The 25 Percent Club

I haven't blogged in a while. Long story; quite a busy last few months of 2012 filled with stuff that wasn't right to write about. I thought about doing a retrospective 2012 blog post, but everyone seemed to be doing that and I'm not sure my reflections would add much. I also wasn't sure what my reflections were. 2012 was a funny old year.

Then this morning on twitter a discussion started prompted by this post  and the imperative to write came back to me in a hesitant, 'should I?' type way. So here I am. I'll type and, if you're reading this, its because I thought 'fuck it' and pressed the 'publish' button.

In February of last year I was working at home one afternoon, when a relatively innocuous email made me physically recoil from my laptop. My heart began rushing. I wanted the world to stop, go away, leave me in peace. It was too much and it was all pushing down on me. I began huge, racking, uncontrollable sobbing. Then, almost as a subconscious reflex, I picked up the phone and dialled my GP. He recognised in me the symptoms of what they tend to rather vaguely call "generalised anxiety disorder" and signed me off work. 

I'm not really going to get into the causes at this juncture. That's kind of not the point. My shitty experiences were no worse than other people's shitty experiences. I wasn't suffering from PTSD. Just your common or garden 'bursting into tears, feeling like there is a massive clamp on your lungs and that your heart might literally pop out of your chest' type disorder. 

You aren't meant to feel this way when you work in HR. You're meant to be 'together', 'resilient', 'robust'. You aren't meant to burst into frightened tears when you reach the road junction that takes you to your office. And yet, statistically, 25% of us do. 25% of people in any profession, walk of life or situation will be affected by mental health issues at some point in their life.

There. I've typed it. Mental Health. This post is the first time I've talked publicly about my own period of illness. I reckon if I had a broken leg I'd have been tweeting about it every day. You'd have had updates on Facebook. Heck, my leg would probably have had its own page. But what was 'broken' was my mind. Or at least that's how it felt at the time. And I know that that's how it was perceived by some people who I had to tell. Lorna was 'broken'. And that was a bit awkward. 

But it's how a lot of people view mental illness. They want to be understanding but, because there isn't a plaster cast they can sign, they don't really know how to behave around it. Certainly at work we aren't very good at managing it. We moan that someone has "Got themselves signed off with stress". Managers and colleagues often think because they can't 'see' it, then its not real. Or they make a value judgement about the person who is ill. I'm not sure I've ever heard a manager complain that someone who broke their leg playing Sunday League is unreliable and 'got themselves signed off sick', but you very often hear that in relation to mental illness. We don't get it. And if we don't get it, we can't respond properly to it. Which is wrong. And really stupid given the 25% statistic I mentioned earlier.

The way I see it now is this: I have a car. Its a fab little motor, well built and engineered, looks a bit quirky, good quality, strong resale value. But if I drive it for 20,000 miles without checking my tyres, or oil, or water I shouldn't be surprised if it breaks down on the A43. If it gets hit by another car and I don't take it to the body shop I shouldn't be surprised if it gets rusty. If I don't get the windscreen wipers fixed, get caught in a storm and crash 'cause I can't see where I'm going, then that too is no surprise. Of course, I might get lucky. Some of us have cars that we've reversed into lampposts, never checked the tyres, never top up with oil and they never crash or break down. But they are lucky. 

Some cars seem more pre-disposed to breaking down or crashing. My lovely old MG for example, my father-in-law's TR6. They're not bad cars. They just require more skilled maintenance, or a different fuel, or special parts.

It's not a perfect analogy but it suits me and it takes some of the emotion out of explaining why I was poorly early last year. I have a tendency to do things at 100mph, I'm quick away from the lights because I'm impatient, I can sometimes try to carry more than is sensible for my torque and the pace I like to move at. I benefit from slowing down and cruising at a sensible speed every so often. If I'm going to drive that fast and take corners like that I need to make sure my tyres are good. I need a pit-stop every few laps. 

I wasn't broken. I'm not unreliable. I'm not a bad person. I am (despite the car metaphor) human. I'm bloody good at my job and a pretty decent wife/aunt/friend/sister/daughter. I'm worth knowing, worth having around. I wasn't ready for the scrap-yard. I was just overdue a service. A member of the 25% Club. Like the MG Club, but with fewer newsletters and summer barbecues. 

I'm not sure what, if any, impact blogging about this will have. But reading the post on Alison's blog this morning made me think. Someone has to start talking about the 25% Club. There is a taboo. There is shame. And that is wrong. I'm not Spartacus, I'm not even close. But if, by telling my small story, it makes someone else feel less ashamed, or treat a colleague or employee or friend in a slightly more understanding way then I reckon that's not a bad job for a Saturday morning.