Author: Realspeak

Thriving survivor

Doing Battle with Christmas Cheer

This blog (by Cathy Wield) was first published on Mad in the UK December 2024 and still relevant this December 2025

“I love Christmas! I love the lights and the excitement,” speaks the voice of my imaginary friend…….the one who is a conglomeration of all the positivity that is trying to make its way into my jaded and reluctant psyche.

“Humph!” I retort, “I’d rather stick to my Ebenezer Scrooge impression – HUMBUG!”

So what is it that polarises people over what is known colloquially as ‘the Christmas spirit’?

When I was a child, life was so simple. Christmas day in my family was not a religious affair, and wherever we happened to be in the world, it always meant presents. Not loads, not lavish, expensive gifts, but enough to be exciting and provoke a sense of expectation and wonderment. We always ate together and may or may not end up with the dreaded game of monopoly…….

Then when my own children were little, it was about making sure that their presents had been bought and wrapped, that family were invited and given a good lunch. Some years we would visit grandparents with the rare treat, of a meal prepared, but there was always tension. Would the children be happy and ‘behave’ themselves, would family arguments be kept at bay? How soon could we get home and relax?

But Christmas really stopped being any kind of pleasurable experience once I was diagnosed and labelled with ‘depression’. By then, the adult friends and relatives had developed their own expectations, and I felt watched. I felt I must put on a mask and hide any feelings of misery, sadness or despondency and yet even if there were short moments when I enjoyed myself, it made me think I was a fraud! It seemed like a no-win situation. Every year, Christmas became an ordeal to be lived through and the only respite was a sense of transient relief once January brought the festivities to a close.

But what about now, when I am well? Surely, I am full of the joys of survival and recovery! I admit I still do not look forward to Christmas and I have been in a reflective mood lately. I am trying to understand why, I feel the way I do, and I have concluded that it is not because of any association with the difficult Christmases of the past. But I know enough to let my feelings be. I have heard too may people say, “it’s Christmas, so I ought not to feel the way I do,” and in the past I have been subject to a spiral of guilt and that’s one way to make glum emotions feel worse.

For many people, public holidays are particular times of stress and hardship. I live in an affluent part of the UK, and yet there are plenty of people who are struggling to meet the overinflated ideas of what Christmas should be. Gone are the days, when it was primarily a religious festival; for all of us are subjected to the advertising which tries to persuade us that buying gifts will somehow show our love or heal the rifts within relationships. It is the time of year, when every retailer in the country is poised to make as much money as possible, and who can blame them?

But although we all know that material goods however ‘valuable’, will not make us happy, the relentless advertising tells us the opposite. Now, I’m not against the concept of giving gifts, but I would rather take time out to think about what Christmas really does or does not do for people, regardless of their religious persuasion, (or none at all).

When I worked for a charitable organisation who provided help for people who are homeless, it gave me further insights. The public gave more generously at Christmas and the homeless clients who ate at the community centre expected a good meal.  But for many of these individuals, the holiday period was highly triggering. It was a poignant reminder of what had been lost – those family ties which had been severed for any number of reasons, those loved ones who had died, the disappointments at the end of another difficult year – some who were staying in the hostel, couldn’t bring themselves to the meal – there was a sense of hopelessness when looking at the future………

To add to this, society in general encourages a considerable amount of boasting about how much alcohol is going to be consumed over the holiday. Yet in the homeless community, the use of substances and alcohol had become an understandable desire to obliterate awareness of life’s problems.

I have also worked in A&Es over the years, including on Christmas day shifts. It was at those times that the phrase ‘demon drink’ seemed a reality. It wasn’t just the physical fights which were so poignant, though people frequently come to blows when their inhibitions are diminished – there was also the domestic violence, the verbal arguments, the feuds and the despair which led to a sharp increase in self-harm and suicide attempts over the holidays. There was also a phenomenon known as ‘granny dumping’ where older relatives were literally left at the entrance as annoyed relatives had just had enough!

The GP surgeries are closed, the dentists are not available, cars, washing machines, boilers all have a tendency to break down and there’s only limited emergency services available. And what about the people who literally have nowhere to go?  They may be offered a bed for one or two nights, but then they are turfed back onto the streets……

No, why should I agree to look forward to the sparkle, the glitter and the sickening sound of Christmas music being played over and over again? Bah Humbug!

But my intention is not to leave you in all my personal doom and gloom because surely there must be some reasons to feel uplifted as Christmas draws near?

Whatever else, just being here, alive, in 2024 means something. Nothing about the past can be changed and for sure life will continue to have its ups and downs. For me, this year has certainly been no exception and has presented its own share of challenges. But as I reflect, perhaps I can think about the ways in which I have grown through it all.  Maybe it is time to give myself a pat on the back because I have become more able to ‘sit’ with my feelings – when I feel anxious, afraid, or despondent, I have been less inclined to fight it or to push those emotions away. When I have grieved, I have allowed tears to be shed over my losses. Through the painful times, I have gained more understanding that all my emotions are part of who I am, and they can be my friends, if I will let them. While I might wish for better things to come, much of what happens in life is not within my control. I must continue to dig deep and let go of what I cannot change, while I persevere with the things that I can, like my responses to life’s twists and turns.

Let’s face it, the “humbug” response is not very welcome in our culture, but for today, I choose to honour my complicated emotions. I will also remember to appreciate those I love and care for, and the many beautiful friends I have met over the last year. As we enter 2025, I will be reminded of the cycle of nature, and the opportunities for new growth. Maybe I’ve sucked on the humbug for long enough, but I’m also grateful for its minty flavour!

Merry Christmas to everyone, and Happy New Year!

****

I feel broken hearted.

The Latest Global Delusion

I write this with no intention of causing offence to anyone who has a psychiatric diagnosis, whether it is something they have chosen or agreed to willingly, or whether it has been imposed on them. My argument is with our society that has forced people to believe that their problems are a result of their ‘faulty brain’ or ‘faulty personality’ whilst ignoring the societal issues that cause so much widespread distress, which people experience as ‘symptoms’.

While a sizeable minority of the population are totally convinced that they need to be treated differently because they are disabled by ‘mental health problems’, the door is open for right-wing extremism.

Historically people who received psychiatric diagnoses and who were hospitalised or needed a lot of care, found it very difficult to get their needs met. They were too embarrassed by the labels put on them and made to feel ashamed; they were weighed down by their troubles, and kept sedated by the psychiatric drugs, unable to function, let alone be able to speak up for themselves. I was one of those people over a period of many years.

 It would be great if the most vulnerable members of society, including those with serious, severe, life limiting or disabling conditions were able to access the resources they need, but this is not the case. Certainly, here in the UK, the new reality is that there are a lot of very vocal people, who claim that they themselves are particularly needy. I am not here to judge – my concern is that it dilutes the message, and nobody really understands what ‘disability’ means any more.

For instance, there has been a recent large increase in those who consider themselves disabled after their acquisition of an ‘ADHD/autism’ diagnosis and many of these people are very articulate. They are not shy of demanding their ‘rights’ and it is the statutory duty of institutions and organisations to provide reasonable adjustments, for those with disabilities.

Yet the sheer numbers of such claims are fast becoming untenable and inevitably if every single person were to be treated as a special case in such circumstances, then finite resources would quickly become depleted. This has already started to happen, and to some extent, those who are most in need are already being denied essential services.

It is hard to watch, and I feel broken-hearted.  I can’t help wondering how this will end. What to me is so difficult is to hear, is that people think that they are ‘the problem’, and are willing to embrace the falsehood that they have a ‘faulty brain’, when neither of these things are true. If you listen closely to what people are saying about what they are experiencing – it actually says a lot about the world we are living in now. People who are distressed, upset or suffering in this way do so, not because there is something wrong with them, but because there is something wrong with life! It is the same throughout the field that is known as ‘mental health’. People have been conditioned to believe that they are the problem, when actually it is quite the opposite if you care to do a rational analysis of what has happened to them or what is currently happening in their lives.

It seems really unfortunate that people who have genuine life problems, need to acquire a mental health diagnosis to get their legitimate needs met.  Actually being labelled as ‘neurodivergent’ and then having all one’s problems conveniently packaged up in ADHD/autism diagnoses, is a way that government institutions pretend to have all the answers while simultaneously avoiding  their responsibilities.

I do understand what it is like to experience the initial relief when given a psychiatric diagnosis – to finally believe that what we think of as ‘symptoms’ or concerns have at last been validated. It is only natural, and fully justifiable to want to feel heard – yet, so few people are able to see the longer-term dangers in using such strategies.  

I am not the only one to predict that a serious backlash is inevitable, and it looks increasingly likely that this will come via right-wing political activists.

‘Neurodiversity’ has become another soapbox, one which is being used by increasing numbers of people in every walk of life. But when it is used to shout loud, making demands to be heard as they draw attention to their plight, it can easily be misinterpreted as if people are saying, “Look at me. I am different. I am disabled. I need to be treated with special care. I need this more than you do.”  

It is in such contrast to the silence  – the hallmark that defines those who are seriously vulnerable as a result of their emotional difficulties or extreme struggles with life. But being ‘too’ vocal is not without its attendant difficulties. Unfortunately, the authenticity of those who inadvertently advertise their life problems with demands for special treatment is falling under scrutiny, and this is adding fuel to the fire of those who believe that the ‘strong, robust, resilient, white, rich and powerful’ are the only ones who can save this country.

Undoubtedly people have problems. People have difficulties and experience distress for multiple reasons. But what is also true is that many ordinary people are under the influence of this mass, global delusion – one which promotes an unscientific, unevidenced label such as ‘neurodiversity’ and describes ‘ADHD/autism’ as a real, physical, definable entity when it is simply not true.  While this has been widely marketed in healthcare and is another inroad for prescriptions to be issued at the behest of the pharmaceutical industry, it also encourages the completely fictitious notion that people’s problems arise from an innate chemical imbalance in their brains, or that their brains are ‘wired differently’ despite plenty of evidence to the contrary.

No, we are not weak characters, and our brains are not fundamentally flawed. We are all different and yet have much in common as human beings. If there is such a thing as ‘neurodiversity’ it means what it says – we are diverse in our expression as people, the way we behave, the way we think and the way we feel and as such we are called to honour and respect our differences as much as we do our shapes, sizes, skin colour, talents, presence or absence of the ability to hear, see, speak, mobilise or in any other facet of our humanity.

While the UK population continues to embrace the so-called condition of ‘neurodiversity’ and simultaneously embraces ‘treatment’ of the variant which they have called ‘ADHD’ with stimulant drugs based on amphetamines, it is also clear that it would be a disaster if there was any cure!  The very concept of ‘neurodiversity’ lends itself as both protection against a harsh world, and also a benefactor for those who have made use of this diagnosis as a gateway to obtain additional help or gain special privileges. This is not wrong in itself; governments have always thought it necessary to ration additional benefits to those who need it most.

But what is terrible is the widespread ignorance about a simple truth.  ‘Neurodiversity’, ‘ADHD’, ‘autism’, ‘ASD” and most other psychiatric ‘diagnoses’ are delusions manufactured by industry and spread by elitist medical professionals and psychologists throughout our £120 billion funded NHS (as well therapists/counsellors in the private sector). I will say it again – people’s needs are real. But the supposed ‘pathology’ is not.

Those who continue to perpetrate this high-level fraud, along with others who are simply duped, are more deluded than those who are forcibly detained in their psychiatric hospitals with so called ‘psychosis’. The latter group have the possibility of recovery. The former have no insight and present a serious danger to the global community. In the UK, they are robbing our nation of scarce resources by increasing the inequality gap whilst knowingly poisoning a great many people with chemicals, disguised by the clever nomenclature of drugs.  and some of these same people will die an earlier death as a result.

If people are feeling alone, set apart, different, as though no one else understands them – then the fault is societal, and the solution will be found there too. If children (or adults) find themselves unable to concentrate at school or in the workplace and are constantly distracted – then the very fact that more and more people are admitting to this, must surely draw attention to the way our society sees and uses education and work. In addition to this, there are so many adversities that people have lived through both as children and then as adults, which continue to affect us later in life.

How can we think that the answers lie in drugs, or the need to tell people that they are remarkably different from everyone else? Why should they have to learn strategies to cope with the rest of the world? Why are we not looking at what it is about modern living that has made life so unbearable for a significant number of people?

Surely if we tackle the real root causes, it will not only benefit a larger number of people, it would  prevent the terrible problems happening in the first place.

Of course, this is not popular with politicians – why would they want to tackle poverty, socioeconomic differences, unemployment, the use and misuse of technology, the way schools and employment are set up, the provision of better housing and a good look at the food and drink industries for a start. It would be time consuming and potentially costly – it is far easier to label those who feel unhappy as being ‘ill’ or ‘disordered’.

But since the numbers have risen so drastically,  many people are now claiming to be disabled, and the backlash will come. Those on the right-wing spectrum of politics may well end up thinking that they are the only ones who can save our nation from itself; the left-wing and those on the middle ground seem to have fallen for the delusion of psychiatric diagnosis (including ‘neurodiversity’), as much as anyone else. When the time comes, those in power will hit hard and fast.

As a result, all who are vulnerable will suffer. But those who will lose the most are those who were born seriously disabled, and/or from minority ethnic groups, and/or who have become so ill that they are unable to work. Amongst them will be those who are harmed because of the drugs and other ‘treatments’ prescribed by their doctors and other health professionals. This is already happening – the prescriptions for psychiatric drugs are increasing, as is the all-cause mortality rates for those taking them. The NHS refuses to recognise its responsibility in making so many people seriously unwell.

While the root causes of people’s distress continue to be ignored, whether socio-economic, family or trauma based, children and young people suffer.  The potential for prevention is missed – instead the continued cycles of poverty and neglect will go on and on endlessly. It is ironic that the NHS is determined to ‘level up’ in the pursuit of health equality, when this trend is producing the opposite effect.

Meanwhile those who are middle class and functioning well in their jobs, may suddenly decide that perhaps they have outgrown their ‘neurodiversity’ label as the movement loses political favour and their privileges are withdrawn. But they will survive. They always do – because in the end, it is just another example of ‘survival of the fittest’. Those who shout loudest win. We might warn them now, but it falls on deaf ears – as long as they get the most from the system while they can, why would they care?

Those who lean towards right-wing politics are not any different – ‘me and my family’ will always be the priority, whatever else is going on in the community. As humans, we have an innate tendency to choose to reward those who are most like ourselves, as long as they are seen to be deserving. Whether born into privilege or just lucky in life, hard work will always be revered. But those who cannot contribute because of their misfortune, are of lower status and lower priority.

While most of the population is literally under a mass delusion – and seem to want to see themselves as mentally ill or disabled, it will serve a purpose, when those who hold power want to rid themselves of those they see as parasites within our communities. Even though few politicians care enough about the future health of our planet, they feel threatened by those who might rob them of their eutopia. Before we know it, eugenics will be on the rise again.

I admit to my own existential crisis – how can the world sustain this level of selfishness? Please prove to me that I am wrong. Prove to me that this will end well. I have no joy in predicting a bleak future. And what should my own response be? What can I do or should I do? Once upon a time, I was certain there was a God, but now I can only hope.

I hope for redemption. I hope there is more to life. My only consolation is that whether the human race destroys itself through war, or by continuing to raise the temperature of the planet, it seems certain that nature will survive. It always has done, and it always will. But that does not help much now, as I witness this mass, global delusion play out, and more and more people cling to a cleverly packaged pseudo-diagnosis, with pseudo-treatments.

‘Take stimulants, work harder for longer and if that doesn’t help, there are plenty more solutions for sale – different drugs,  more books to read, more courses, coaching and counselling to attend. But whatever you choose, shout for more! There will never be enough funding!’

I feel angry that our society has created a situation where people have become naïve and gullible to the profiteering of those who are already rich enough.

It is also sad that people with alternative opinions to the dominant biomedical models of psychiatry feel restrained from being open when wanting to share our thoughts, particularly when it comes to rational discussions about so-called ‘neurodiversity’.  It is particularly frowned upon to say anything that is perceived as negative by those who consider themselves inclusive, ‘woke’ to the tee. I have survived many, many years of stigma and discrimination at the hands of the psychiatric system, and continue to advocate for better healthcare, yet when I provide an alternative opinion, am I to be considered ‘ableist’?!

While we have little control over the influences that have led to this mass delusion, I hope that as a society it’s not too late. I hope that we will not put all our faith in illness or disability, nor in doctors or their treatments. I hope that together we will listen out for the tactics of those who profit from our distress. Of course, medical care has made great strides in treating certain physical conditions. But healthcare systems like the NHS cannot be expected to make people wise, happy or fulfilled.

For most of life’s problems, I think it’s important to believe that we really are enough. While there are times when it may be possible to change our circumstances, there are equally many times when it is us who needs to change.  While we can lean on one another in an open-minded and accepting community, it remains vital that we recognise the potential within us to grow with our suffering, to become wise and lead others to do the same. And despite everything going on around us, including the frustrations and serious concerns of mass delusions, we may yet discover just how beautiful and wonderful life is, and in doing so may even dare to call it happiness.

What does consent mean in practice?

A ‘lived experience’ perspective

This blog was first published by Mad in the UK https://www.madintheuk.com/2025/05/issues-of-consent/ on 15/05/25

It follows some of the issues raised in my recently published memoir ‘Unshackled Mind; a doctor’s story of trauma, liberation & healing’. 

Apparently, I consented to ECT. Apparently, I consented to psychosurgery, when I had part of my brain ablated in 2001; the operation was called a ‘bilateral anterior cingulotomy’. When I came to challenge this, I was told that my consent was valid because I should have known exactly what was going on as a qualified doctor. As a result, I have no legal comeback to any of these procedures.

But I disagree. After all, I had been sold a bunch of lies. I had been told repeatedly over several years, that I was suffering from a brain disorder – variously described as a chemical imbalance or ‘something structural’ which had apparently caused me to have ‘treatment resistant depression’. I was influenced by the hierarchy, the consultants and professors who knew better than me…….after all, I was just a junior doctor, a mother with children. I was just a woman and I had not completed years of postgraduate training or researched all the papers – how was I to know?

On each and every occasion that I agreed to any sort of ‘treatment’, I was told that it would make me better more quickly, and more often than not, was necessary to save my life. I wanted to get better, of course I did. And throughout these years as a psychiatric patient, I was prescribed a cocktail of drugs which I took religiously at first. Why? Because they told me they were vital and if I stopped them, I would get worse.

I was in such a state of internal agitation and yet my world didn’t feel real, a strange inability to show emotion, a horrible feeling of being locked in by the numbness and so sedated that even reading, and every physical movement felt effortful. I now believe it was the effects of these drugs that led to this state of tortured misery, and all the while my thoughts were caught up in petrifying, paralysing cycles of negativity. I was terrified, utterly terrified that what I was experiencing could get worse than the torture I was already experiencing. So of course I couldn’t stop the drugs.

There came a time when I tried to rebel. Tired of the treatments, tired of living in the nightmare, I resisted admission to hospital, but I was in the psychiatrists’ thrall, they controlled me and then I had no choice – I was sectioned, detained – legally I had to be injected with depots, I had to take the drugs. I was watched to make sure that I swallowed the mixture of pills and capsules. But to be honest, I wouldn’t have resisted taking the drugs, because I was so frightened by the psychiatrists’ narrative – that I would go further downhill if I stopped them. The terror was so real. I find it hard to explain just how scared I felt.

If this wasn’t bad enough, I was being bullied -some of the nursing staff kept telling me that the reason I didn’t get better was because I ‘didn’t want to get better’………..They said, I wanted to be in hospital. Why would I want to be held captive, away from my family, with others who were also in various states of agitation and distress? None of it made sense.

It felt like I was back at boarding school, and once I was legally captive within their hospitals, it felt as though I was on trial.  I had to prove to them that I wanted to get better and I had to do everything that was suggested and advised by my expert psychiatrists. I was doing my best to be a compliant patient, but life was hell. Life was a nightmare and whatever I agreed to, just made everything worse, but they insisted it was my broken brain that was the problem. These psychiatrists never, ever questioned their part in it, their treatments, their drugs, their attitudes……….No, my failure to recover was all down to me – my faulty brain, my weakness, my vulnerability.

To ensure that I ‘freely consented’ to the psychosurgery – which they called  NSMD (Neurosurgery for Mental Disorder), a fancy name to try and distance it from the old-fashioned lobotomies – I had to be interviewed by an independent ‘committee’. A committee who read my notes and talked to the hospital staff before they talked to me. The psychiatrist in charge primed me before I saw them– it was made very clear, that if I did not ‘freely consent’ then I could not have this surgical intervention which was my LAST chance of gaining a partial recovery. It was the ‘LAST resort treatment’ and I was told that if I continued the drug regime and had CBT after the surgery, I might – just might, get to live at home again. By then I was permanently sectioned and had been in hospital for over a year. At the same time, the committee were told that if I did not have this surgery, I would very likely die.

My consent was so freely given that I couldn’t even remember what had been done to me after the surgery.

Yet it had already been shown that I was in such a state prior to the surgery, that when my cognitive function was formerly tested, the result was that my performance was in the bottom 10% of what was expected.  Not to mention that my memory was shot to pieces by the ECT, some of which was given to me without my consent, under a section of the mental health act. Moreover, through the sedation and other effects on my brain function caused by the cocktail of drugs……….I was certainly not in my right mind that is for sure!

So, of course the psychiatrists had my life under their control. They made decisions, I merely said I understood and signed my name. They deny coercion, but how can that be the case, when I had been lied to? There was no truth in any of their assertions. I did not have any brain disease. I was being poisoned by their drugs, my brain was regularly being damaged by maintenance ECT and the night before the operation, a junior doctor came to ask me to sign the consent form. The following day I had two pea sized portions of my brain deliberately destroyed all because I thought they were telling me the truth. No, not all because of that – I also agreed because I was so utterly miserable that I thought I owed it to my family to be seen to have tried everything – they never asked me about that. I had decided that after the surgery, I would find a way to take my life. I was determined that this time I would succeed.

I know I’m lucky to have survived it all. I’m lucky because after all these assaults on my brain, things could be a lot worse. I’m amazed at the human body’s resilience. It’s perfectly possible that I may yet, have more physical problems as a direct consequence of what they did to me. I know that now’s the time to be grateful for the life I have, and I must make the best of the unknown time I have left.

But what they did to me, has had profound repercussions – not only was my life ruined but by extension, it ruined the lives of my family too. They didn’t consent to what happened to me. None of us did. And none of this was necessary.

If only I could turn the clock back. If only I had followed my gut instinct and said ‘NO’ to the first antidepressant, and the second……None of this would have happened. I would never have become agitated, sleepless, desperate, suicidal. I would never have been admitted to a psychiatric hospital, given ECT and ended up on the cocktail of drugs which rapidly then became a continuous pattern only differing in where I would end up and what drugs I would be prescribed. But, at that time, there was no discussion about the harms of psychiatric drugs – and today in 2025, antidepressants are still being labelled as ‘safe and effective’.

What a disaster. But they are not sorry. They are not willing to listen to my side of the story. They still think they know best as they repeat their errors using human beings with lives and families as their victims and their guinea pigs. These arrogant, dangerous fools whose interests lie in further propagating their falsehoods, trying to convince the world of their wisdom. I believe they will be found out, and I hope it’s sooner rather than later as more and more of us speak out. We, the survivors, who despite them, summon up our courage to speak from the heart as we mourn the many for whom it is too late. Some died by suicide, and we are told that it was a result of their ‘illness’, others are recorded as deaths by ‘misadventure’, still others suffer the catastrophic metabolic effects of the drugs, and their premature deaths are said to be ‘natural’– what a joke. They died as a result of toxic manipulation of their normal brain chemistry by drugs, prescribed by doctors. This is not natural, nor is it suicide, surely this is state sanctioned murder.

Boarding school & the female perspective

When I talk about genders within this article, I refer to the binary states of boy/man/male and girl/woman/female, purely because at the time of writing, this was the division which primarily determined the type of school in which boarding school children were educated. There is no intention to diminish or disrespect anyone who identifies in any way other than the stereotypes described in this blog. Similarly, this article in no way seeks to diminish the terrible experiences that children the world over endure when assaulted by adult care givers.

At long last we are seeing attention being paid to the issue of boarding school, and the harm done to children who were sent away, often at a very young age, to be educated away from home. Yet even in this space, many women are concerned that there is a very gendered bias towards the male experience of those who survived boarding school.

Rightly public attention is being paid to the fact that boys were so often cruelly beaten, physically or sexually abused, within the closed environments of boarding schools. Undoubtedly girls were also sexually abused, and all of these victim-survivors deserve to have their voices heard and the perpetrators brought to justice.

But it is clear that many women are unhappy that their bad experiences of growing up in an all-female environment of a boarding school goes unrecognised and is often dismissed purely because it seems way less dramatic than the narratives around child sexual or physical abuse. While I have no wish to cause offence to the leaders and pioneers of the boarding school survivors’ movement, I cannot help but sympathise with the many female ex-boarders, who say how they feel ignored and misunderstood. But this leads onto the question, why is it hard to listen to these women and why is it that these women feel unheard?

However one of the problems in taking a stance on ‘gender’ differences, is that there is potential to potentiate the male – female divide, and also alienate those who do not want to identify in the cis-gender space. Also I do not want these conversations to expand any sense of victimhood, when the path to healing is to restore and empower all people who identify themselves as boarding school survivors.

Having said this, I believe there is some merit in examining the female perspective of those who have had a boarding school education.  In the context of our British culture, it is not altogether surprising that the opinion and views of women in this arena has lagged behind that of our male counterparts. Most of the public schools originated as establishments for boys, created to fulfil various roles that served the state, and we still live in a predominantly male driven society, a legacy of generations who believed that only boys should be educated, and that leaders should be men. The fact is that even when girls were recognised as being worthy of an education, the female boarding schools that came into being were few in number and considerably less prestigious. Yet, for the past 50 years, girls have also been sent away to boarding schools by their families in increasing numbers, and they too had to find a way to survive within these anachronistic and misogynist institutions.

When the plight of boarders was first brought to public attention, pioneers like Nick Duffell did not know or understand the ways in which girls also suffered, and people still remain ignorant about the experience of young women who spent their formative years in boarding school.  Duffell’s original healing workshops existed only for male ex-boarders, until women contacted him and asked for help themselves. While there are many more co-ed boarding schools now, the majority originated from single sex boarding schools for boys. But whether girls board in single sex schools or not, their experiences are undoubtedly different to that of the boys.

Boys at boarding schools have been routinely subjected to physical abuse including corporal punishment in far greater numbers than girls, and it is possible that they may have suffered from more sexual abuse too, (although the absolute evidence for this is lacking). But there is still relative ignorance about why female survivors are no less traumatised especially when their experiences seem less ‘dramatic’ and do not satisfy the criteria for popular, sensationalist media coverage.

In exploring this, it is important to understand that boarding schools were microcosms of society, where girls were also being trained in roles which satisfied the order of the day. There are very few famous female boarding schools, just as there is no ‘old girls club’ in parliament and no favours to women as a result of the ‘old school tie’. While women were ostensibly being sent to these establishments for education, often academic success was not quite as coveted as in boy’s schools.

 I attended two all-girls boarding schools between the ages of 9-17. Perhaps ironically the first school was more ‘academic’ and we were streamed and encouraged to do exams early. But despite the expensive fees, subject options were limited. I was transferred to the second school when my parents realised that I was unhappy, but this school did not make life any better for me. This school was smaller and there was only one class for the whole year group. Many of the girls were doing CSEs, a less challenging exam to the then ‘O’ levels. The numbers in our lower six class had dwindled as girls would be sent away to ‘finishing schools’ or were there to re-take exams. By the upper sixth, there were only six of us left to do ‘A’ levels. If my memory serves me correctly, only two of us went on to university.

When I first arrived at this school, I could not understand how or why these girls were boarding when their homes were so close by.  I was a first-generation boarder, having been sent back to the UK to school because my father was a diplomat, and the government paid for my school fees. When some of my new classmates discussed ‘coming out’ as debutantes, I had no idea what they were talking about.  On reflection, I can see how these girls were still very much under the influence of upper-class society, which saw women as attractive accessories to successful husbands. Despite the fact, that our culture was beginning to change, boarding schools were still steeped in this binary view of the world. Women had their place, but always in a supportive role, at the side of the male leader.  

It is therefore no surprise that boarding school set about breaking our spirits, making us submissive and malleable. But unlike boys, the penalties meted out to girls at boarding school were not usually physical.  When we failed to comply, our punishments were shame-based, and it was all too easy to shame little girls. It was not just the absence of kindness, compassion and understanding that took its toll.  Command, control, shouting and snide remarks by the adults in authority as well as derogatory comments on our appearance and character undermined our self-worth. The red pen in our exercise books, the public humiliation when our misdemeanors were brought to the attention of the school…..It didn’t take much to bring our self-esteem crashing to the floor. By our nature and upbringing, girls were given more leeway to show our emotions in the home environment, and crying might be considered a normal response – but not for us at boarding school. Crying was a sign of weakness. Crying could draw attention to yourself and therefore to the bullies.

Literally overnight, when we arrived at boarding school, we were expected to conceal our feelings. Boarding school was no place for tears and there was no place for anger either. We were little girls who had been abandoned into the care of strangers to whom we had no emotional attachment. We were expected to conform, dressed exactly alike in our uniforms, hair tied back, given the same food to eat, timetabled to sleep at set times, even changing our underwear on designated days. We wore a second pair of knickers – over-pants to make sure that when ‘the curse’ came, there would be less chance that embarrassing blood stains would show.  Our changing female bodies were not discussed and when our breasts started to develop, the need to wear a bra became part of the competition. Our sexuality was never part of the conversation, and as we became teenagers, our desire for a mother figure, which had been missing from our lives was easily confused as a desire for intimacy with older girls, or for sex with boyfriends.

We did not know that we missed our mothers as we struggled through period pains, fluctuating moods and our confusion. We only had each other, and that was supposed to be enough. My own sex education came from the 9- & 10-year-olds in my dormitory on my first night at boarding school, when I was asked whether I knew where babies come from. The only time I ever heard an adult talk about sex was during one biology class when I was 14. I remember how as a class, we embarrassed the teacher by asking her what an orgasm was. Poor Mrs S blushed crimson and mumbled a few words – there was never any mention of the word clitoris.

 Bullying was very useful to the staff and matrons alike. It did much of their work for them. The older girls taught the younger ones what was expected of them, and then the bullies ensured that the school pecking order stayed in place and that any girl who attempted to voice a dissident opinion was silenced. Girls were expected to be demure – fights were primarily verbal, laced with passive aggression. Being ‘sent to Coventry’ and ignored by the rest of the class was commonplace, as was malicious gossip, taunting and teasing. There were so many unwritten rules that we learned to live by at boarding school. To complain of feeling ill would earn yourself the title of hypochondriac, to show your longing for home meant you were weak. You were required to kowtow to the popular girl and ignore those who were outside her favour.

The dormitory itself carried its own fears, because you could never get away – there was no privacy and no one to confide in. We became emotional islands, without any comprehension that we were not unusual or that all our classmates were likely suffering too. Instead, having learned to hide our feelings, we survived. We knew how to wear a mask and our problems as adults arose because we did not know how to take it off.

We were not a band of ‘sisters’ at school, because there was a fierce competitiveness between us that went under the radar, unspoken. We had to learn how to be our individual selves in subtle ways. It didn’t ‘do’ to boast, or to clamour after success. Unlike boys at boarding school, we weren’t being taught to ‘lead the country’ or take up positions of power. Perhaps as a result we didn’t develop the sense of entitlement that so many male boarding school survivors describe. Rather we learnt how to make alliances to survive, and that would serve us well when we found the perfect husband and could bask in his limelight.

Maybe it’s true that boarding schools turn out independent adults, after all as girls growing through adolescence without the guidance and help of a natural community, we had become very self-reliant.  We learned to cope with many things alone and in silence. I’m sure if a woman were to go through childbirth in an environment of all female ex-boarders, she would bear her labour pains with a minimum of ‘fuss’.

I have heard many female ex-boarders state that they hate being in all women’s groups. It triggers memories of school common rooms, dormitories and classrooms. It is hard not to be suspicious in such groups, unsure of who to trust, worried that all those old fears of being excluded or othered, would once again befall us, when all we really want is to leave it all behind.

Of course, some of what I have described is bound to have occurred in day schools too, but there was no escape for boarders. Girls whose parents lived overseas were in the worst position of all, some only going home once or twice a year. How could we possibly talk to our parents about our hopes, fears and dreams or receive meaningful adult counsel from them. When I hear how ‘things have changed now’ – children at boarding school have mobile phones, or they go home more often than we did growing up – I want to believe this is true. I hope that boarding schools have improved their hiring of staff and have matrons who show compassionate care to their young charges. But I still have to ask the question – can an adult who does not know you, who was not there from the moment of your birth and who has the responsibility for a number of children in the same position, really take the place of a loving parent? Does being on the phone, adequately replace the physical presence of a mother or a father – the love, the physical touch which all young children should be able to access when they feel the need?

So when I hear statements to the effect that girls at boarding school had a ‘better’ time because they avoided the physical abuse that boys received, then my response is that we are not in competition. We must salute the courage of all children who have survived the consequences of years continuous stress, emotional neglect and abuse. I respect our collective strength, courage and dignity.  

But every child, no matter what happened to them, has their own story to tell. Whether they have deep wounds or long-lasting trauma, they must be listened to, and allowed to express their anguish and their tears, because it is clear that validation of their experiences is the first step towards healing. What I have written in this article, may be very different from what you have experienced. Please feel free to share how it was for you.

I conclude with this opinion. I believe women or girls who have survived boarding school have equal right to have their experiences heard and validated. They should not be forced to receive group help in all ‘female’ spaces, if they believe that is not what will help their recovery. It is important that the whole boarding school survivor community come to understand the sensitivity of this matter to those who have felt excluded, and become willing to embrace diversity not just in terms of gendered spaces but also in the different modalities which take us further on our journeys to recovery.

Unshackled Mind: A Doctor’s Journey of Healing and Resilience

Published by The Book Guild on 28th February 2025

Available now from all bookshops, WHSmith and Amazon.

U n s h a c k l e d M i n d is a story of hope and resilience, written by an A&E doctor who endured years as a psychiatric patient, diagnosed with treatment-resistant depression.

Cathy’s life has been a constant battle, marked by frequent hospital detentions, episodes of suicidal thoughts, and self-harm. Despite psychiatry’s best efforts to treat her—including numerous medications, electroconvulsive therapy (ECT), and even brain surgery—these interventions only deepened her suffering.

However, through profound self-discovery, she uncovered the true causes of her emotional turmoil, sparking a transformative shift in her mindset.

U n s h a c k l e d M i n d outlines her extraordinary journey to freedom and the remarkable healing that followed.

Cathy Wield was born and raised overseas before returning to the UK for her education. She has spent most of her career as a doctor, specialising in Emergency Medicine. As an author, she has written and spoken extensively about her experiences as a psychiatric patient and continues to improve care and offer hope to those suffering from emotional crises.

‘A Moving and Powerful Story we all need to pay attention to’


JOHANN HARI
N E W YORK TIMES
BEST SELLING AUTHOR

‘A Truly Remarkable Story by a Truly Remarkable Woman’

SAMI TIMIMI
CHILD & ADOLESCENT PSYCHIATRIST



Part one Out & About- Growing the movement for radical change

First published on Mad in the UK on 28/10/24


It has been a delight to take up opportunities to gather in person at various events this year, particularly after the restrictions imposed by the pandemic. There are various networks of like-minded individuals which have grown up around the country, and around the world, who are determined to improve the care of people who have all too frequently been given the familiar labels of psychiatric diagnoses. Sometimes the focus of these groups is to take an ‘activist’ stance, or it may be a particular way of helping people but the unifying factor is that we all know that the traditional bio-medical model of psychiatry is not fit for purpose.

In September, I had a wonderful day at the AD4E live gathering in Pershore, and met allies who I had seen write or maybe I had heard speak on the many virtual meetings. It has also wetted my appetite for the upcoming AD4E festival on November 8th. There are so many sources of inspiration.

Then in early October, I went to ‘Making New Maps’, my second retreat with Compassionate Mental Health. I hadn’t been to Coed Hills Rural Art space before and it was truly beautiful. The centre is run by a community of individuals who live on-site, in a low impact way, grow food and explore creative expression through the arts and a relationship with the environment; it was just the right sort of venue for this gathering.

‘Compassionate Mental Health’ work with a network of people across the UK and internationally to transform mental health services, and radically change the way we talk about and treat ‘mental illness’. Once again, I found myself meeting people who are part of a growing worldwide movement calling for a more holistic approach.

The power of community is so well demonstrated in groups like these, where any status conferred by a job or position in society is left behind and together we can just be ourselves for who we are and not what we do. While there may be a variety of speakers and facilitators, all prepared to share their wisdom at these events, nonetheless, it remains important that there is no ‘them and us’. I was not disappointed that this retreat was no exception, and we were encouraged to eat together and sit together in the common areas.

It was fascinating to find out about the formal research which is looking at the principles of ‘Soteria’ houses and the funding that has made this possible here in the UK. It was also very interesting to meet representatives from PsyCare UK, and to discover that they have over 1000 volunteers all over the country who provide a safe and supportive environment mainly at festivals, so that individuals can navigate through difficult experiences. How inspiring it was to hear some of their stories.

Whenever I attend these sorts of gatherings, I am always impressed when I meet people and/or the families of those who have experienced what is commonly referred to as ‘treatment’ given by the current mental health services. For many former or current patients, it’s not necessary to give all the detail of exactly what has happened, when there is a common agreement that our experiences could have been better.

For many of us, this has led to our desire to withdraw from traditional psychiatric services, and some of us can give testimony to the recovery that followed.  But we are mindful that this is not always the case and it is important for everyone at every stage of their lives, to be accepted and cared for, in whatever situation and circumstances they are in right now, in the present moment.

Yet, the purpose of meeting was not to denigrate those working in health services – not at all. As it happens, there were some very dedicated NHS staff at the Coed Hills retreat, who were also passionate to improve services for those who seek their help.  Instead, there was universal agreement that there are alternative ways to approach our diversity of need.

Hearing stories from other participants always brings gatherings like this alive. So many had been through agonising times either themselves or with their loved ones. The compassion, love and empathy were tangible when people so courageously shared heart-wrenching accounts of their lives and experiences. We were aware too of the tragedies, the bereavements of people who have died too soon because their pain had been unbearable. Our hearts were touched, and we grieved for the loss of close family members to suicide, many of whom were far too young to go. Yet it was so apparent how the families had turned the bitterness of their loss into impassioned desire to help others and to prevent such tragedies from happening to other people, without in any way diminishing the grief that would be with them for as long as they lived.

People were truly inspiring. Courageous in sharing the depths of their despair, not afraid of their vulnerabilities. The collective talent was awesome, many poets, musicians, artists and creatives, all who in their own way were using these gifts to express or enhance the value of their lived experiences.

Someone said they didn’t like the term ‘survivor’ because it conferred another label on us. Perhaps they’re right in that it gives us another reason to be ‘othered’. But such disagreements on the use of language must never divide our united intention, to make life better for those who suffer the unseen pain of deep emotional or mental distress.

Serious violence and violations had been acted out on many of us as children, while others were ignored, bullied and emotionally neglected. our basic needs going unmet. We recognise our own traumas whether society chooses to recognise abuse, neglect or not -and all too often what happened in early life led to the difficulties which plagued us later life. Whichever way those harms chose to manifest hardly mattered.  Whether our mood was high or low, or fluctuating in between, whether we were excessively anxious or hallucinating – hearing voices or seeing things which others cannot see – whether we acted out against ourselves or others in our despair. We discover that we are not in fact uniquely flawed, and in some cultures, our experiences may be revered, and we might be sought after as shamans and mystics.

As we sat together, united with our desire to do good as we would have done to ourselves, we also learnt to empower one another and enable the choices so many of us desire in this important realm of caring for our emotional, mental or spiritual needs.  I left with renewed ability to respect the sanctity of our spiritual or religious beliefs. knowing that there is no certainty about such things.

This was indeed a gathering of like-minded people who are passionate to improve the care of those who are emotionally or mentally distressed or disturbed, whether they have been given a formal ‘psychiatric diagnosis’ by healthcare professionals or not. There will never be a ‘one size fits all’ approach, just as there never will be a pill that can fix life’s problems.  But here we came together to learn and explore different ways in which we can all be empowered to live our best lives with whatever assets and constraints we are carrying at the current time.

Whenever I leave a gathering like this having dipped once more into life’s richness, I reflect on how little I can do as just one person. It is true none of us can do this alone, but together with our new connections, perhaps the dream can move further down the road as we follow new maps to the provision of good, holistic, compassionate care for all who need it.

Doctors Are Not Trained to Think Critically

https://www.madinamerica.com/2024/06/doctors-are-not-trained-to-think-critically/

 Cathy Wield

I went to medical school in 1977. I was still only 17 years old but it was a great relief after the horrendous years I had spent at an all-girls boarding school. My fellow students and I started our first year ‘pre-clinical’ training with 4 ½ days a week of lectures. We were expected to assimilate a massive amount of information and then to regurgitate it during the end of the year exams. Those who failed would have one chance to re-sit and if unsuccessful, they would have to leave medical school.

University students are expected to be inquisitive, to ask questions, but at medical school, it was the other way round. Medical students were expected to answer questions correctly to the lecturer or teacher’s satisfaction.

I already felt disadvantaged; one of the lecturers had broadcast that any student who did not have ‘A’ level Physics should not have been granted a place at medical school. I was one of those students. I had done Maths ‘A’ level instead. My school didn’t do physics or chemistry and I had had to cycle to a neighbouring school just to get the mandatory ‘A’ level Chemistry lessons.

I clearly remember the time when I dared to pose a question during one of our lectures: We were learning about asthma, and I asked why it was that I suffered from wheezing after a thunderstorm but at no other time.

“Impossible,” said the lecturer, “grass pollen is the wrong size and cannot provoke any kind of allergic reaction in the bronchioles (small airways in the lungs).”

I felt humiliated—he had just denied my experience in front of 80 students.

It was many years later that I discovered that doctors had observed this phenomenon on a regular basis. It is now understood that aerosolization of pollen in thunder storms can indeed provoke dangerous asthma attacks for hay fever sufferers like me.

This was just one small example of how humiliation of medical students was routine. By the time we got to our clinical studies and spent most of our time rotating around the various specialities in the local hospitals, we were well used to being subjected to belittling treatment at the hands of our superiors. The ward round was a time when the consultant showed his (rarely her in those days) colours. It was not enough to dominate their junior doctors; terrorising medical students was a daily occurrence. We would be quizzed over a patient’s condition and if we failed to give a satisfactory answer, then making personal and derogatory comments to our detriment was considered fair game.

I was not looking forward to my psychiatry rotation. The prospect of spending time in the large institution, Springfield Psychiatric Hospital in Tooting, was scary. Medical students were tasked with presenting written cases on a variety of patients, finding examples to illustrate the most common psychiatric diagnoses. I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed the experience of interviewing these interesting patients. I felt privileged to have the time to sit and listen to the reasons why they were in hospital and discover more about their background and circumstances. I did well and was awarded an ‘A’ grade for my efforts.

However, I wanted to be a surgeon, so my interests lay elsewhere. As it happened my life took an unexpected turn when I became pregnant. I had no maternity leave and had no family help. By the end of the training, when I finally qualified as a doctor, I was exhausted. I was told that my decision not to go straight into work as a junior doctor was tantamount to career suicide, but I wanted to give our little daughter the best chance in life by looking after her myself.

I didn’t start work as a junior doctor until 8 years and 3 additional children later. My husband and I role swapped to enable me to work the grueling 80-100 hours a week required to get my full registration as a doctor. My intention was to become a GP, but just before I reached that goal, I was side-lined into postgraduate training to become an A&E consultant.

At that time, there were only a few brave patients who came to A&E following overdoses, and it was very rare to see any other manifestations of self-harm. The medical profession expressed a global disdain towards these individuals; those diagnosed with a mental health condition were highly stigmatised and considered weak or defective characters.

Admittedly I was tired out. I had been present during some very distressing resuscitation attempts of young children and the memories of my awful, traumatic experience of boarding school had just surfaced. I knew the reasons why I was having an emotional crisis and I went to my GP for help. The GP left little room for discussion before telling me I was depressed. I left the GP surgery feeling utterly bewildered and wondered how on earth a pill like Prozac was going to fix my problems. But I was a doctor and conditioned to believe that the experts knew best. The GP must be right.

I took the Prozac for a while, but it just gave me side effects, so I stopped it. I had no idea that stopping antidepressants precipitously was not a good idea. I had been told they were not addictive and had very few side effects.

My circumstances didn’t change, and I was still very tired, very stressed and feeling unhappy. I became increasingly anxious about the responsibility of treating very sick patients with minimal support from more experienced doctors. When I went back to the GP, I was signed off sick and told I must take the antidepressants and the dose was increased.

At home, alone, with no-one to talk to, things went downhill rapidly. I loved my husband but genuinely didn’t want to burden him with what I felt were unreasonable concerns. After all my profession told me I should be able to cope, and the GP had assured me these pills would soon make me better. I just had to wait it out. But I just kept feeling worse. I couldn’t sleep, I felt agitated, my thoughts were going round and round and then I became suicidal. Being suicidal made no sense. I had a loving husband, four beautiful children. I had a job. There was no reason to want to die.

Nobody understood that suicidal thoughts could be caused by the very drugs which are used to treat depression. When I shared my thoughts with a doctor friend, she was alarmed. I was taken to an emergency appointment at the GP, then an emergency appointment at the department of psychiatry and my husband was told I must be admitted straight away.

That was just the start of the seven-year fiasco, where I was continuously treated with a changing cocktail of psychiatric drugs and multiple ECT treatments. I never improved, instead slowly became worse and worse, as a revolving door patient.

I was given psychotherapy all through this time, but the therapists were not impressed by my accounts of childhood trauma. Apparently, nothing I told them was sufficient to cause the state I found myself in. Nobody considered that the treatment I was having could possibly be detrimental in any way. Nobody understood that the drugs I was taking could be responsible for my deterioration. Instead, I was told that my brain was disordered, that I had a chemical imbalance, and I was seriously ill.

When I started to act out on my suicidal thoughts, self-harming to the extent that my life was in danger, I was sectioned and, in the sixth year, admitted to the secure ward and placed under continual observation. The prognosis was so grim that I was offered psychosurgery. I was desperate to get better. I wanted to be normal, live at home and be a mother to my children. I agreed to the surgery, not really knowing what else to do.

At the point of the psychosurgery, the psychiatrists reduced the cocktail of five drugs at extremely high doses down to two drugs at lesser doses. When I made a spectacular recovery, even the psychiatrists thought it was miraculous. But they could not credit the psychosurgery as responsible for what happened when the ‘light switched on in my head’, nor was the reduction in the number and doses of drugs I was taking ever considered to have any bearing on my recovery.

Eventually I was discharged from the hospital, and I started to take myself off the remaining doses of antidepressants against the wishes of the psychiatrists. When I reported brain zaps, the psychiatrist had no idea what to suggest, other than reduce the dose slowly.

But I was only drug free for a couple of years. During this time, I even managed to get back to work and I was writing my memoir, going through my medical notes to glean the necessary information. The psychiatrist was worried when I reported that I wasn’t sleeping well. He convinced me that this was a sign that the depression was returning. What he said scared me so much that I capitulated and went back on antidepressants.

When my book was published in 2006, I was doing ok, but it didn’t last long. Within a year, I was back to being depressed and suicidal. I felt a terrible fraud having told the world about my successful psychiatric treatment. Once again, I was admitted, this time given ECT. This time, when I was discharged, I was told I must take high dose antidepressants for life. I was also told that I would never fully recover and suffer recurrent relapses. I was therefore advised to avoid all stress and that meant I should never work as a doctor again.

When we moved away and my husband started his training to become a counsellor, I started to hear a different story to the one that I had been taught as a doctor and different to what had dominated my life as a psychiatric patient. I had believed the psychiatrists when they told me I had a very biological depression caused by a chemical imbalance or some kind of as-yet-unidentified brain disorder. In addition to being told that my only hope was to take antidepressants, I was also advised that having any further psychotherapy which went over the events of the past was pointless, and would only serve to further destabilise my precarious remission.

But each day my husband came home from his training and started to drip feed me with alternative ways of looking at things. Maybe feeling stressed and unhappy was a normal response to terrible circumstances. Maybe believing that those supposedly negative emotions were abnormal fed the downward spiral. Maybe hearing society reinforce a message that you should be happy all the time while experiencing the stigma from my profession made it all worse. When the psychiatrist told me time and time again that I was ill and would never recover, maybe it had become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

But could these experts really be wrong? After all, they were highly trained, highly skilled doctors involved in research. Surely while these eminent professors of psychiatry said that I was one of the worst cases they had ever treated, there was no way I could have just been a normal person reacting in a normal way to difficult circumstances. Could I?

When I weaned myself off the sedating antipsychotic drug which had been added to the cocktail of high-dose antidepressants, I felt a lot better. The psychiatrist was not happy. He warned me. If I was to stop any more of my drugs, I might once again find myself back in hospital with a relapse.

When I tentatively started to return to work as a doctor—very part time at first—I was fine.

By 2016, I had seriously started to doubt that suffering awful side effects from taking off-licence high doses of two antidepressants was worth my while. Slowly I started to reduce the doses and I was fine. While I became more confident in the robustness of my recovery, I still remained ignorant about withdrawal. If only I had searched online, I would have known better.

Likewise, I was ignorant that other people who had also been sent away to boarding school as young children also suffered severe consequences as adults. If only I had searched online, I would have discovered these important facts earlier in my life. As it was, left in ignorance, I believed that I was somehow uniquely weak, uniquely flawed and terribly, terribly ill just like the psychiatrists had told me.

I didn’t want to tell doctors about my symptoms during withdrawal. I had no desire to draw attention to what I was doing, and risk being re-diagnosed or medicated again. By trial and error, I discovered that reducing the dose of the psychiatric drugs had to be very, very slow. It wasn’t scientific but I found myself cutting tiny slivers off the tablets and carrying them around with me, to make sure I could take a tiny amount when the feelings like electric shocks became too much. I had to reinstate the other drug when I found the rebound insomnia, the restless legs, the cramps intolerable. But my emotions were alive. I was living in three dimensions after years of feeling like the world was unreal and that I was completely numb. I cried and cried, but I also laughed and felt joy. It was incredibly scary at times, when I felt panic stricken and afraid. Occasionally I had suicidal thoughts, but somehow, I knew they would pass.

One day, it was like the penny dropped and I laughed out loud when I realised that I had been prescribed medication to treat my psychiatrists’ anxieties. They should have been the ones taking my pills.

I found a counsellor and talked over what had happened to me as a child at boarding school. She was amazed. How on earth had nobody taken this seriously all those years ago? I had been through hell back then, and it had been re-enacted by the psychiatric system which re-traumatised me every time I was admitted to hospital. At last, I started to process memories and emotions that had remained suppressed for decades. I had to learn to recognise my survival persona, one who was easily controlled and coerced. One who knew only how to drive herself harder in response to difficulty. I had to meet my inner children and give them the love and comfort which they had been deprived of while I was growing up.

I made a grave error when I decided to go cold turkey on one of the antidepressants – within two days I had severe burning pain and to this day, I still have the symptoms of small fibre neuropathy. I haven’t slept through the night since that time and now I know that these symptoms are very likely manifestations of a protracted withdrawal syndrome.

In the last few years, I have met two educators in different parts of the country. Both were involved in teaching medical students and/or doctors. Neither of them were medical themselves but both qualified teachers and had the academic credentials to be recognised as experts in education. One of them was employed by a medical school, but suddenly their expertise was no longer required to teach ‘problem-based learning’. The other person was also ousted from their role. They are happy to speculate that this is because the students had learned how to apply their critical thinking too effectively. They were becoming bold, asking awkward questions, no longer willing to learn by rote.

Medical research is largely funded by the pharmaceutical industry, papers ghostwritten by the pharmaceutical industry and influencers paid by the pharmaceutical industry. Regulators are not independent either and so it is that most doctors have become pawns in a system, used to deliver the drugs which provide the fundholders with the maximum profit. So far, the system has failed to eliminate corruption and bias, for one reason only, that is there is no such thing as a free lunch.

Most doctors are not capable of critically appraising the research and ‘evidence’ is sold to us as ‘gospel’. Doctors lack time and training, and are part of a historical, culture which trusts in the academic expertise of influential colleagues. My own medical training had simply reinforced the myth that expert doctors knew best. I had denied my own personhood, ignored my gut instincts and succumbed to the traditional biomedical psychiatric paradigm.

There could have been a quicker route to reach the same conclusions as I have now. There was no need for me to have done this alone; there are plenty of other voices out there, plenty of people who can guide the way.

We might think we choose what we believe but it very much depends on what information is fed to us and importantly, what is withheld. We live in a culture which is heavily influenced by social media and the advertising industry. We cannot rely on the medical profession to take the lead.

While some patients may find psychiatric drugs helpful, at the very least all patients need to be fully informed of the risks of potentially dangerous side effects, and the risks of withdrawal.

I am one of the lucky ones who survived, but others have lost their lives as a direct result of psychiatric drugs. I have written a sequel to my original memoir which reflects the turnaround in my thinking. Unshackled Mind will be published in the coming year. Please join me in speaking out, so that others may be spared from unnecessary suffering and life-threatening risks, all of which may follow an innocent request for help during an emotional crisis.

***

Photo by Dom Fou on Unsplash

The curse of the quick fix

You may be forgiven for equating a fix with the high which becomes part of the addiction cycle; yet our modern, western world seems not far removed from a similar phenomenon whereby short term and transient ‘reward’ has become the norm for the evaluation of so many aspects of our complex lives.

This starts at the top in governments who have their eyes on electability rather than the long-term benefits of their policy making. In health care, the same is true. It has become more attractive to talk about short-term cost savings than the work needed to attain long term goals.

When it comes to doctors spending time with patients, there is increasing pressure for us to see more people, or perform more operations or procedures, while at the same time we are told we must provide quality care. Hard working doctors who are berated for spending too long seeing their patients are far more likely to order tests and investigations or prescribe unnecessary drugs in order to close the patient consultation. This is short-sighted and dangerous, even more so when it comes to patients who have emotional crises, undiagnosed physical symptoms or who are returning to care repeatedly.

This sad approach to pressurising the work force is not new. Even way back, when I was a teenager prior to medical school, I took a holiday job working as a healthcare assistant in a nursing home; I remember the matron constantly on my back telling me to hurry up, when it came to feeding, washing, or dressing the elderly clients.

A few years ago, when I was working for a charity which supported homeless people in America, I encountered a similar attitude from my supervisor who was not keen on me ‘giving clients time’. Instead, he would rather that I didn’t miss out on what he saw as more valuable – giving an extra five minutes to make sure that the homeless clients who cleaned the premises did their jobs.

 Yet my experience was that giving someone time reaped dividends. A memorable example was when a client who had been very abusive and aggressive came to the office door asking for help. I invited her into the room, making sure that she knew that I had time to listen to her.  When we were both seated, suddenly she started to open up and I listened as she related her extremely moving and tragic life story. What happened next was a moment of genuine connection as I held her close, reassuring her that she was neither wicked, nor unforgiveable while desperate sobs erupted from somewhere deep within. It certainly transformed our relationship. A short time later, she allowed me to call for help on her behalf; she was seriously suicidal, and I agreed to accompany her for an evaluation by the mental health team. Unfortunately, the appointment could not have been more disastrous.

The pair of professionals sat at a distance from us, as though she was suffering from a seriously infectious disease. Their body language emanated judgement even before they voiced their dismissal of her distress. What could have been a meaningful and helpful time, instead sent her back to a place where she totally disengaged from the system, and I couldn’t blame her for that. It was no surprised that she simply disappeared off the radar, but I was exceedingly worried for her wellbeing.

It should have been a relief to find out she was alive, but I learnt she had been taken into custody and was now incarcerated in a prison, something to do with being in possession of a lethal weapon.  What a wasted opportunity and a crying shame that one of the most vulnerable members of society had been so let down, and at what cost?  And I am sure it was substantial to keep her locked within the expensive criminal justice system.

But returning to the present day, I can describe an example from only last week. The Emergency Department is always busy, but when an elderly man suddenly breaks down in tears, surely he deserves our focussed attention. He had been triggered and told me of his traumatic experience when he haemorrhaged after surgery.

When I related this experience to a colleague later on, they said “but it’s difficult when there are so many patients waiting to be seen.” I could see the alarm in her face as she worried that I might be advocating to spend more time with patients. Her fears are justified but we also have to be true to ourselves and not rush these precious moments of connection. While it may take longer in the short term, apart from being the good and human response, it will also save time in the long run.

Patients who have not felt listened to, or who feel misunderstood are far more likely to require another visit to the doctor. This may be counterintuitive but the kind of anxiety that leads to health-seeking behaviour is often both strong and pervasive. Either that or they may become angry or disillusioned and fail to report significant issues.

Spending a few minutes more to discover what is really going on with a patient will pay dividends.  But this notion is not popular with managers in the stress-filled NHS urgent and emergency services. They do not prioritise quality over perceived productivity. While personalised care is gaining traction, there is still significant dissonance when it comes to practice. The concept of putting more time and resources into an individual patients’ care in front line services is met with horror and dismay. There is a perception that patients will ‘demand’ more tests and will use services more, rather than less. Furthermore, it will not give the policy makers the satisfaction of more throughput, the truly political quick fix.

The failure of current practice is by no means exclusive to but may be particularly obvious within psychiatric services and in primary care where more and more patients are leaving with prescriptions for psychiatric drugs. Prescribing has multiplied on a logarithmic scale and despite the fact that many more resources have been put into the system, still the work continues to increase with more and more people seeking diagnoses and treatment for their distress. Surely this demonstrates that the system is broken, the drugs are not making people better and there are continual cries, that now is time for change.

What has changed across the board in the NHS, is that doctors are spending less time with patients. Solutions are not being sought in their lives and communities, rather quick fixes are sought, and has become the norm for medical practice.

Yet we continue doing more of the same and now we are reaping the consequences of what has gone before. There are more consultations, more investigations, more drugs prescribed, and more patients being treated than ever before, but the health of the nation is not improving.