When my father died in 2016, I was just 23 years old and at the beginning of my career. I had already quit my first-ever ‘proper’ job in order to go home, look after him and spend those final few weeks by his side, so it felt like the only thing to do was to get back to work and claw back some of the time that I’d missed. There was, of course, the financial strain too. I was living with my then-boyfriend and some friends, and the lack of income for those few months was already starting to take its toll. I needed to pay rent and didn’t have the luxury of taking yet more time off. And so I sent a flurry of applications out, hoping something would stick. Luckily, not only did I get a job in a matter of weeks, I got my first journalism gig and entered the industry I had always wanted to break into. What also suited me about it was the chaos of the newsroom. Unlike most 9 to 5 jobs, news is thrilling, gruelling and all-encompassing. You cannot help but be absorbed by it – and at that time, it was the perfect distraction for me.
Just a few months in, though, the work had already started affecting my relationships and wellbeing. My boyfriend and I barely saw one another as I was getting in at 7.30am while he was getting ready to go to work; I rarely met up with friends as my days off never lined up with theirs; and the solo overnight shifts that I was so regularly doing back then meant that I barely spoke to anyone at all – and had lots of time to ruminate. That didn’t stop me though. While I spotted the signs of a breakdown well before it happened, I couldn’t bring myself to take my foot off the gas. I was too scared of facing my grief that I suppressed it at all costs. Instead, I threw myself into work, I strived to be the very best and also went hard on the social side of things, regularly going to the pub with my colleagues and burning the candle at both ends. I wanted to be everything to everyone and not just some damaged, fragile person who was defined by her loss.
But then it all came crashing down about three years later, when me and my partner had broken up, I had cut off contact with some of my oldest friends and I was living with a random girl I didn’t know. I recall sitting on my bathroom floor, the cold tiles seeping into my bones and my wet hair dripping puddles around me. I was sobbing so hard that I could barely breathe and was biting down on my hand to muffle the sound. In that moment, I could think of no other way out than to end things. For emotional support you can call the Samaritans 24-hour helpline on 116 123 , email jo@samaritans.org , visit a Samaritans branch in person or go to the Samaritans website . If you’re a young person, or concerned about a young person, you can also contact PAPYRUS Prevention of Young Suicide UK. Their HOPELINK digital support platform is open 24/7, or you can call 0800 068 4141 , text 07860039967 or email: pat@papyrus-uk.org between the hours of 9am and midnight.
My thoughts were cut off by my flatmate knocking on the door. I yelled out for her to give me a minute, before I slinked back to my room and devised a plan. To me, at that moment in time, it felt like no one could relate to my experience. And worst still, it felt like no one cared to understand. As I write this now, it brings up a whole range of emotions. It saddens me to think that my former self was so deeply unhappy and disconnected from the world. It saddens me to think that she thought the only way out was if she was no longer in existence. And I won’t lie, it was hard to get past these overbearing and ever-present thoughts. Nor can I truthfully say that I haven’t been back to that dark place since. But through the help of professionals and by opening up to my family somewhat, I battled to stay alive. It’s why watching The Bear has really hit a nerve with me – both in terms of its themes of suicide and grief. I see Carmy’s quiet struggles and how he suppresses the rage caused by his brother’s death. The only time he lets his anguish out is while in the kitchen, with misdirected bursts of anger and frustration. He also, quite frequently, acts in isolation, without a second thought about what his behaviour does to those around him. I can relate to this completely. I, too, used to lash out for seemingly no good reason. Of course, it rarely had anything to do with the situation at hand, but I also couldn’t stop myself.
When you lose someone so close to you and at such a pivotal time in your life, you can’t help but feel pissed off at and cheated by the world. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I often resented people more fortunate around me. It wasn’t about self-pity, but, rather, anger that some people go their whole lives without experiencing any pain, setbacks or loss. But that’s a dangerous line to take and inevitably closes you off from other people. After all, they can’t help being fortunate any more so than you can help being unfortunate. Also like Carmy, I found it the most difficult to talk about these feelings with my family. It sounds odd, seeing as they also went through it, but sometimes it all felt too much; too close to home. It’s taken years to get to the point where I feel able to open up to them about that time.
According to counsellor Georgina Starmer , it’s natural to seek a distraction when facing such complex emotions. ‘To find something predictable, safe and secure that we can use to take ourselves away from these feelings is common,’ she tells me. There is no ‘right’ way to process grief, but there are certain steps you can take to help navigate your emotions. Sue Ryder’s associate director of bereavement, Bianca Neumann, says: However, she also warns that by doing that, our feelings can make themselves known in sudden unpredictable ways. ‘That could be though outbursts of anger or panic attacks, for example, or through physical sensations or symptoms, aches and pains, and sleeplessness. It’s important to remember that these feelings don’t just go away.’ But distraction can play a healthy role, too. ‘Grief isn’t a short contained process, with a neat beginning and ending,’ she explains. ‘It’s a new part of our life story. It can ebb and flow, and we learn how to cope with it and to grow around it. ‘And so our work commitments can help us to feel a sense of stability, to act as an anchor when everything around us has become destabilised. It also allows us to feel a sense of normality when everything around us has changed.’
Similarly, associate director of bereavement at Sue Ryder , Bianca Neumann, says that work can sometimes provide a positive distraction. She also advises that, if you do return to work after experiencing loss, it might be helpful to have a chat with your employer. ‘Grief can sometimes go unnoticed and impact our thinking and planning, affecting our work performance,’ she says. ‘It’s important to allow space for grief, as stress triggers a fight or flight response, overwhelming our thinking part of the brain with emotions.’ Interestingly, Sharon Jenkins, bereavement counsellor at Marie Curie , says that people can also fall into a trap of leaning on colleagues in these times. ‘Most of us spend the better part of our waking hours at the workplace, surrounded by people who, though they get the lion’s share of our time, may not be our friends,’ she notes. ‘While we may pass more time with them than with our spouses, family members, and friends, our interactions are often superficial, and our conversations may not run deep.’ Ultimately, Bianca says it’s crucial to listen to your inner voice. ‘You should ask yourself, “What do I need now?”’
The only plans I made after that point were travel-related, as I embarked on a two-month solo trip around America. I suppose that in itself was a form of escapism, but personally it felt more like a life raft and something to bring me back some joy and purpose. I have since channelled some of those feelings into my work, frequently writing about the impacts of grief . I share what I (and my family) feel comfortable with, but in many ways it’s cathartic and helps me process the monumental loss .
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Have I stopped being a workaholic? Absolutely not. Has it become an extension of my personality? Probably, yes. But I am much better equipped to deal with my moods and my grief now. I don’t believe it has gone away – nor that it will ever fully disappear from my life. And in a way, I’ve never wanted it to, because it feels like the last tangible link to my dad. Run clubs have become our new nightclubs – here’s why
That said, I’ve gotten to the point where I can face my feelings head on. I can pre-empt to some degree when these emotions will be brought on. And, more importantly, I have given myself permission to feel happiness and let go of some of that trauma as well. After all, that’s what he would have wanted for me. Do you have a story to share? Get in touch by emailing MetroLifestyleTeam@Metro.co.uk . MORE : Sleeping in separate beds has done wonders for my sex life MORE : I’m a proud queer man, but I used to say this one homophobic phrase MORE : I was just six when I was raped – it took decades to get over the trauma Sign up to our guide to what’s on in London, trusted reviews, brilliant offers and competitions. London’s best bits in your inbox By ticking this box, you confirm you are over the age of 18*. Privacy Policy »
