This was me, four years ago.

I had just picked up the keys to my flat. Obviously, I was appreciative of being in such a fortunate position. But inside I was unravelling. I was a fragile tangle of anxiety. I couldn’t hold down food. I was exhausted. During the day, when I wasn’t having panic attacks, I was dreading the thought of having to go to bed at night, knowing I’d be alone in the dark with my thoughts.

I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for the kindness and love of friends, family and colleagues at that point. Whether it was my old housemate who took me to one of my GP appointments so she could communicate what I couldn’t, a friend who brought over a bag of chips and sat with me on my makeshift sofa (an airbed) for a whole evening just so she knew I’d eaten something, or the people I had only worked with for a few months who showed incredible compassion.

Fast forward to today, on #worldmentalhealthday it feels quite poignant to have just hosted the first set of viewings on my little flat. I’m ready for my next adventure, a million miles away from the headspace I was in then.

I know some people might think this is an overshare, but I will keep banging on about mental health for as long as it takes. It’s so important for us not to be scared of talking openly, and to feel comfortable about checking in on people if you think they need it. Thank you to everyone I know who has done that for me.

Combining my day job with my most vulnerable experiences and opening it up to public opinion. What could go wrong.