Since my mum became depressed, I’ve come to realize that mental health, and not just mental illness, is something to be managed.

I thought at one point that she would just get better; but she didn’t. She cycles in and out of her condition. Because she couldn’t read any longer (she had always loved books, but even this changed), I started to (as did my father): memoirs, self-help books, depression handbooks, psychology manuals, anything connected, even tangentially.

And what I came across, again and again, were lists, endless lists, of the multiple things that people have done, or need to do, to either cope or survive, depending on the severity of their situation. And although each person tailors their plan to their particular needs, the same components come up again and again.

For mental illness specifically: finding the right doctor, discerning if there is a medical origin that is causing the condition, and working out the right combination of antidepressants and other medications.

But on a more universal level, irrespective of psychological and emotional balance, there are these things: therapy, exercise, eating well, fish oils, sleep, light, getting involved with something, getting connected to people, more doing, less thinking, developing a gratitude practice, developing one’s emotional intelligence, meditation, compassion, and having a spiritual practice, however defined.

And as I read for her, I started to read for myself. I realized that I don’t want that future; I don’t want what happened to her to happen to me. So the question became not just how we start to build the scaffolding of recovery but how can we provide a structure for maintaining our own mental wellbeing.

Maybe we have an exercise routine that compliments our working day, but we don’t socialize; maybe we have the active social life, but neglect what we put into our bodies and what we do with them; maybe we spend time locked in libraries and minds, with no outlet for activity or awe.

How do we make sure that we pay as much attention to the texture of our lives as well as the shape of our careers; to make looking after ourselves as legitimate as heading to the gym; of consciously and systematically developing a life practice that supports us through any emotional state and life situation. We each have a different way of operating in the world; most of the time though we overlook what that is. How do we actively engage a life practice, allocate space for it, and even define what this is?

As they say, it's personal: David Smith in Monkey Mind describes the approach that he has figured out to deal with his anxiety like this:

So it has been that, over and over again, through the years, I have relapsed and returned, relapsed and returned. With no perfect discipline the relapses are inevitable, but I have learned to take measures so that they don’t last as long as they once did, and so that the returns last longer and are less volatile. I have learned that the best safeguards against nervous collapse are responsibilities: jobs, contracts, assignments, and, above all, the blessed, bracing restraints of human relationships...

When I slip back into anxious rumination, I keep it to myself, or off-load it on Kate and others who don’t have to live with me. I take the time to reacquaint myself with Brian’s methods, which I now know to have a name—cognitive therapy—and a worldwide popularity. I meditate. I read The Book of Scott and the scattered bits of wisdom and comfort I’ve gathered on my own over the years. I even do my mother’s breathing exercises.

And when nothing else works, I recall a little perspective-shifting trick Brian taught me just before I came around to doing the real therapeutic work. It was a simple trick—silly, really. I almost refused to do it. But something told me I should try, and I’m grateful I did.

Here was the trick: Whenever I felt my mind tracing dire consequences again, Brian said, whenever I felt it spinning out its cruel, imaginative horrors, simply lift my eyes, raise my hands, and shout, “Bring it on! Lemme see what you’ve got!”

That's his life practice. While writing in Coming of Age on Zoloft, author Katherine Sharpe worked this out about her relationship with depression:

As we put the basic pieces of the system in place, I realized that there were some things that were true whether I was on medication or not. Connections made me happy. Transitions were hard. I realized how many of my depressions had come at times when structure—school, a relationship, a job—was withdrawn, severing many familiar routines in one swoop. I started to appreciate that if I did certain things (spend time with a good friend, go to the gym, say “no” to obligations I didn’t really have time for), I’d feel better, and if I did other things (spend too much time without seeing people, pile on more commitments than I could manage in a certain span of time, indulge my crush on that emotionally vacant guy), I’d feel worse. Feelings, even my feelings, were subject to their own rules of cause and effect.

But developing a positive life practice is crucial for everyone; not just those with a discernible condition or particular situation to counter. Joe’s Daughter aims to sample the different possibilities for what a life practice can be, and consist of, across multiple fields, including but not limited to psychology and therapy, art and design, food and community, wellbeing and movement. Whether that’s to identify something for her, for me, or for you.

To end with the same thought with which Elyn Saks concludes her memoir The Center Cannot Hold:

What I rather wish to say is that the humanity we all share is more important than the mental illness we may not. With proper treatment, someone who is mentally ill can lead a full and rich life. What makes life wonderful—good friends, a satisfying job, loving relationships—is just as valuable for those of us who struggle with schizophrenia as for anyone else.

If you are a person with mental illness, the challenge is to find the life that’s right for you. But in truth, isn’t that the challenge for all of us, mentally ill or not? My good fortune is not that I’ve recovered from mental illness. I have not, nor will I ever. My good fortune lies in having found my life.

life practice

Joe's Daughter