This is my monthly blog where I talk with someone who has gone through a bad time, a significant change or difficult decision. I wanted a space so that people can share their experience and hopefully pass on some of the learning from this, in order to help others. What I know from the work I do with people is that finding meaning from the chaos and feeling like what you do matters or makes a difference can alter what initially feels like total devastation into something transformational.
This month, I’ll share the story of a woman who faced one of the most difficult moments imaginable: coming home with her children to find her husband in the midst of a mental health crisis.
What life event or situation have you faced?
I came home in the evening, after picking up my children from a club, to find that my husband — who had been struggling with his mental health — had taken an overdose. He was in a manic, irrational state, surrounded by tablets scattered across the kitchen. I felt immediate shock. I couldn’t process what I was seeing, but I knew I had to act fast. My instinct was to protect my children while getting urgent help for my husband. It felt like watching a film of my own life — I was there, but not really there.
What was the impact on your life as you lived it?
The emergency itself was incredibly difficult, and I was deeply grateful for friends who stepped in to care for the children while I followed the ambulance. My husband was in hospital for a few weeks. During that time, I kept everything going — managing the home, caring for the children, coordinating with the hospital, updating family, and attending endless professional meetings. I was physically and emotionally drained. But I had to remain a stable, calm presence for the children, even while I felt like I was barely holding it together.
What was the impact on your identity?
I stopped giving space to my own needs. I felt guilty for feeling angry, and ashamed that I wasn’t coping better. Deep down, I questioned whether I had done enough — was I a good enough partner, carer, mother? My self-worth took a huge hit. I became someone who pushed everything down in order to survive.
Are there any lessons to be learnt from this?
Yes. In the moment, it was necessary to put others first. But I now understand how important it would have been to acknowledge and process my own feelings, too. Therapy helped me work through the rage, guilt, and grief that followed. One of the most powerful lessons was realising I was not to blame. I learned I am strong, yes — but I also learned how vital it is to accept help, and not try to carry everything alone. The enduring support of friends got me through.
What support did you have?
I had amazing friends and family who stepped in. Mental health professionals in the hospital services were vital alongside therapy. Later, we had couples therapy to help us process not just what happened, but how it affected each of us individually — and as a couple.
What did you need that you didn’t have at the time?
I needed firmer boundaries. I needed to recognise that my needs mattered too, even during a crisis. I should have taken time off work, but I didn’t — I was worried about letting others down or losing my job. Looking back, I wish I had felt more permission to prioritise myself, even just a little.
What advice would you think helpful to pass on?
Don’t wait for permission to ask for help. You don’t need to hold everything together on your own. Boundaries are not selfish — they are necessary for survival and healing. And if someone you love is struggling, you are not responsible for their choices — only for how you respond and care for yourself.
How do you see yourself now and in the future?
I still carry this experience with me, but I carry it differently now. I see my strength more clearly. I’m learning to be more compassionate with myself. I know now that vulnerability isn’t weakness — it’s truth. And my future? It’s one where I continue to grow, set better boundaries, and support others through their own messy, meaningful stories.
