A Christmas Message from a Man Who Fell Through the Cracks
Christmas has a way of slowing things down.
Whether we like it or not, it creates a pause. The noise drops a little. The year catches up with us. And for a brief moment, we are left alone with our thoughts — about who we are, how we live, and how we treat one another.
This isn’t a message from someone who has figured life out.
It isn’t advice, and it isn’t a lecture.
It’s simply a reflection from a man who fell through the cracks of the system — and, against the odds, found his way back out.
For most of my life, I believed what many people believe. I believed there were lines. I believed there was an “us” and a “them”. I believed that people who ended up in crisis — in A&E, in psychiatric units, struggling with addiction, chaos, or despair — were somehow different. That their circumstances were the result of bad choices, weak character, or a lack of discipline.
I believed that because it felt safer.
You hear these beliefs everywhere. In hospital waiting rooms. In workplaces. In families. In casual conversations that begin with, “I’m not judging, but…”
You hear it when someone says the drunk shouldn’t be treated before an elderly person.
When someone says the person who took drugs brought it on themselves.
When someone waiting for hours decides there are deserving patients — and then there are the others.
I’ve said versions of those things myself. I won’t pretend otherwise. Many of us have. We say them quietly, sometimes even sympathetically, because deep down they help us believe that whatever happened to those people won’t happen to us.
But here’s the truth I learned the hard way:
The line between “us” and “them” is thinner than we like to admit.
Often, it doesn’t exist at all.
People don’t fall apart overnight. No one wakes up one morning and decides to lose their grip on life. Crisis is rarely dramatic at the beginning. It’s slow. It’s subtle. It builds quietly through stress, silence, shame, pressure, trauma, and a thousand small moments where support didn’t arrive when it was needed.
By the time someone ends up intoxicated, suicidal, psychotic, or broken down in A&E, the damage has already been done. The hospital isn’t the start of the story — it’s the final chapter of a system that ran out of answers.
And yet, that’s where judgement tends to peak.
We forget that hospitals don’t exist to measure morality. They exist to respond to need. They triage risk, not worth. They don’t ask whether suffering was earned.
If someone is treated first, it isn’t because the system is being soft or indulgent. It’s because the system has no other option. Immediate danger takes priority — regardless of how uncomfortable that makes the rest of us feel.
And if we’re going to talk honestly about responsibility and choice, then we need to be consistent.
We don’t question urgency when someone collapses from heart disease linked to lifestyle.
We don’t moralise when years of stress, overwork, poor diet, or pressure finally catch up.
We don’t ask whether a stroke or heart attack was “self-inflicted”.
But when it comes to mental health, addiction, and suicide, suddenly morality enters the room.
Why?
Because despite all our progress, we are still shaped by systems that were never designed for compassion. Mental health care grew out of control, containment, and punishment. Suicide was once a crime. Distress was hidden, locked away, or ignored.
Those attitudes didn’t disappear — they evolved. They became quieter. More bureaucratic. More polite.
We now talk about safeguarding, equality, and rights. We run awareness campaigns. We share posts. We light buildings up. We nod along to the right language.
And yet here we are.
A mental health crisis.
Rising suicide rates.
Overstretched services.
Burnt-out professionals.
And communities that still judge people at their lowest point.
It’s uncomfortable to admit, but governments and institutions didn’t fail alone. These problems didn’t grow in isolation. They were allowed to fester — by policy, by neglect, and by a society that often prefers blame to understanding.
We criticise systems while benefiting from the illusion that we are immune to them.
I know this because I fell through those cracks myself.
I wasn’t special. I wasn’t uniquely broken. I was a human being under pressure, navigating life with the tools I had at the time. And at some point, those tools stopped working.
When that happens, people don’t suddenly become irrational — they become desperate. They survive in the only ways they know how until those ways turn destructive. Addiction, withdrawal, silence, collapse — these aren’t moral failures. They’re warning signs that something deeper has gone unaddressed.
Compassion, in those moments, isn’t softness. It isn’t indulgence.
It’s the last line of defence between a person and complete loss.
That’s the part we forget when we judge.
Christmas, at its best, is supposed to remind us of shared humanity — of the idea that people matter simply because they exist. Not because they performed well, behaved correctly, or stayed within acceptable lines.
So this message isn’t about being better than anyone else. It isn’t about pretending we have easy answers.
It’s about being braver.
Brave enough to step back before we judge.
Brave enough to question systems, not just symptoms.
Brave enough to admit how close any of us are to the edge we criticise.
I’m grateful to be standing where I am today — not because I’m stronger, wiser, or more deserving than anyone else, but because at the right moment, help reached me. And because someone, somewhere, chose not to reduce me to my worst day.
That’s the takeaway I carry into Christmas.
If we want things to change — truly change — it won’t come from slogans alone. It will come from how we speak, how we think, and how we treat people when it would be easier to look away.
There is no “them”.
There never was.
There is only us, doing our best in systems that don’t always catch us when we fall.
To Anyone in the Gap
If you’re reading this from the gap — that place where fear is loud and everything else feels far away — hear this clearly:
You are not weak.
You are not a problem.
And you are not worth less because you’re struggling.
That voice telling you that you don’t deserve help, that you’ve gone too far, that you’re a burden — that voice is lying. It isn’t insight. It’s fear talking.
You don’t need to justify your pain.
You don’t need to compare it to anyone else’s.
You don’t need to prove you’re “bad enough” to be allowed support.
Being in the gap doesn’t mean you’ve failed.
It means something has overwhelmed you — and that happens to people, not “cases”.
You are still allowed to take up space.
You are still allowed to ask for help.
You are still worth being taken seriously.
Even if you can’t see a way forward right now, that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. It just means you’re tired, and fear has narrowed the view.
Stay.
Reach out.
Let someone stand with you — even if, at first, all they can do is sit beside you.
You matter more than you think.
And this moment does not get to decide your worth.
If You Need Support This Christmas
If you’re struggling this Christmas — with grief, addiction, debt, abuse, or your mental health — you don’t need the right words or a perfect plan. You just need one step.
Help still exists over the holidays, even when everything feels shut down.
If you are in immediate danger
- UK & Northern Ireland: 999
- Ireland: 112 or 999
You are not wasting anyone’s time.
Mental health & emotional support
- Samaritans — 116 123 (UK & ROI, 24/7)
- Shout (UK) — Text SHOUT to 85258
- Lifeline (Northern Ireland) — 0808 808 8000
Bereavement & grief
- Cruse Bereavement Support
- Sue Ryder
- Bereavement Care (Northern Ireland)
Addiction & substance use
- Alcoholics Anonymous — meetings run throughout Christmas (including online)
- Narcotics Anonymous — UK & Ireland
- Drugs and Alcohol NI
Debt & financial pressure
- StepChange
- National Debtline
- MABS (Ireland)
Domestic abuse & safety
- National Domestic Abuse Helpline — 0808 2000 247
- Women’s Aid
- Men’s Advisory Project (NI)
A Final Word
If all you’ve managed today is reading this, that is enough.
If tomorrow all you can do is make one call, send one text, or ask one person to sit with you — that is enough too.
You don’t need to earn support.
You don’t need to explain your worth.
You don’t need to wait until things get worse.
Help is not a reward for coping well.
It exists because you’re human.
From someone who has been in the gap and found a way back:
Happy Christmas.
You matter more than you think.
— Michael P. Lennon
Mindspire | Lived Experience
Mindspire Disclaimer
This blog is based on lived experience and personal reflection.
It is not medical advice or a substitute for professional care.
If you are struggling, please contact your GP, local NHS mental-health services, or a trusted helpline.
In an emergency, always call 999 (or 112).
Mindspire exists to offer understanding, not diagnosis — connection, not treatment.
Every story shared is honest and human, but your circumstances may be different.
If anything you’ve read raises concern for your wellbeing, please reach out for help.
📧 mpl@mindspireblogs.co.uk
© 2025 Mindspire — Where Lived Experience Finds Its Voice
Mindspire — Where Lived Experience Finds Its Voice
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