"You did it"

So I did it. I completed half a term with no major work crises, no going home, no sick days. Cue congratulations and jubilation. "You're doing so well", "I'm so proud of you!"

The trouble with outwardly succeeding... functioning... completing something... is that it seems to blind others to the cost of the achievement. Once there is a visible outcome all people can see is this "winning against all the odds" . They want to buoy you up with the positivity, the "...but you did it!"s, the "well done"s and pass you on as inspiration for others who are struggling.

Positivity and celebration are valuable and important in general life, in recovery and in maintaining wellbeing, but the response above misses something vital. What was the cost of the success? Losing months worth of ground in recovery behaviour. Responding to children in unconstructive ways (what are all the potential knock-on effects of this?). Losing months worth of ground in the brain. Being absent from my home life and Mr Peggy who deserves so much more. Tipping the balance of believing in recovery back the other way. Reinforcing the belief of self and others that pushing through works. (When you use my achievement as "encouragement" for someone else struggling it may well do the opposite: make them feel useless and hopeless because they see no way to such achievements, invalidated and alone because you do not accept their current state, and worthless because the implication is that people are worth more when they achieve.)

IT DOESN'T. It is not worth it. I don't want to have to fight the recovery fight again now: I only just fought it.

Yes, I "did it" - I turned up every day and did my job more or less, but what have we really achieved? Reinforcement of every negative coping strategy that makes it even harder to crawl out of the hole that I tried so hard not to fall down again. So please don't congratulate me. Don't assume because it happened that I'm fine and better. Ask me how a long difficult term affected me. Tell me you're there no matter how many times I fall. Stay with me when I can't get up right now. Remind me that it doesn't have to be square one and that it's never too late or too early for change.

If you really want to support me ask instead of assuming, regardless of the outward appearance. But only if you're OK with whatever the answer is. When I tell you I'm sinking grab my hand just so I know you're there, and don't let go.

"I can see xxx is happening. Can you tell me about it?"
"X has happened that I thought would be difficult for you. How did it affect you?"
"I noticed xxx. What can I do to help?"

Then even if I don't have an answer at the time, or say I'm fine, follow up in a few days when I've had time to process. Even do this two or three times: it may well take that much for me to know you really mean it and for me to think it out and to feel safe enough to let you in.

It might look like winning, but I'm living the only way I know how to: winning might not always be the best. Everybody needs a helping hand and that's OK.