How Are You Coping?

It isn't easy to write this week's newsletter, but it feels too important not to.

Recently, someone close to me sent a message that stopped me in my tracks. In a few quiet words, they let me know that the day before, they hadn't wanted to keep going.

Nothing catastrophic had happened. No single disaster, no dramatic event, no obvious reason. Just pressure building and building, with nowhere for it to go. Their mind races, and it has never been given the kind of attention or care that teaches you how to let the steam out before it reaches the lid.

I felt sad. I felt helpless. And honestly, I felt frustrated, because I could see how close to the edge they had come, and how quietly they had travelled there.

That quiet travelling is what I want to shine a light on. The slow erosion any of us can get caught in.

Coping is rarely about one big thing.

It's the temperature. A fly that won't leave the room. A distant sound you can't switch off. A smell. The news. The way your partner stacks the dishwasher, the tone of a colleague's email, the driver who doesn't indicate. A whole myriad of tiny daily things, chipping and chipping away. If we don't have a sense of our own capacity, our own patience, our own tipping point, the chips add up long before we notice how deep the crack is.

I'm relearning the guitar at the moment. Every day I pick it up and work a little more at the skill, the memory, the muscles, so that one day I can play a song all the way through with some kind of quality. No one becomes a guitarist on a weekend retreat. You become one five minutes at a time.

Coping is the same. It is a skill, built through small, daily, unglamorous practice.

Medication, retreats, programs and a good psychologist all have a genuine and important place, and if you're struggling, please reach for them. What I'm talking about sits alongside them. It's a daily commitment to your own nervous system. It's the practice that builds the capacity, so every other kind of support can actually land.

So let me ask you, gently.

Are you growing impatient more quickly than you used to? Is sleep slipping away, night after night, because your thoughts won't settle? Does your thinking mind have more control over you than you have over it?

For many of us, the mind has quietly become the boss. A tyrant. A noisy flatmate who never goes to bed.

Counting sheep might seem like a silly, old-fashioned tool. But think about what it actually does. It takes your focus and places it somewhere you have chosen. That choice is where everything begins.

Adding something new to your day can feel like one more thing to fit in. One more should. One more task on an already full list. But when not coping starts to feel like not wanting to be here, priorities have a way of rearranging themselves, don't they?

What are you prioritising right now that might be quietly wearing down your coping space?

And what would it mean to care for your nervous system in a way maybe you never have, or you have stopped and it's starting to cost you?

In counselling, we talk about the Stages of Change. Not yet seeing it (pre-contemplation). Seeing it but feeling torn (contemplation),  Getting ready (preparation). Doing it (taking action. Keeping it going (maintenance) . Slipping back, and beginning again (relapse - back to the beginning again).

Which one feels most true for you right now?

Wherever you are, here are five small practices. Think of them like five minutes with the guitar each day.

1. Lengthen your exhale.
When the pressure rises, breathe in for a count of four and out for a count of six or eight. A longer out-breath tells your body it is safe to soften. What happens in your shoulders, your jaw, your chest, when you let the breath out slower than it came in?  This is a small thing, but, a conscious tool.

2. Come back to your senses.
When your mind is spinning, name five things you can see, four you can hear, three you can touch, two you can smell and one you can taste. It's simple, but it pulls you out of the story in your head and back into the room you're actually in. This is a small thing, but, a conscious tool.

3. Check your number once a day.
Pick a moment each day, like your morning cup of tea or the drive home, and ask yourself: out of ten, how full is my cup right now? You'll start to notice the chips before they become cracks, and your tipping point will stop catching you by surprise.  Have a way of being kind to your nervous system, it needs you.  Like a meditation, a walk in nature, some colouring in, a game of golf, some gardening etc. This is a small thing, but, a conscious tool.

4. Give yourself a five-minute ritual.
Same time, every day, small enough that you can't talk yourself out of it. A walk without your phone. A few slow stretches. One song played loud. A page in a journal. Consistency matters more than intensity; what counts is the showing up.  The self trust piece here is powerful.  Teaching yourself you can trust yourself to show up for yourself.  I think this is the most important piece.  

This is a small thing, but, a conscious tool.

5. Let one person in.
Choose one person you can be honest with when the pressure builds. Not to fix it, just to know. Sometimes saying "I'm not okay today" out loud is how the steam finds its way out.  

My friend could not bring themself to speak, but they could handle chatting through text.  So I met them here, through text because that is what they could cope with.  Helping others or even seeking help ourself, doesn't have to be only one way.  Find what you can do in this moment and just do that.

None of this is dramatic.

That's the point. I can't stress enough that small and steady builds something that holds when life gets too loud.  And globally, life is getting loud.  There is a piece here where the collective stress touches on all of us, it acts a bit like the air in the room or the weather we are living in.  So, developing a coping practice as a practical every day act, like brushing your teeth or cooking dinner or feeding the dog, is how to approach this at home, at no financial cost and at your own pace.

And if you, or someone you love, is closer to the edge than a practice can reach right now, please reach out. Lifeline is there 24/7 on 13 11 14, or text 0477 13 11 14. You don't have to carry it alone.  Letting out some steam can be life saving.