Where Real Recovery Comes From — Beyond Pride
A Mindspire Lived Experience Blog by Michael P. Lennon
There’s a lot of noise these days about mental health.
Campaigns, slogans, awareness weeks, hashtags, branded lanyards — all well-intentioned, all trying their best.
But when my life collapsed and the dust finally settled, I learned something very simple:
The people who saved me were not the ones with slogans — they were the ones with scars.
Not every story is inspirational.
Not every recovery is tidy.
And not every breakdown comes with a warning label.
But the people who carried me — really carried me — were the ones who had already walked through their own hell and somehow lived long enough to tell me about it.
The Ones Who Actually Helped
Here’s the truth, unpolished and exactly as it happened:
The real support didn’t come from a campaign.
It didn’t come from a corporate “wellbeing workshop.”
It definitely didn’t come from a chirpy poster telling me to “reach out.”
It came from human beings who had already fought their own battles decades before mine.
The man who beat addiction fifty years ago and still wakes every day living proof that rock bottom isn’t an ending.
The woman who faced debt head-on when her world was falling apart and somehow rebuilt piece by piece.
The friend who buried someone they loved and still found a reason — any reason — to get out of bed.
These people didn’t talk from theory.
They talked from survival.
And there’s a depth in that no organisation, charity, or degree can teach.
You can’t learn this stuff from a handbook.
You learn it from nearly losing everything — and deciding you’re not done yet.
That kind of wisdom doesn’t sound inspirational.
It sounds true.
Being Human First, Patient Second
When I left hospital, I wasn’t afraid of getting ill again — I was afraid of being judged.
Men, women — we’re all world-class experts in judging ourselves before anyone else opens their mouth.
We sentence ourselves long before there’s ever a trial.
But the people who’d walked through fire didn’t judge me at all.
Not once.
They didn’t ask for explanations.
They didn’t want the polished version.
They didn’t care about the labels stuck to me.
They saw a human being who was struggling — because they’d been that person too.
And suddenly, the fear softened.
The shame loosened.
The weight lifted enough for me to breathe again.
Talking human-to-human beat every treatment plan going.
Fear and the Silent Hour
There’s a moment in every crisis when everything goes quiet — the hour between fear and collapse.
The moment when the postman’s footsteps are enough to send your heart into your throat.
When the phone ringing feels like a threat.
When your own mind feels like a stranger.
It’s in those moments you realise how fragile we all actually are.
Fragile, yes — but not broken beyond repair.
Because the truth is, plenty of people have been further down than me.
Plenty have lost more, struggled harder, fought longer.
And yet they’re still standing.
Their existence alone is hope.
If they got through it, then this moment — this hour, this day — will pass.
It might pass slowly, but it will pass.
Tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us.
But neither is despair.
Beyond the Labels and the Lines
One of the biggest lies we’re sold is that struggle has a type.
That only certain people break.
That mental illness only hits certain demographics.
Absolute nonsense.
Struggle doesn’t care who you are.
It doesn’t care about colour, faith, gender, background, postcode, status, label or none.
Pain is the most equal-opportunity leveller on earth.
And recovery — real recovery — is the most human thing we ever do.
Not heroic.
Not glamorous.
Just brutally, beautifully human.
The Name I Thought I Invented
People often ask where the name Mindspire came from. Truth is, I came up with it partly to hide behind — a shield, a bit of armour.
Because when fear and stigma get loud, pride pretends to protect you…
but really, it’s the only one that wins.
I genuinely thought I’d invented the word — “mind,” “spire,” something pointing upward even when I wasn’t.
It felt like a reminder that even if you hit the floor hard, the mind can still lift itself again, even if just a few inches at a time.
Later I discovered the word already existed.
But the meaning behind it?
That part is mine.
Mindspire isn’t an organisation.
It’s not a charity.
It’s not a movement.
It’s just lived experience written down before the memory blurs and the lessons slip away.
And if any of it helps someone steady themselves, even for a moment, then it’s already done exactly what it was meant to do.
Talking — The Only Thing That Makes a Dent
When I started talking honestly — not filtered, not polished, not adjusted to make it easier for others — something shifted.
People didn’t judge.
People didn’t back away.
People didn’t whisper.
People leaned in.
Because truth recognises truth.
And what I learned is this:
Talking doesn’t make you weak.
Talking makes you human.
And being human is what saves people.
If You’re Struggling Right Now
If you’re reading this and your mind is a mess…
If you feel ashamed, frightened, overwhelmed…
If you think you’re too far gone, too much trouble, too broken…
Please hear this from someone who has lived it:
You’re not beyond help.
You’re not beyond repair.
You’re not beyond hope.
This moment will pass.
This hour will pass.
This day will pass.
You just have to hold on long enough to meet the version of you who survives it.
And trust me — he or she is worth meeting.
And Now, A Word Directed at Pride and Stigma
Pride — you lying little tyrant.
Stigma — you cheap, cardboard god.
You have ruined enough lives.
Pride whispers, “Don’t tell anyone.”
Stigma hisses, “They’ll think less of you.”
Together they convince good people to suffer in private until private becomes fatal.
If you’re reading this and pride is telling you to stay quiet — ignore it.
If stigma is telling you you’re weak — laugh in its face, Get help.
(It hates that.)
Because pride has never saved a life.
Stigma has never carried anyone through the dark.
People do that.
Honest conversations do that.
Truth does that.
Recovery begins the second we stop listening to pride and start listening to people who’ve been through the fire and come back carrying buckets of water for the rest of us.
Support — UK & Ireland
Samaritans — 116 123 (24/7)
Shout — Text SHOUT to 85258
Lifeline NI — 0808 808 8000
Papyrus HOPELINEUK — 0800 068 4141 (for under 35s)
Emergency — Call 999 or 112
Disclaimer
This blog is based on personal lived experience and reflection.
It is not medical advice.
If you’re struggling or in crisis, contact your GP, local mental-health services, or Samaritans on 116 123.
In an emergency, always dial 999.
If any part of this resonated, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Share a comment, pass it on, and join me on this journey — none of us are meant to do this alone.
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