Coeur de Lyon

So I've spent the best part of the last 72 hours with my Dad. It's been the longest amount of time we've probably spent together for 15 years, and I've found it quite tricky.

My Dad is 75 now. You don't need to be Carol Vorderman to realise my chain smoking father is likely to be on borrowed time. I've written about my family before, let's just say that childhood wasn't easy in my house and my Dad played a huge part in that.

The older I've got the more I've realised that my Dad's behaviour was mainly just learned behaviours from his own childhood, and that if you had a rubbish role model chances are you're not going to inherently know what being a good father means. This has caused me a lot of pain in the past, but I'm less likely to pay attention to it anymore.

My Dad is a man set in his ways. He knows what he likes, and has his set routines. It shocks him that I don't know what I want for breakfast tomorrow, and that I may not even want breakfast - life seems to be very black & white for him. Routine is psychologically comforting, so maybe it's my foolishness rather than his, but it seems brain numbing to me to pour a bowl of weetabix down your neck at 7am each day just because a habit persists.

A few weeks ago it became clear that I would need to come to Lyon for a long weekend for a work project. I haven't stop pinching myself since! I knew my boyfriend would be busy this weekend, and my Dad loves France, so I invited him to come with me.

We've been here a day and a half so far. There've been real highs and real lows. It's clear that living alone for so long has taken a real toll on his communication skills. He rarely talks to people, and when we converse he struggles to understand what I'm saying. He doesn't really listen to what I say, and had often pointed out something to me, that I'd shown to him a few minutes before. He asks me questions, and if I  know the answer calls me a'smart-arse'. If I'm honest it's draining and quite triggering of my mental health issues.

And yet the highs have been so lovely too. Earlier we rode on a big wheel looking out over the city, and climbed up a hill with breathtaking views over the river. It was only when we got tired that things turned a little darker.

Have I expected too much from his company? I'm certainly blaming myself for things bring difficult. But the good moments are worth the difficulties, and the likelihood is my rose tinted glasses will only remember the good times in a few months.

It's hard to know whether my Dad was always this slow or whether age has really taken him by surprise, but it's clear there won't be many opportunities like this ahead. So, as challenging as it is I'm going to try and park my ego, supercharge my patience, and try and relax into the rest of the weekend.

An open letter to the Cheer Up Squad

I’ve let it slip a few times lately that I’ve been feeling a bit low. That doesn’t even begin to cover it really, but it’s best for me not to bring people into the doom too much.


Friends have been really caring, and a few have asked what they can do to help cheer me up. The intentions are so kind, but it’s so hard to respond. If a slice of cake and a good laugh was the solution, then I wouldn’t be here in the first place.


You see ‘here’ is a place I don’t like being. It’s only when the telltale signs start to appear that I realise I’ve got there in the first place. ‘Here’ is everywhere. It’s all the usual places, but they’re accompanied by a horrific fog that chokes me, makes endless tears leak out of my eyes and my bed feel like the only place I want to be.

Here is a place where I can only see the negative sides of myself, and life, and can’t face even walking to the bathroom to clean my teeth. I’ve spent hours crying because I can’t summon up the energy to leave the house, but I don’t want to stay inside any longer either.

This place warps my confidence, and makes me believe that the people I care about and trust are people to be suspicious of. Every last motive is questioned, and suddenly I ‘realise’ that these are just more people to exploit, use and laugh at me, just like those that have come before.


I talked through my depression with someone close to me a few months ago. He understands, he’s been there himself. He very simply said to me that ‘cheering up’ isn’t what it’s all about; experiencing depression isn’t about being sad. He was right. To me it feels more like being tied to a bed and not being able to make any noise or move. And then being told repeatedly that everyone you trust has betrayed you. And then every negative thought you’ve ever had about yourself being screamed in your face repeatedly. Pleasant, I’m sure you can agree.

A few times on the street I’ve been told ‘Cheer up love, it may never happen’. Well maybe it has, maybe it ALREADY HAS, and it’s a lot worse than you can ever imagine. Maybe I’m seething with bitterness at all the things I’ve endured in my 34 years, and you telling me to cheer up when my mask slips for just a few minutes is actually the last thing I want to hear.

Broken brains tend to be a combination of nature and nuture. In my case my family is riddled with the Black Dog, so there was only a very slim chance I wouldn’t inherit the duff genes. Add to that an emotionally and mentally abusive father, with a bit of physical abuse thrown in just to mix it up, and then being raped by an ex partner in my early twenties, and I guess it’s a classic recipe for mental illness.

I’m having a particularly bleak patch at the moment, and I guess a combination of stress at work, trying to move house, an ill partner and not having taken a week off work for six months have taken their toll. Despite plenty of R&R over the bank holiday weekend I just want to curl up and weep.


I’m learning to be kind to myself and do the things that help me feel stronger, and say no to the things that make me more vulnerable, at least for the time being. Those of you that have never met me, or don’t know me well may be surprised at this darker side, but it’s so important for me to be the wisecracking sociable person I love to be most of the time.


I’ve not written this to gain sympathy, I just want to help break the stigma and grow understanding of what suffering with depression really feels like. So please be normal with me next time you see me, this is my battle. I'm just grateful that more of you might understand what it really feels like.