In December's instalment of her monthly mental health column, writer and author, Beth McColl, looks back on 2022 and explores New Year's anxiety. Beth is the author of 'How to Come Alive Again' which is a relatable and honest practical guide for anyone who has a mental illness. She's also very, very funny on Twitter.
2022 has been a mixed bag of a year. I’ve searched high and low for a snappier and more appropriate phrase but continually came up short. And so I repeat: a mixed bag. A varied clutch. An assorted fanny pack. Like most extended periods of time, it has contained moments that were good, moments that were bad, moments that were frustrating, moments that were exciting, moments that were upsetting, moments that were fun, moments that were uncomfortable, and moments that just were.
The end of a calendar year feels like the perfect time to take inventory of all that’s gone on in the previous twelve months, skim off only the most important lessons learned, the good memories made and leave the rest rotting in the rearview. But what about if the bad outweighed the good in 2022? What if the difficult things are not wrapped up neatly, like Christmas gifts? What if you’re heading into January with more ghosts than Ebenezer Scrooge in a house of mirrors?
“Not to spoil the ending but everything is going to be OK”.
When I imagine time, I picture something stationary that we as sentient beings move towards and then through. Each year appears to me as a shape, a warped oval, a colourful child’s hula hoop that’s been run over several times by a Mini Cooper. At the end of each year, the present moment is threaded onto the next warped oval, and we begin that same course around it, with the days and months lit by different colours depending on their positioning in relation to me, The Observer of The Oval. I’ve been met with enough blank stares, confused looks and suggestions that I read up on something called ‘time-space synaesthesia’ to know now that these visuals are not universal. Some people see time as something fluid, carrying us onwards like so many origami boats on a stream. Others see the months like train tracks or boxes stacked up high. Many people have no associated image whatsoever.
Regardless of what you see or don’t see, I think that the Approaching of the Next Oval (also colloquially known as a ‘new year’) can be a stressful or depressing time for many of us, and I don’t think that’s something to be ashamed of. Every December we’re encouraged to look backwards as we look forwards, compressing and assessing the previous twelve months while also wrestling with the harsh reality that time is an immutable and irrepressible force, relentlessly marching ever onwards. It’s exhausting – especially when done against the backdrop of everyone else’s apparently limitless festivity and good cheer. Under those circumstances even a gum drop of sorrow or regret or apprehension can feel like seasonal blasphemy.
But it isn’t. Allowing any and all of your feelings to emerge without suppression or shame or judgement is important. What happened this year happened and reckoning with it calmly and truthfully doesn’t mean you’re dwelling or being negative or dooming yourself to repeat it.
There's a difference between being alone and being lonely.
Approaching 2023 I feel anxious and unsure. The world feels less stable and less forgiving than ever, and I’m nervous about what’s coming next. I know, though, I’m not alone in this worry, and so I’m trying to give myself (and those around me) as much grace as I can as we move through December and into January. I’m reminding myself that this anxiety about the future exists as an age-old warning system. I’m attempting to predict ahead as a means of self-protection and a way to avoid disaster. Well-meant? Yes. Possible? Unfortunately not. In reality, the only way to realistically keep yourself safe and steady is to accept that there is never any total certainty about what’s to come, learn how to ask for help when help is needed and grow a genuine trust and confidence in your ability to endure and handle difficult moments.
Within the mixed bag of my 2022 there’s grief at the loss of very loved friends. There’s a loss of confidence and purpose that I’ve been working to find again. There’s illness and recovery. There’s uncertainty. But there’s also the times that I pushed and challenged myself in new and exciting ways, tried things that would seemed have totally impossible and so far beyond the reach of my younger self. There’s the moments where I’ve been hurt, but there’s also the ways I was able to take good and deliberate care of myself in the aftermath of that hurt. There’s the attempts I’ve taken to get back in touch with joyful creativity, trying new things without self-consciousness or worry that I won’t be any good. There’s the fun I had, the trips I took, the work I’m proud of, the time I was able to spend my loved ones.
And so I’m going to carry this mixed bag without apology. I’m not going to bullshit everyone about how unbelievably well I’m doing, but nor am I going to tell a sad and inaccurate story about how uniquely hard I’ve had it or how there’s simply no hope for the future. I’m going to locate hope in the fact of my survival and the goodness of the people around me. I’m going do my best to ask for the help I need, give more freely, rest where possible and just tell the truth when I’m able to. I’m going to remind myself that this is enough.
If you are concerned about your mental health, it's always recommended to book an appointment with your GP to discuss diagnosis and treatment. You can find your local GP here.
