Madam Speaker

Public speaking is an activity that fills many people with dread, not just those of an anxious nature. My own fear has its origins in an incident that took place when I was 17-years-old. 

At my secondary school, the upper sixth-form pupils had to take it in turns to read a bible passage at the lower school assembly. This meant joining the head teacher up on the stage, in front of hundreds of 11 to 14-year-olds. As a teenager, I was an introvert and the last thing I wanted was to be centre of attention. 

We were given no guidance as to how to deal with this challenge and by the time I stood up to deliver my reading, my heart was racing; my voice trembled so much that I was almost unintelligible. That experience was a poor foundation for handling similar situations in the future.

So intense is my dislike of speaking in public that I even avoid asking questions in group settings, unless I absolutely have to. Then I become so dizzy with nerves that I barely register the answer anyway.

I'm not much better in social environments. While I love to chat and to make people laugh, I can only cope with an audience of up to three. If a lull in surrounding conversations means more than that tune in to mine, I'm instantly uncomfortable. I'd be a great stand-up comedian, if only I could hold all my gigs in a wardrobe.

However, as a writer, giving talks is a great way to raise your profile and promote your work, so it was something I had to face. Not least because I also wanted to share my experience of living with obsessive-compulsive disorder, in order to raise awareness and to help address the ongoing stigma around mental health.

Image courtesy of North Finchley Library

The first couple of talks, at local libraries, were as nerve-wracking as I'd expected. I had to put my glass of water on a shelf behind me, so that nobody could see my hand shaking when I took a sip. However, they seemed to go well and I received a good reception at both.

Last month, I gave three presentations for staff at my local council, to mark Mental Health Awareness Week, and was surprised to find that my anticipatory nerves had gone. By the time it came to the second, I was actively looking forward to the event.

All the usual speakers' tips had failed to calm me previously, so what had changed? My increasing familiarity with my material probably helped, but I think the key factor was the positive response to my earlier talks. Now, at least, I was going in with the confidence that my audience wouldn't be bored rigid.

At every event, I've ended up chatting to people who either have a mental health problem themselves or know somebody who does. It's rewarding to be able to steer them in the direction of appropriate resources, or just to reassure them that they're not alone.

And I'm grateful that overcoming one of my anxiety demons means I can now do more to help others tackle their issues.

Solitary confinement

When my last temporary assignment finished a week before Christmas, I resolved to give myself a month off before looking for permanent work. Fortunately, I received a job offer two months later and took up a new role three weeks after that.

Altogether, then, I was at home for just under four months - and the experience nearly sent me over the edge mentally.

The downslide began soon after I signed on. In the past, I've been short-listed for almost every job I've applied for and haven't been rejected for any that I really wanted, ie post interview. Now the only response to most of my applications was resounding silence.

Understandably, my stress levels rose, in spite of the fact that I had sufficient funds to tide me over for several months. My main concern was that my age might have catapulted me onto the employment shelf. And so long as I was out of work, I felt in limbo and unable to move on with the next phase of my life, which was immensely frustrating.

As the weeks passed, all sorts of old anxieties resurfaced - and were joined by new ones on a daily basis. I ricocheted from one obsessive thought to another with no let-up. People talk about losing their minds and that was exactly how it felt. It seemed as if mine had become a separate entity, with my thoughts running amok like a bunch of crazed Gremlins.

This period coincided with a sudden growth in my boyfriend's pet-sitting and dog-walking business, which meant he was working seven days a week. We live in different parts of London, so our time together dwindled almost to vanishing point.

Not only had I lost my work routine, but also my weekend one, and, as a result, all the associated people contact. I didn't see much of my friends, either, as I felt unable to relax and socialise when I didn't have a job. Often days went by when my only face-to-face human contact was with supermarket cashiers - and with Aldi's high-speed service, even that was fleeting.

I became aware that being home alone so much was contributing to my mental decline; I simply had too much time to think. Although I've always been happy in my own company, and never short of projects to occupy me (even when not job-hunting), I began to feel very isolated.

I'm now in the sixth week of my new part-time position, which means I'm out of the house for at least three days a week, which has definitely improved my mental state. In addition, learning new processes has occupied my brain to the extent that there's no room for my usual anxieties - at least, not while I'm at work.

Isolation is often a feature of mental health conditions and my recent experience has shown me how that isolation can actually make such conditions worse.

Image courtesy of sakhorn38/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Of course, it takes great effort and courage to break out of that situation, especially if you suffer from, say, depression or social anxiety. 

However, whether that break-out means securing a job, taking up a volunteering role, or just arranging to see a friend for coffee, the pay-off is definitely worth it.

We've got talent

I spent a couple of months unemployed earlier this year and became very despondent at the initial lack of response to my job applications.

On reflection, it's likely that this was because I was targeting administrative positions in schools, for which competition is fierce and where preference is, naturally, given to those with past experience in that environment. 

My job centre advisor, however, asked me if I thought age discrimination was at play. Although that hadn't occurred to me, I had been speculating as to whether my mental health status was to blame.

I mention both my blog and my novel on my CV and in applications, as I feel my writing achievements demonstrate some good skills and personal qualities. Anybody checking out my website or my book would quickly get an insight into my 'issues'.

Eventually, I began receiving invitations to interview and I made reference to having OCD at all three that I attended; later I wondered if that contributed to the first two rejections. However, these were also for school jobs and feedback on one second place outcome was that it was due to my lack of experience within education.

It would, in fact, be hard for me to conceal the truth of my situation. An internet search of my name - a common practice amongst employers these days - would soon throw up the same information as I choose to share.

Given my relatively high profile online, an employer would inevitably find out about my background sooner or later, and if they don't like it, then we're probably not the right fit for each other anyway.

All kinds of health conditions can lead to talented people being overlooked, as the BBC programme Employable Me demonstrated. This three-part documentary series focussed on five men and one woman, who all had disorders that were impossible to hide face to face: Tourette syndrome, autism and Asperger syndrome, which is a form of autism.

For these individuals, job-hunting had proved a soul-destroying experience and most had failed ever to secure an interview. 

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles/
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Yet tests revealed they all had astonishing talents that could easily be put to good use in the right setting. Happily there was a positive outcome for each of them, either in terms of identifying a suitable career direction or in finding work.

Many of us have great skills to offer because our brains are wired differently, whether these skills are directly related to our condition or not. 

In my case, I'm extremely well organised and have an excellent eye for detail, which may have developed as a result of my OCD - which is focussed on order and symmetry - or vice versa. Either way, these abilities are part and parcel of my slightly unusual make-up.

For others, simply experiencing a mental illness - or any other challenging health condition - gives them a greater empathy for their fellow human beings, which can be helpful in a variety of work environments.

Employers will never know what they're missing unless they give a chance to those of us who are a little different.

A new beginning

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles/
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This post is another landmark one for me, as it heralds not just an anniversary, but also the end of an era and a new beginning. 

On 8 April 2013, I launched The Reluctant Perfectionist with a piece called 'Straighten It Like Beckham' and resolved to publish an article every Monday from then on. Today rounds off three years of weekly posts, delivered through life's rain, shine and sometimes boulder-sized hailstones.

Over the years, I've written not only about OCD, anxiety and perfectionism, as I'd intended, but a whole host of other conditions, such as body dysmorphic disorder, compulsive skin picking, spartanism and misophonia. I've also discussed the impact of world events, such as the Paris terror attacks, and covered television documentaries and reality shows featuring mental health.

Writing these pieces has been a reflective process, which has taught me a lot about myself and my behaviours, as well as providing me with the opportunity to interact with people from all over the world who are undergoing similar experiences.

During this time, it's been great to see the profile of mental health being raised, particularly in the political arena, with movements like the Equality for Mental Health campaign - led by MP Norman Lamb - gaining a huge amount of support. 

Having reached this milestone, I've made the difficult decision to stop posting weekly. My perfectionist nature wants me to keep going - and going and going - but I know that the time will inevitably come when I miss my target for reasons beyond my control. I prefer to stop while I have both an unbroken record and three complete years of posts under my belt. It feels so much tidier, and more satisfying, than giving up after, say, three years, four months and two weeks.

So, 157 posts and 81,382 words on - a novel's worth, in fact! - it's time for a change.

In future, I plan to post at least once a month, but not on a set day or week - quite a radical departure for someone like me, who loves routine and order and structure. It feels a little scary, but also liberating. If you want to be sure never to miss a post, you can sign up to receive these by email - see the top of the menu bar to the right.

I'll be keeping the other pages of my website up-to-date, so look out for future events and book news. And if you're an individual wanting information, or an organisation or member of the press seeking an interview or a guest post/article, please do contact me at helenbarbourblog@gmail.com.

I toyed with the idea of giving up blogging altogether, but I know I'll have information and stories to share with you in the future and I wouldn't want to 'retire' and then, like some ageing rock star, make a shuffling and embarrassed comeback.

The timing is perfect for another reason: I have finally found a new part-time job, which I begin next week, so it's an ideal moment to redirect my energies into promoting my novel and securing more paid writing work.

Wish me luck - and I'll see you in May!

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You can use the 'Search this blog' facility in the menu bar to the right to find posts on any of the topics mentioned above.

Nothing personal

One factor that undoubtedly exacerbates my anxiety and stress levels is that I'm inclined to take negative experiences personally, even when these affect a far wider audience.

Let's say, for example, that I plan to attend an open-air theatre performance. Ahead of this, I'll obsessively check the forecast, fearful of bad weather spoiling the event. And, sure enough, it pours down on the day in question - which is no surprise really, given that rain is the default meteorological condition on our sodden little island.

Nevertheless, I'll moan to myself about why this had to happen today of all days, as I perch on my protective plastic bag and huddle under an umbrella. Why did my evening have to be ruined like this?

My evening - as if Mother Nature had specifically targeted me. Never mind the actors on stage exposed to the elements or the rest of the audience shivering in the damp and cold; I'm the only one who's really suffering. Or so it seems. 

Image courtesy of Aduldej/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

One of my all-time favourite films is The Truman Show, in which Jim Carrey stars as Truman Burbank, the unwitting star of a reality show that has tracked his life since birth. Unbeknownst to him, he's living on a massive studio set, surrounded by actors, and everything that happens in the 'town' of Seahaven Island revolves around him.

I sometimes seem to labour under a similar illusion that everything revolves around me. What do I really imagine, though? - that the equivalent of The Truman Show's producer, Christof, is orchestrating my life down to the last raindrop? That would be a strange view to hold, considering I have no religion and don't believe in fate.

I only came to the realisation of this selfish, inward-looking approach when I got caught in a traffic jam on the way to visit my parents a couple of years ago. 'Not again,' I thought, as my stress levels began to rise. 'Why does this always happen to me?' 

With nothing else to distract me, I began scanning the other cars on the motorway. As I looked at the occupants of those cars, I registered that this wasn't just happening to me, it was happening to thousands of other people: there were hundreds of vehicles both in front of and behind mine.

And many of these people were undoubtedly in a far worse predicament than I was: perhaps travelling with a baby or an elderly and infirm relative, or with a plane to catch or a wedding to get to. Suddenly I felt stupid for taking this unexpected delay so personally. 

In spite of that epiphany, I still frequently fail to see the bigger picture when faced with an unfortunate turn of events. Those of us of an anxious disposition spend so much time inside our own heads that it can be hard to look outward. Hard, put simply, to prevent that anxiety from making us utterly self-centred. 

All I really need to remember is that there are more than 7 billion people on this planet - it is categorically not all about me, me, me.

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I love this clip from The Truman Show, in which the studio's rain machine briefly malfunctions and the rain falls only on Truman.