From Suit to lock up in Hospital Crisis Unit:
I had the kind of job people call “stable.” Decent salary, good reputation, everything ticking along. On paper, I was the last person anyone would imagine being sectioned. Hell, I didn’t imagine it.
But behind the LinkedIn photo and the polite small talk, PTSD was eating away at me. It crept in quietly, then exploded into mania. I thought I was being followed. Watched. Hacked. The picture in my head was 100% real to me, and yet when I tried to explain it to people, it came out all wrong.
Some believed me. Others didn’t. Meanwhile, I kept working, answering emails, putting on the mask. To the outside world, I was still “fine.” Inside, I was at war.
From Suit to Lock-Up
One day I went into hospital wearing a suit, planning to go back to work that evening. Instead, I found myself in a locked crisis unit being told I was “very, very, very unwell.”
I remember thinking: Do I have some disease no one’s told me about? I honestly didn’t realise how sick I was.
Five days in lock-up turned into eight weeks on a ward. I wasn’t allowed off without someone accompanying me. A handful of medication every day. No boardroom meetings, no “important” deadlines. Just me, stripped of everything I thought made me, me.
And here’s the thing: when I came out, reality hit harder than any time in my hospital stay.
When I got home...
The postman would drop a letter through the letterbox and my stomach would drop. Was it a fine? A summons? I’d stare at emails I’d sent and conversations I’d had before hospital and think: how did I treat people like that?
It felt like a hangover, not from one night but from the last year, maybe two. A heavy, relentless hangover that made me wonder: How am I ever going to face this?
Picking Up the Pieces
And then came the realisation: no one was going to do it for me.
The support is out there, yes, but it doesn’t knock on your door. You have to reach for it. You have to gather yourself, piece by piece, and start again.
That’s why I started Mindspire. Not because I’ve got some guru wisdom or a textbook answer, but because I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to wear the mask, to be the “stable” person people don’t think this can happen to. I know what it’s like to lose everything you thought was solid and come back feeling like you’re living someone else’s life.
Why Mindspire Exists
This space isn’t about polished theories or motivational quotes. It’s about the trenches. Lived experience. The messy, sometimes funny, sometimes terrifying truth of getting through.
It’s here to remind you that you’re not alone, and you’re not a burden. And honestly? Everyone else has their own mess too — so stop worrying about what they think.
Blog 3 will look at how surprisingly easy it can be to get help once you start asking. But for now, just know this: if you’re staring at your own “postman moment” wondering how you’re going to cope — you can. Piece by piece, you can.
Still on the Journey
I don’t like the word “recovery” — it sounds too neat, like you climb a hill and you’re done. The truth is, I’m still on the journey. We all are.
We all have mental health. That’s a fact. It’s not about pretending it doesn’t exist — it’s about how we manage it.
So here’s my invitation: put your story in the comments below. Share this blog with someone who might need to hear that they’re not alone. Mindspire is new — where it will go, I don’t know. But the foundations are built: honesty, humour when it helps, and the lived experiences that carry us forward.
Let’s build this together.
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