Getting Your Head Out of It- on mental health and writing

‘They teach you how to get into that mindset but not out of it’

A conversation I had with an actor a few weeks ago has really stuck with me. Whether it’s as a writer, actor, director or anyone else associated with making theatre (and other work). You naturally absorb some of what you’re working on.

You need to be a certain kind of empath to do some of this work, and that has an impact. That doesn’t mean going scary Daniel Day Lewis levels of ‘method’ (hey whatever works for you boo but you probably don’t need to go and live in the mountains for 3 months unless you’re Bear Grylls). But it does mean whether writer, actor, director or whoever a certain level of being ‘in it’ with whatever the story is. And while we’re keen to praise actors and writers who ‘go there’ to tell a particular kind of story (and directors et al who get them there), we don’t really talk about what happens after- the mental health impact, the fact those stories ‘stay with you’ sometimes. And how you cope while you’re doing it even.

Getting ‘to’ or ‘in’ that frame of mind is actually the ‘easy’ part. Actors are taught tools for that. Directors techniques for developing that. Writers…we largely stumble our way into it, and how we ‘experience’ it is likely fairly personal. For me I always feel like my characters are friends I’m watching go through whatever it is. Without wanting to get too ‘writer wanker’ they kind of largely dictate their own story, after I’ve done the ‘groundwork’ of research and planning. So, I end up sitting with it all in my head for some time before the characters eventually ‘tell me’ the story and it’s on the page. Getting there then in some respects is the easy part. It’s what you do with all that information, and all the emotional fallout after. And for writers, who usually sit with it for far longer than anyone else, when it’s been there for so long, how you learn to let it go- or at least file it away, while preserving your own mental health is a tough one.

I blogged the whole process of my play- writing to production- but I haven’t been able to write about the actual production, or the aftermath. Partly because I couldn’t quite formulate anything to say. Partly because the aftermath of it hit me hard.

The weeks after the play was on were a fairly dark one mentally. It was in part yes, an exhaustion element, adrenaline crash, call it whatever you like of it being ‘over’. The time a play is on is mentally exhausting- the act of doing it is terrifying. It’s the contents of your brain laid bare for people to judge after all. And then it’s over and the world moves on. And after something you’ve put months, sometimes years into- of pouring everything into a project, one with many a setback and ups and downs, there’s bound to be a moment of ‘fallout’ or a ‘crash’. And we need to prepare ourselves better- and support one another.

But equally there’s seeing that world you ‘lived in’ in your head alive again that affects you. Watching the piece, talking about the piece again, you end up with the swirling mass of stories inside your head again. And unlike acting where to a degree you can come up with the artificial division of ‘onstage and off’ there’s not the same ‘off switch’.

My play was about some pretty serious subject matter. Some pretty emotive stuff. And while I’ve gotten something of a reputation for being the go-to for matter- of- fact -chatter about death, and a weird niche knowledge of funeral practices and etiquette (Undertaker YouTube my friends, Undertaker YouTube). All that comes from a place of a need to tell those stories. And that need comes from a place of those things affecting you in one way or another. And there’s not necessarily and off switch for that that comes easily. And I found that hard after this most recent project. In part as well, some unfortunate real-life coinciding with themes in the play- old and new wounds being opened. And we shouldn’t discount that- the real world continues, the things that perhaps inspired the writing to begin with continue- whether that’s political chaos or cancer, those things will continue to exist in the ‘real world’ and perhaps cut deeper for a time, having spent so much time ‘in it’. For me it was a friend losing a relative to cancer, the anniversary of my own father’s death (which I never normally remember let alone mark), a chronic illness flare (probably brought on by stress, but a reminder of feeling like I too was dying exactly five years before). And who knows what else. For about three weeks it felt like I was under a cloud. And trying to take a break between projects, being creatively burnt out, meant I had nowhere to ‘put’ any of that emotion. Again, we learn how to get into it…but not back out again.

You have to put yourself in that headspace, whatever part of the process you belong to, to different degrees, in different ways and for different lengths of time. Being naturally empaths as writers (most of us) those things hit us. All this came together for me because of the place of ‘ripping open’ those elements, those places I’d needed to ‘go to’ in order to write the thing. Because again as ‘artists’ of whatever kind we need to go to those places mentally to make the work. But coming back from them we’re sort of left alone. And it’s a thing we don’t talk about often enough. We talk about the mental health impact of the ‘industry’ side of things. Of rejections, and body image, competitiveness, insecurity. And it’s vital we do. But we forget to talk about the impact of the work itself. Of what telling these stories does to you.

Ultimately, I ran a half marathon and that half ‘fixed me’ then I got properly ill for a week, and then I picked myself up again and moved onto the next project. None of which is a proper way of dealing with the mental health impact of a big project but we all do what we do. But we should as a collective, as an industry be taking all this more seriously.  

And as a footnote, it’s not only the ‘creatives’ in the traditional sense. And I’m not sure where this fits in, but I know in my academic work, in absorbing myself in the world of the AIDS crisis, that history, those narratives, people’s stories…I get the same way. Over the last few years, talking t a few people who have worked on these plays, they say the same thing- it gets under your skin, it affects you. And that’s just my corner of the sky, it’s no doubt the same in other pockets of similarly themed work and history. To do it right we have to be passionate about it, invested in it. But we should also be aware about the impact it has. I feel in my little ‘AIDS theatre’ niche part of a weird club, a little like AA in that we only know what that particular feeling is like- it’s like a historical weight of responsibility and grief. And that’s an interesting headspace to be in. And a fairly niche one.

I remember reading in a book as a kid something along the lines of ‘to make something good you have to give a piece of yourself away and never give it back’ I still believe in that. But I think we all need to get better at putting ourselves back together.

Will Run for Cake

We all love a running bore right? I mean especially on the week every dudebro you know is wanging on about the London Marathon Ballot (honestly, they’re luckily that the Coleen Rooney story broke the same day for distraction). But as it’s been a while (and nobody cares) it’s time for more chatting about running. But here's a story of how this moose will indeed run for cake. 

I did the Cardiff Half Marathon this weekend. Not bad for a former fat kid, who falls over thin air and hates team sports. Also not bad for one who 5 years ago was pretty damn ill, and who still quite often runs a danger of actually poo-ing herself/losing part of my intestines (hello it has been 0 days since I talked about poo). And yes, for most of the run I thought my intestines were going to actually rise up and strangle my own body (that's what it felt like) and yes there were moments of 'oh shiiiit' panic. Literally. But I made it round without stopping, and ran the whole way. And only once between the bottom of Roath Park and the old people's home did I seriously consider stopping. And I enjoyed it (aside from the searing stomach pain). And what's more training for it did me the world of good mentally as well as physically. 

I loved running the race (Except for Roath Park lake. Me and that lake are not friends.)it was a fantastic experience and for someone who hates any kind of participation activity and any activity that involves crowds, I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed it. The idea also that for once I wasn’t ‘the worst’ at a sport was a revelation and the idea that even if I was, even if I had come last out of all 27, 000 people, it wouldn’t have mattered, was something of a revelation for someone who associates sport participation with jeering not cheering. And there's no denying I'm fitter- I was in a fitness rut of shuffling out for the odd run, and doing the same old same old in the gym. And there's an immense amount of satisfaction from going from 'I hate running even 5k' to '5K is a short stroll around the block and I enjoy a 10k run' (I don't ENJOY anything over 10k still) 

I was also very proud to be part of team big moose. For a local charity who do amazing things, and are amazingly supportive people, that felt important. As much as every charity is worthy it feels more special to do something you can see the impact of.

And in the wider sense, doing the half marathon has had a lot of positive impact on me.

’ve talked a lot about mental health and running previously and having the half to train for has been so important in the last couple of months. When I signed up I said it was in part to have something (anything) that wasn’t ‘work’. Aside from choir (which again has amazing mental health benefits) most of my socialising and hobbies still revolve around theatre and as much as I enjoy that I needed something that was ‘not work’. I also needed something to stop me working. Because having a ‘day job’ and about 1000 ‘side hustles’ I can have weeks where all of my time is spent working in one capacity or another. But with 13 miles to run, I had to make myself go out and run. And by default, take time off.

It’s also been a pretty intense last month- my play (which I’ll get to writing about in its own blog) was on, and that took a lot out of me, and had a massive strain on my mental health. A good few weeks later I’m still drained from it. But having the run to concentrate on directly after was the best thing for me-it was another ‘thing’ to work towards. And as much as I’m not a runner who uses the time as ‘deep thinking time’ (I don’t think I’m that deep) just a break to not think, away from phones, screens and other people is also important in the wanky but important ‘self-care’ umbrella. In creative pursuits your identity becomes so entwined with what you do, it’s easy to forget being a person. And in a tiny way running, and running for a goal is a way of reclaiming some of that.

But it’s also worth saying that running isn’t a) a magic mental health bullet and b) not without its challenges. As someone whose mental health is often tied to body image/insecurities/weight the running ‘community’ or running in general is a fine line between help and hinderance. I’m not competitive in the larger sense- partly why me and sport don’t get on, balls fly at my head and I shrug and look at them when they land next to me.

But previous issues with weight have made me hyper conscious. I walk a fine line between healthy exercise and being obsessive/compulsive about how much I exercise/how much I ‘have’ to exercise. And I do compare myself to others in that respect. I also had to try really hard to shut out additional ‘noise’ about weight loss around running. And try and tell myself it didn’t matter that I didn’t lose any weight while training, that’s not why I did it (despite the voices in my head/the wider world feeling like they judge me for it). I chose not to follow any diet plans, partly through laziness admittedly, but also because subconsciously I knew that would be a slippery slope of too much focus on weight loss and control over what I eat, how much I run etc. Equally I monitored distance and time while on runs, partly out of necessity knowing what distances I covered. But trying not to make comparisons about times. I could never use one of those community fitness apps because the comparisons between mine and other times/durations of exercise would be too much. There’s a lot of unhealthy mentality about exercise out there, a lot of unhealthy competition about it and weight loss- especially among women- and it was something in training for this race became increasingly conscious of shielding myself from.

Equally, taking part in a participatory sport for the first time in probably 15 years, brought with it a whole set of insecurities born of years of horrific PE in school and generally being the fat uncoordinated kid who couldn’t do sport. Some of this was brought home the first time I tried on my race T shirt. It was too tight and I looked like a fat marshmallow. Flashbacks to PE kit that never fit properly and being mocked because the netball vests didn’t fit. In general, the idea of wearing something ‘unflattering’ that people would call me ‘fat’ in wasn’t the greatest. Luckily the lovely big moose team gave me a different one and I tried to remind myself shirt size didn’t matter (again school PE flashbacks and general anxiety about clothing size is hard to block out). But still my training run wearing the shirt was horrible. Equally similar thoughts of being called a Moose in it (despite affectionally referring to myself as that) did nothing to quell the memories of being called ‘Emily the elephant’ at school (not so original the kids in my school).

And on that note, it's a real shocker to me that I've shared any pictures of me in my running gear. 

And the memories of being just shit at sports prevail. Not only from being a fat kid, but being a fat dyspraxix introvert who had zero interest in competitive sport tied with zero coordination. Being mocked for having no athletic ability will haunt you. And while I know, to quote a sign on the route ‘Finish lines not finish times’ matter. And while I also know that my finish time of 2.33 was entirely respectable for a first half marathon in which my last three weeks of training went to hell it’s not easy to quiet those thoughts. The idea of people saying ‘yeah you did it but look how slow you are’ is what people are thinking is a terrible hangover from the worst of school PE lessons, and being an un-sporty kid.

So, it wasn’t always easy, or straightforward from a mental health point of view. Equally pushing myself through the difficult miles when in my head I’m ‘not sporty’ was hard. But I also never doubted for a minute I would do it- one way or another. People kept asking if I was nervous, and no I never was, I knew I could get around 13 miles. I knew if I fell over I’d probably get back up. And weirdly in a life of great uncertainty generally, I haven’t been so certain of anything in a long time. I don’t know if that’s a testament to the power of self belief or a metaphor for keeping going no matter what. But I did it and I always knew I could.

I’ve since been rewarded with a horrible cold and feeling like hell for a week. Which I think is the physical response to ‘finally’ stopping and so crashing a little bit. But this morning I signed up to do it all again next year.

If you’d still like to sponsor me for this year’s and help big moose continue their good work you can here. I'm £50 off £600 currently...

And post run cake. Because fat kids run for cake.