Time of Healing

Being on your period can be difficult. It’s often dreaded and framed as a purely negative experience. But what if we could reframe it without pretending that the pain, fatigue and emotional changes aren’t real?

Instead of seeing it only as an interruption, we might recognise it as an opportunity to slow down and check in with ourselves. It can become a reminder that our bodies carry us through so much and deserve care in return.

Honouring the Strength It Takes

For many women, a period comes with symptoms that are difficult to ignore: cramps, fatigue, discomfort or a feeling of heaviness throughout the body.

In the past, I used to think, “I hate this. This is horrible.” I completely sympathise with anyone who feels that way, because I was right there too.

Over time, I’ve tried to shift my perspective. Instead of focusing only on how difficult it is, I remind myself: look how strong I am to get through this every month.

Women are often expected to continue with their usual responsibilities as though nothing is happening. Give yourself credit. Needing extra care during this time is not weakness.

The Power of Slowing Down

We live in a busy world that constantly tells us to achieve, work and do more. During your period, however, you may feel more tired or less able to maintain your usual pace.

Instead of fighting this, what if you allowed yourself to slow down?

Making your world a little smaller during this time isn’t failure; it’s care. You might curl up with your favourite comfort show, become absorbed in a good book, run a bath or make your favourite meal.

You deserve that gentleness, and your body deserves it too.

Honouring Your Emotional Landscape

The emotional side of PMS or PMDD can be just as challenging as the physical symptoms. Your mood may dip, sometimes drastically. For me, this can bring negative thoughts about my self-worth, appearance and life.

These experiences are not simply “all in your head.” PMS is thought to be connected to changing hormone levels and the way some people respond to them, although its exact cause is not fully understood. The NHS provides more information about PMS and available support.

What I’ve found helpful is observing what is coming up rather than immediately reacting to it. Sometimes I simply notice my thoughts; at other times, I write everything down.

I used to dismiss everything I felt during my period as irrational. Now I recognise that my feelings are real and worthy of attention. However, heightened feelings do not make every thought or interpretation accurate.

I can ask myself: What has triggered me? Where am I feeling insecure? Does this still matter once my symptoms have passed?

Sometimes a more melancholic side of me appears. Rather than resisting it, I might listen to music, allow myself to cry or watch something comforting. The aim isn’t to chase sadness or become consumed by it, but to give it some space.

If emotional symptoms regularly interfere with your daily life or relationships, you deserve professional support rather than feeling that you simply have to endure them.

Speaking Your Truth Without Causing Harm

I’m normally quite calm, but during my period I can become angry more easily and regret it afterwards.

Being on your period doesn’t give you permission to lash out or treat people badly. However, I’ve noticed that when I’m in pain or feeling low, I have less tolerance for situations I might normally let slide.

Instead of reacting immediately, I can make a note of what bothered me and return to it when I feel calmer. If it still matters, I can express it more thoughtfully.

My cycle has reminded me that my feelings and boundaries matter but so does the way I communicate them.

When You Don’t Feel Attractive

During your period, you might feel less attractive. Bloating, breakouts and tiredness can intensify negative thoughts about your appearance.

I’ve learned to begin with acceptance. I remind myself that I don’t have to look perfect all the time. Looking or feeling slightly different for a few days doesn’t diminish my worth.

Sometimes I want to retreat and cocoon, and that can be exactly what I need. At other times, I’ve attended social events, worn something I like and shown up despite not feeling my best. I’ve often found that people still respond to me with warmth and kindness. The flaws I had been obsessing over were far more noticeable to me than to anyone else.

Whether you stay in or go out, caring for yourself can help you reconnect with your body. A slow skincare routine, face mask, warm bath or gentle massage can become an act of affection rather than an attempt to fix yourself.

Supporting Yourself Practically

One thing I’ve found helpful is a heated mat my Dad gave me. Heat pads, warm baths and gentle movement are among the measures recommended by the NHS for period pain.

Rest, balanced meals, hydration and gentle exercise can support your general wellbeing. Keeping a symptom diary for at least two cycles may also help you identify patterns and explain them to your doctor.

Comfort foods don’t need to become another source of guilt. If you want chocolate or ice cream, you can enjoy it. You might choose dark chocolate, fruit or a smoothie instead if that is what makes you feel good. Food doesn’t have to become another test you need to pass.

Severe pain should not simply be accepted as part of being a woman. If your pain is becoming worse, disrupting your life or accompanied by unusually heavy or irregular bleeding, speak to your GP.

Breaking the Taboo

There is no reason to be ashamed of your period.

This matters in dating too. A partner’s willingness to respond with maturity and care is a green flag. Mocking or expressing disgust about a natural bodily process is not something you should have to accept.

I wish society were more comfortable with someone saying, “I’m feeling unwell because of my period. Can I slow down today?” So many women continue as normal while hiding their discomfort because talking about it still feels unacceptable.

How much you share about your cycle is entirely your decision. But the more openly and respectfully we discuss periods, the less isolated people may feel.

Meeting Your Cycle With Compassion

You don’t have to enjoy your period or describe it as beautiful. You don’t have to feel grateful for pain, and you should never ignore symptoms that need medical attention.

Perhaps reframing your period is simply about replacing shame and self-criticism with curiosity and care.

Your cycle doesn’t determine your worth, femininity or strength. But the way you respond to yourself during a difficult time can become an expression of self-respect.

You don’t have to fight your body. You can listen to it, care for it and give yourself permission to slow down.

Burnout: A Personal Reflection on the Path Towards Healing

Burnout can manifest emotionally and physically, and it looks different for everyone. For me, it followed a prolonged period of distressing life events. I tried to carry on as though everything was normal, but eventually, I crashed.

Everyday tasks that once felt easy became overwhelming. I struggled to care for myself. It was debilitating, and although I felt ashamed, I hid what I was experiencing.

Long-term or severe stress can lead to physical, mental and emotional exhaustion, often described as burnout. However, some of these symptoms can also occur with depression, anxiety or physical health conditions, so it is important not to diagnose yourself without support. The NHS provides more information about stress and burnout.

If you’re experiencing burnout, know that recovery is possible. You are not lazy or a failure; you are human. You may have been carrying too much for too long.

Recognising the Signs

Burnout can develop gradually. Possible signs include:

• Emotional and physical exhaustion, even after resting.

• Losing motivation, enjoyment or a sense of purpose.

• Struggling with everyday tasks such as cooking, cleaning or replying to messages.

• Difficulty concentrating, remembering things or making decisions.

• Procrastinating because everything feels overwhelming.

• Neglecting hygiene, nutrition, movement or other forms of care.

• Withdrawing from friends, family and your support network.

• Feeling helpless, defeated or persistently doubtful of yourself.

• Physical symptoms such as headaches, muscle tension, digestive problems or disrupted sleep.

Experiencing some of these signs does not automatically mean you have burnout. However, if several resonate with you, it may be time to step back and seek support.

1. Be Gentle With Yourself

One of the most important things I’ve learned is to stop being so hard on myself.

Create a flexible routine rather than a rigid one. Keep your daily list to one to three manageable tasks. If you do more, that’s great. If you don’t, that’s okay too. Progress is still progress.

Allow yourself some unstructured time without expectations. You might rest, do something creative or go outside. Listen to what your mind and body need rather than measuring yourself against what you could manage before.

When even basic tasks feel impossible, make them smaller. Washing your face is still care. Making toast is still feeding yourself. Replying to one message is still connection. You do not have to complete everything for your effort to count.

2. Protect Your Energy

Boundaries can be an important part of recovery, particularly if you have become accustomed to overextending yourself.

At Work

You could use phrases such as:

• “I can do this, but I’ll need more time.”

• “I don’t have the capacity for this right now.”

• “Could someone else on the team help with this?”

Separate urgent tasks from those that can wait. Respect your working hours and take the breaks available to you.

Many workplaces value their employees, although some may not show it well. Either way, your health is not replaceable. You do not have to sacrifice it to prove your worth.

Work can be a major source of burnout, but prolonged stress can also arise from relationships, caregiving, health difficulties or distressing life events. Whatever the source, exhaustion can make work and everyday life much harder.

In Relationships

This applies to friendships, family relationships and romantic connections.

You can say, “That doesn’t feel right for me,” or “I can’t commit to that at the moment.” You don’t always owe someone a lengthy explanation.

If a person consistently drains or disrespects you, it is okay to create some distance. Writing down which situations leave you feeling depleted—and how you would prefer to be treated—can help clarify your boundaries.

It also helps to build a relationship with yourself. Journalling, taking yourself on a solo date or speaking to yourself gently are small ways of showing up for yourself. This self-connection can make it easier to uphold your boundaries and avoid settling for relationships that leave you depleted.

3. Reintroduce Joy and Comfort

Burnout can make life feel grey. Reconnecting with joy, even in small ways, can be part of finding yourself again.

Ask yourself: What made me feel alive before?

For me, it was moving my body, spending time alone, being creative, going into nature and connecting with people I love. I revisited things I had enjoyed in childhood and remembered what makes me feel like me.

You might try:

• Spending time around trees, water or sunlight.

• Cuddling an animal.

• Listening to music that lifts your mood.

• Watching a comforting film.

• Dancing around your room.

• Taking a warm bath or following a slow skincare routine.

• Doing anything you genuinely find enjoyable.

Joy may not return immediately. You also shouldn’t pressure yourself to turn recovery into another task you must perform perfectly. Begin with whatever feels manageable and allow the small moments to add up.

4. Let People In

Letting other people help was one of the hardest and most healing parts of my recovery, and it is still a work in progress.

At my lowest, I felt ashamed. But when I opened up, I was often met with unexpected kindness.

You are worthy in every state, including when you’re struggling. Start small: send a message to a friend, speak to someone you trust, explore a supportive community or seek professional help. For me, therapy sometimes felt easier than opening up to people I knew.

You don’t have to recover alone.

Knowing When You Need More Support

Rest, boundaries and small acts of care can help, but they are not replacements for medical or psychological support when symptoms are severe.

If you are struggling to care for yourself, your low mood has lasted more than two weeks, your symptoms are affecting daily life or the things you have tried are not helping, consider contacting your GP or referring yourself to NHS Talking Therapies. The NHS explains when and how to seek help for persistent low mood.

If you need urgent help, contact NHS 111. If you or someone else is in immediate danger, call 999 or go to A&E.

Healing Takes Time

Recovery from burnout is not linear. Some days will feel easier than others, and that doesn’t mean you’re going backwards.

Be patient with yourself. Every small step matters, including resting, asking for help and deciding that you cannot continue carrying everything in the same way.

Burnout does not make you weak. It may be a sign that something in your life needs greater care, support or change.

You are not lazy. You are not a failure. You are someone who has been trying to survive—and you deserve the time and compassion needed to recover.