Here I go. Into the blogging world. What do I write about? Lord knows. But there’s going to be something, isn’t there, that brings me here right now.
Today is the first day of another lock down in the UK. My opinions about that are not important, though I think we probably wouldn’t be here if people just stopped blaming the government for their own actions. If you don’t think it’s safe, don’t do it. Simple.
Aaaaanyway, as with a lot of people during this pandemic, I have been remote working. It was great at first. Loved it. Set up my own desk, took time during meetings to complete painting commissions and what not. My work space doubled up as a gym, too. Yoga during downtime and a jog at lunch. Fabulous.
And then the doubts began. I’d been at this company for several months, and during this remote working I realised that I’d been remote working for longer that I’d actually worked in the office with my colleagues. That was alright with me, but it got me thinking. Take away the commute, the colleagues and the planning of your outfit for the following day, what have you got? In my case, an unfulfilling job, which stripped back actually shows a bunch of people with a disproportionate belief of it’s importance during this, I’m going to say it, unprecedented time.
I know, I’m fortunate to have a job that has gone otherwise totally uninterrupted. By comparison to many, my experience of the pandemic has been a privileged one. But as someone with a keen interest in mental health currently studying for a masters in Mental Health Science, does that privilege mean that those in similar positions must look around as their days cover less physical ground with the extra pressure of feeling that their mental health is less important?
Paint a Mental Picture 