What can you do to support people who are feeling sad and worried about the same things that are affecting you?
Can we be of much help to someone when we step down into the hole they appear to have fallen into?
“I expect everyone is talking about the war,” a client says to me in the clinic.
Although it’s a topic that’s coming up frequently it isn’t raised as often as you might think. This is handy as my last contribution to an anxious discussion on the possibility of imminent annihilation was, “I can’t do anything about it so I’m trying not to worry.”
When I’m asked to write a piece for business leaders to support their people through anxiety about war I have to confront my own limited and rudimentary distraction tactics.
“Limit your exposure to news and social media”, is my first suggestion.
It’s 6.00 am and I can feel something against my leg. The puppy, now the size of a fully grown dog, has crawled into bed, snuggled down against me, and gone back to sleep. I am now wide awake.
I check my phone and navigate straight to the news to read about a nuclear power plant being attacked which is not the best start to the day and has me wrestling with my emotions all the way through breakfast and half the morning.
“Look for balance and seek out things that inspire a feeling of joy”, is my next pearl of wisdom.
I go on to describe how an early morning walk with the dogs clears my mind and creates a sense of serene wellbeing.
In the park, now nearing sexual maturity, the puppy has discovered the delight of rolling in fox shit.
Seeing her sniffing frantically I run towards her waving my arms and shouting, “No” and “Leave” whilst she looks at me with bemusement.
Behind me, Daisy, seeing that I am distracted, has found a dead squirrel and is taking great pleasure in rolling across its rotten innards.
“Beware of destructive soothing”, I tell my audience.
Part of doing this effectively is the avoidance of comfort eating.
Tired from my unexpected early morning wake-up, and the extensive cleaning job I’ve had to do on both dogs after my relaxing morning walk I can’t be bothered to make a proper lunch.
It’s a crisp week this week (I have to limit myself to having crisps in the house every fortnight because I can’t trust myself not to eat too many) so I pull a big sharing bag of cheese and onion down from the top of the fridge.
Daisy looks up from her slumber so I turn the kettle on to prevent her from hearing the packet opening and then coming to sit in front of me drooling all over the kitchen floor.
I eat most of the pack followed by three chocolate digestives and a cup of strong coffee. I begin to feel a little nauseous.
I get an email about the piece I wrote.
“Just to say a huge thanks for putting this together. It’s been really well received by a number of companies. Do you think you could do a presentation on sleep and mental health later this month, its National Sleep Day?”
“Sure, that’s no problem.”
In bed, I am looking at a map of Russia marveling at its sheer size.
I turn out the light, close my eyes, and wonder if I remembered to lock the back door.
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