About a decade and a half ago I was diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder by a clinical psychologist.
I had gone to my doctor for help with a variety of symptoms: insomnia, hair loss, brain fog, headaches, a general listlessness and feeling of dread.
I was struggling to sleep at night but desperate to curl up on the sofa during the day. I found ordinary, everyday tasks such as getting the kids up in the morning, or even just showering and dressing, overwhelming. I wore the same black clothes, day in, day out. Every-thing ached.
I struggled to concentrate and forgot everything. Simple tasks such as remembering to tax the car or paying a bill would send me into a tailspin. I felt like the sky was falling, the walls closing in. And the worst part was, I had no idea why.
There was no earthly justification for it. I had two lovely children, a great job, a sympathetic, successful husband and a glamorous, well-connected social life. I was hanging out with movie stars, princes and prime ministers, my mantelpiece was groaning with coveted invitations – and yet in my head I was an abject failure.
But that’s the nature of the beast: mental illness is not a rational condition, nor is it easily understood by those who have never experienced it. And it manifests in myriad ways, for any number of different reasons.
I was prescribed antidepressants, which I didn’t want to take. Like many of my generation I was brought up to believe that taking pills was a sign of weakness. Even a paracetamol was considered a bit of a cop-out, let alone the antidepressants I was given.
Again, I worried that taking them would make me a failure, and that they would affect my ability to… well, be me.
Sarah Vine ‘felt like the sky was falling, the walls closing in’ – and had no idea why. Then she was diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder
There was no earthly justification for it. I had two lovely children, a great job, a sympathetic, successful husband (pictured together) and a glamorous, well-connected social life
Then again, I hated me. So I took them and they worked. By which I mean they muffled my head noise sufficiently to allow me some mental clarity. They dulled other things too, but that seemed like a price worth paying. They were a crutch that allowed me to get back up on my feet again. I was grateful. More importantly, I was able to function.
You see, for me simply not functioning was not an option. I did not have the luxury of checking out, no matter how much I wanted to.
It wasn’t just that there were too many people relying on me – not least my children, who deserved a functioning mother (it broke my heart a couple of years ago when, talking about that time, my son recalled that he just assumed all mothers spent half the day in bed) – but I also knew that if I gave in to this thing it would consume me.
Hard as it was – and there were times when it felt like I was climbing K2 – I knew I needed the routine of family life, the interaction with friends and, above all, the challenges of work. They were the things that got me out of bed in the morning. Without them I would have sunk deeper into the abyss.
That is why the news last week that a record number of people – 650,000 according to data for July, and growing at a rate of 250 per day – are now claiming disability benefits for anxiety, is for me so worrying.
Anxiety – and depression in general – is not a ‘disability’, it’s a disorder. It’s not the same as, for example, having learning difficulties. It can be treated and even overcome. But you can’t do that if you’re paid to stay at home.
Of course, if someone is in the acute stage of mental illness, they may need a period of financial support. And there are some psychiatric patients who are genuinely too ill to hold down a job.
But when it comes to anxiety, the more you give into it, the more it eats away at you. It’s a vicious cycle that can steal your life away.
Having a purpose – whether it’s dependants, a job, even just a dog that needs walking twice a day (in my case all of the above) – is crucial, and often a big part of the cure. After all, the last thing someone suffering from acute anxiety needs is more time to dwell on things, more time to catastrophise and fret or, in the case of today’s digital world, disappear down internet rabbit holes or entertain mad conspiracy theories.
You can’t treat this country’s mental health struggles by encouraging people to just give up. That way true madness lies.
By all means offer support – but do it in the form of medication, therapy, other treatments – and by tackling the root causes of people’s problems, be they societal breakdown, drug abuse, sub-standard education or lack of opportunity. Just throwing cash at people and hoping they’ll work it out is just about the worst thing you can do – not to mention a hopelessly defeatist policy.
Everyone I have known who has struggled with anxiety and depression – including myself – has only ever wanted to feel normal again. The best way to do that is to become a functioning, useful member of the human race. And that does not mean being incentivised to sit on the sofa and do nothing with the rest of your life.
Get up, get dressed, get out there – and get on with it.
It’s never easy, I understand that, but with the right help and support it is possible. Trust me, it’s better than the alternative.
Disgrace of NHS doctor’s rants
How is it possible that an NHS doctor who openly celebrated the October 7 attacks and praised two terrorists who attacked a bus in Jerusalem remains in her public sector job?
Dr Rahmeh Aladwan has been allowed to keep her job, despite a string of tweets ranting about ‘Jewish supremacy’
The General Medical Council had sought a suspension for Dr Rahmeh Aladwan, a trainee trauma and orthopaedics surgeon, but the Medical Practitioners Tribunal Service rejected this request on Thursday. In Aladwan’s statement on X, formerly Twitter, she doubled down, saying that ‘Hamas should be de-proscribed’ and ranted about ‘Jewish supremacy’.
She claims that she is merely exercising her right to free speech, but her views are clearly racist. Such an individual should not be in receipt of a taxpayer-funded salary – or anywhere near a hospital where Jewish patients might seek treatment, for that matter. Chilling.
Good of Wayne Rooney to acknowledge his wife Coleen’s role in keeping him on the straight and narrow. ‘I honestly believe if she weren’t there, I’d be dead,’ he said. How many partners could say that but are too proud to admit it? Trust me: it never hurts to recognise these things.
Lustrous Lumley is just fab
No wonder the King invited her to Balmoral: there is no one more fabulously British than Joanna Lumley
A hilarious survey has revealed the nation’s favourite obsessions, with the Royal Family topping the list. Also on it are the weather, dogs, gravy and biscuits (the holy trinity of family life). Sadly, my own obsession is not on there: Joanna Lumley. Charm, grace, beauty, a sense of humour and (I’m told) generous to a fault. No wonder the King invited her to Balmoral: there is no one more fabulously British than Joanna.
And the award for attention-seeking killjoy of the year goes to… no, not Greta Thunberg, but the ex-wife of Colin Firth, ‘eco-fashion’ campaigner Livia Firth, who tore up her MBE in protest at what she called Britain’s ‘appeasement’ of Donald Trump. One does slightly feel for poor Colin.
My failure as a roasty hostess
I asked friends to join me and the kids on holiday. One night, they made supper and produced roast potatoes so delicious there’s been talk of nothing else since. I tried to emulate them and the look of disappointment on my progeny’s faces was lacerating. Never invite culinary geniuses away!
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