Anything, Everything
Stress, anxiety and depression do not need a cause. There isn’t a blueprint to each one with outlined causes and risk factors. Poverty, while a huge risk factor, does not guarantee depression. Likewise, wealth does not guarantee happiness. It’s an age old comparison that we sometimes forget, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to minimise someone’s suffering because we perceive them as privileged. We are all fighting those silent battles.
If you have read any of my earlier blogs, you would know that I love a good list. Or, at least, loved. They’re organised, neat, and just creating one can give you a sense of productivity and control. A list represents order, allotted time for certain tasks.
But there’s another side to them, too. Lists can show you how much you have to get done, how much you think you have to do, just to complete the list. If you’re the way I was, an incomplete list is like having an altogether unproductive day. For me, having just one item left, forgotten about or pushed back until the end of the day, was both frustrating and daunting. If i’m honest, it was usually my 10 minute session on Duolingo, learning some French I probably wouldn’t remember afterwards. If I did it, it was the bare minimum, but it counted, didn’t it?
Not necessarily.
I can’t remember the last list I made. I haven’t abandoned them altogether mind, and that’s not what I’m suggesting. But really, what does a to do list contribute towards getting all that necessary, and unnecessary, stuff done? Because I’ve found that not tying myself to a task not only makes me more productive, but it also leaves me much more free time.
So this year I made a dreaded, apparently doomed to fail new years resolution. Doomed to fail because, beyond the first couple of weeks of January, aren’t resolutions doomed to fail by simple self fulfilling prophesy? I think people make them sometimes just to fail them, and then they can laugh about it later about how naive they were, how hopeful they began the shit storm of a year behind them (for some people, no matter what happened in that year, it’s inevitably going to be branded a shit storm.). There’s almost a culture being created around choosing drinking wine in place of a workout and moaning about the shape of the globe on Facebook. But anyway, I digress. Where was I?
Oh yeah, lists.
So I made a resolution to start learning guitar. Properly, this time. A few of my friends have done it, I started back when I was 14. Despite owning three guitars, one of which I made myself, I never could remember a single chord. I tried to stick to this resolution last year, too, but alas, apparently a pandemic gives you copious amounts of time, but its not always paired with motivation. Usually, I would look at the item on my list marked ‘guitar practice’ and pass it off as unimportant. I’ll do more tomorrow.
Now that I don’t make lists, I not only get to practising every day, but I remember more too. And this hasn’t just been the case for guitar. I decided to start learning Spanish on Duo, and I’m on my 31 day streak. I draw more, I read more, I’m more organised in my yoga and running (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and still manage to keep the apartment tidy, my bearded dragon alive and set aside more hours than I’m happy to admit on the internet to binge watching Supernatural. I’m not humble bragging (okay maybe just a bit, but now that I meditate I think the smug bug has got me just a tinsy bit) but I think this just shows how unessential lists are. A list can organise your time, but they can also create chores out of things you ought to enjoy. Hobbies are there for exactly that. Enjoyment. And as for cleaning, am I wrong for enjoying this too? It’s a part of life, we might as well make the best of it.
My point is, there comes a point where you’re doing things not because you want to, but because you feel like to have to. It’s exhausting, and its not as productive as you think. If you want to do it, do it. But you don’t have to. And don’t be scared to have a nothing day. Brains get tired, you know.
I’ve always said that as long as I get on with my colleagues, can support myself, and not dread going into work every day, I’ll be happy in what ever I do. We are all cogs, paramount in keeping the world turning.
A couple of times however, I have doubted my own stance. For most of my working life, the jobs I have had had fulfilled the above. But I always felt I could do more. Those around me expressed that they thought I could do more. Sometimes, it makes you think that just being content isn’t the be all and end all.
But should pushing yourself to fulfill your potential mean sacrificing your comfort?
Today, we are encouraged to look after our mental health much more than we used to. But there are still gaps, reminiscent of the days of not so old, in which employers exhibit a kind of disregard for their employees. Mental health related sick days are still fairly unheard of. For most, the idea of calling in to work after a panic attack and telling the truth about why you don’t want to come into work might seem either mortifying, weak, or may actually be detrimental to our job security. But remember, you’re working to live – not living to work.
Back in 2019, I was between jobs, and got accepted by a pensions company in my area. It was perfect for me. I knew people there, it was close by. Upon starting, I discovered an array of career advancement opportunities that were preached to us every day for the three week long initiation. Plus, I love a good course. There were courses aplenty. Further, the place had its own coffee shop and a canteen that served steak on Thursdays.
But then the proper training started. The office was filled with either the prototype company people who can’t say a bad word (like, can’t) and the ones who’s souls had left and never came back. And while everyone else was to start on a simple task to get to know the system, another trainee and myself were put on the most complex one there was. No one agreed with this choice, but our team leader had none of it.
Over the next two months, I had one long cold and many chats with my coworker about how bad our lot was. We trained for weeks, and picked up only a hand full. Each catch up with our TL left us more disenchanted with the place, and more than a reasonable amount of my wage was spent on ham and cheese croissants just to make the day bearable. For lunch, I would take a walk. Each time I left the building, I had to drag myself back.
Then came the day when people started leaving. By the time I had made my choice to try and like the place, over half of my intake had vanished, never to be seen again. Stress was the leading reason. On my last day, I took a stroll to the local pond, and told myself I could just not turn up again. It was bad work practice, but hell, it would be satisfying. My coworker had also caused herself so much stress that she disclosed to me some personal health issues she’d been having.
The following day I called in, and left.
Preceeding this, I had taken 2 consecutive sick days due to a panic attack the night before. I requested a meeting with my TL to discuss moving onto another task, but she monopolised the conversation with my errors, ignoring or disregarding my points. It was an office with a high staff turn over, so they couldn’t afford for people to move.
So, what was so stressful about this job? Nothing, really. And yet, it was stressful nonetheless. It wasnt the job, it was the work environment. Unreasonable expectations of new, fresh starters. Above all, a hypocritical attitude that we should be, among other skills, able to handle mentally vulnerable customers with due care. What about us?
The thing is, while work places have taken strides in mental health education and awareness, some of them have been dragged kicking and screaming into acknowledging that they employ humans with minds and emotions. There’s still a long way to go, and, while it may not sound like a biggy, remember; work is a staple of our routine. It’s something we do every day. Would you rather do something that’s judged as worthwhile at the cost of your happiness? My fiance did; he went down the teacher route. And goodness, he hated it. Ironically, he moved to the place I discussed above, and while it’s not perfect, its a damn sight less stressful.
Paint a Mental Picture 