Don’t Take Your Health for Granted — Especially Your Mental Health...
Don’t Take Your Health for Granted — Especially Your Mental Health...
By Michael P Lennon
Mindspire — Where lived experience finds its voice
Before anything else, I want to wish you well.
Not the glossy, hollow, “new year, new you” nonsense that falls apart by the second week of January.
The real kind.
Steadiness.
Decent sleep.
A quieter head.
And a January that doesn’t demand more than you can give.
Because January is rarely inspirational. It’s usually just… loud in the wrong ways.
The lights are down. The distractions are gone. The bills land.
And whatever you were carrying in December suddenly feels twice the weight.
If you’re reading this and you’re not okay, I’m not here to lecture you.
I’m here to say this clearly:
You’re not the only one. And this is survivable.
If You’re in Crisis Right Now — Read This Slowly
If you’re having thoughts about not wanting to be here, slow down.
Those thoughts are a signal, not a verdict.
A sign that you’re overwhelmed, exhausted, scared, or cornered — not broken, not weak, not beyond help.
You don’t need to sort your whole life today.
You don’t need a plan.
You don’t need to be brave.
You need connection.
One person.
One service.
One honest moment of being heard.
If all you can do right now is breathe and read, do that.
Then do one small next thing: text, call, tell someone, or get seen.
No heroics.
Just interruption.
Because sometimes interruption is what saves a life.
This Time Last Year
This time last year, I was in free fall.
Nine weeks in hospital.
Then the aftermath — the mental hangover from hell that nobody advertises.
The bit where the crisis is technically “over”, but the consequences are sitting there waiting like unopened post.
Bills. Arrears. Missed calls. Apologies you owe but don’t know how to start.
There were days I would’ve happily crawled up in a ball and vanished from life — not because I wanted attention, not because I wanted drama — but because facing reality felt unbearable.
But I faced it.
Not heroically.
Not neatly.
Just one grim, ordinary step at a time.
And that matters, because a lot of people think recovery is a moment.
It isn’t.
Recovery is a practice.
The Warning Sign I Missed
People assume mental health collapses as sadness.
Mine didn’t.
The biggest warning sign I missed was speed.
My mind ran faster than my judgement.
I talked quicker. Slept less. Took on more.
I felt sharp, switched on, unstoppable — and I mistook that for “being on form”.
It wasn’t brilliance.
It was my head losing its grip quietly, while I kept smiling like everything was grand.
That’s how this stuff gets people.
Not always through tears — sometimes through confidence without brakes.
And the danger is this: when it looks productive, nobody questions it.
Not even you.
Coping Is Not Character
For most of my life, I believed coping was character.
If I showed up, I was fine.
If I worked, I was well.
If I didn’t complain, I was strong.
That wasn’t arrogance.
It was the only instruction manual I was ever given.
Don’t be a burden.
Don’t make a fuss.
Other people have it worse.
Get on with it.
Say those long enough and they stop sounding like advice.
They become rules you don’t question.
But endurance is not wellness.
And function is not health.
Sometimes it’s just fear in a clean shirt.
A Boundary Without Apology
Here’s one thing that genuinely changed my life after hospital:
I stopped treating every call, every problem, every demand like it was an emergency.
Because I used to answer everything.
I thought that was responsibility.
Turns out it was fuel.
Now my boundary is simple:
If I’m not in a fit state, I don’t engage.
That can look like:
- letting the phone ring
- replying later
- saying, “I can’t deal with that today — I’ll come back to it”
No explanation.
No performance.
No guilt tour.
Just basic protection of the one thing I can’t replace — my mind.
That’s not selfish.
That’s maintenance.
The Postman Isn’t the Enemy
This will sound daft, but it’s true: I used to fear the postman.
Letters meant consequences.
Consequences meant shame.
And shame made me avoid everything.
Now I open the letter and deal with the issue, because I learned something painfully simple:
If I can’t deal with it, it’s still not the end of the world. There is a way around it.
That’s not motivational talk.
That’s lived reality.
Bills can be negotiated.
Mistakes can be fixed.
Time can be bought.
Plans can be changed.
But you can’t negotiate with silence.
Silence just lets everything grow teeth.
Why January Is a Danger Zone
January is when people quietly slip.
The calendar flips and suddenly everyone’s acting like you should be “sorted”.
But January is cold, financially brutal, and emotionally exposing.
It cranks up:
- isolation
- anxiety
- regret
- money stress
- the sense that you’re behind everyone else
Ten months on, I can look back and laugh at parts of my crisis — because if I didn’t, I’d be back in Holywell.
That’s not denial. That’s survival.
Let me say this clearly:
That feeling is common. It is not proof you’re failing.
And in Northern Ireland and Ireland, there’s the added pressure of “what will people say”.
Gossip can be a local hobby.
And stigma still acts like it owns the place.
Here’s my straight view:
Stigma isn’t tradition — it’s negligence.
It kills people quietly, then pretends it didn’t know.
The Gap Nobody Prepares You For
Hospitals can keep you alive.
Medication can steady you.
But rebuilding your actual life?
That’s on you — and it’s the hardest climb.
That space between crisis and recovery is what I call The Gap.
The hangover from hell.
The limbo nobody prepares you for.
The place where survival is mistaken for recovery.
This is where people relapse.
This is where people disappear.
This is where society stops looking.
And this is where honesty matters most.
The Takeaway — Read This Twice
If you’re in it right now — crisis, panic, intrusive thoughts, or that hollow feeling of not wanting to exist — take this with you:
You do not need to solve everything.
You need to stay connected.
You need to reach out before you run out of road.
One small action counts:
- tell one person the truth and be honest
- ring your GP
- text a crisis service
- go to A&E if you feel unsafe
- call emergency services if you’re in immediate danger
Not because you’re weak.
Because you’re worth protecting.
And because the way your mind feels today is not a forecast for the rest of your life.
How to Get Help — Right Now (UK & Ireland)
If things feel heavy, you’re not broken.
You’re human.
You don’t need perfect words.
You don’t need certainty.
You don’t need to hit rock bottom to deserve support.
If you are not safe right now:
Confidential support (24/7):
- Samaritans — 116 123
- Shout (UK) — Text SHOUT to 85258
- Lifeline (Northern Ireland) — 0808 808 8000
- Pieta (Ireland) — 1800 247 247 / Text HELP to 51444
Mental health support (not just crisis):
- Your GP — this isn’t overreacting
- Mind — mind.org.uk
- Aware (Ireland) — aware.ie
Asking for help isn’t failure. It’s hitting pause before things spiral. These services aren’t there to judge you — they’re there to listen. You don’t need the right words, just honesty about where you are. That’s enough to start.
And sometimes interruption is what saves a life.
A Final Word
Don’t take your health for granted.
Not because you should live in fear — but because you deserve a life that isn’t run by silent suffering.
January doesn’t need reinvention.
It needs steadiness, honesty, and one small next step.
If you’re still here reading, that counts.
Now do one more thing: reach out.
If you’re reading this just to make sense of your own noise, that’s fine — take what you need and sit with it. But if any part of this rang true, please consider sharing it, not for likes or algorithms, but for the person who’s reading in silence and doesn’t yet have the words.
You never know who might need to see it, and sometimes the smallest interruption is enough to change the direction of a life. Many thanks — MPL.
“I want my experience to help others in a way that’s real, responsible, and impossible to dismiss once it’s understood.” @MPLennon
Disclaimer
This blog is based on lived experience and personal reflection. It is not medical advice or a substitute for professional support. If you are struggling or in crisis, please contact your GP, local mental health services, or emergency services. In an emergency, call 999 or 112.
Comments