I was one of the few hundred people blessed and fortunate to attend yesterday's inspiring,  wonderful and practically helpful #LeadWell conference run by mindandsoulfoundation.org .
The organisation works to educate, equip and encourage... it is faith founded, recovery focused and jargon free It seeks to bridge the gap, integrating psychology, psychiatry and the church.

I have been to a few of their conferences over the years and they just get better and better.  The power of hope in that place yesterday was tangible. We came together as sufferers, helpers or both..joined by our experiences in the arena of trauma, hurt and mental health struggles, we left that place uplifted, encouraged and determined to keep going.  The stories of inspiration and recovery were pure joy, fuel for the journey.

I battled to overcome my darkest suicidal times many years ago, when I was first diagnosed with bipolar ... manic depression as it then was, in San Francisco in 1994. I was put in seclusion and strapped to a bed with leather restraints while going through the most terrifying experience of my life, my first psychotic episode.

Years later I was sectioned in Scotland. I lived in the Scottish Borders for 11 years. The night of my very over the top fancy 40th birthday party,  at the beautiful Traquair House, I was delivered to the local unit in the Borders, Huntlyburn House. My state of mind had deteriorated too far however and I was, within days, transferred to the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit at the Royal Edinburgh Hospital. My children were small, 9 and 18 months, and my poor husband was left in the middle of nowhere in the  beautiful Ettrick Valley trying to look after two young children and deal with the fall out that my incarceration and illness inflicted on me, on him and on our whole family.

It was, I can safely say,  the most horrendous time of my life.  I was a mum, but I was unable to be a mum, and the memory of celebrating my beautiful little boy's first birthday in a visiting room in a psychiatric hospital remains a horrific one.

And yet. GOD. I was not a Christian when these events were happening but I had been searching... in California where I took a course in 'Culture and Creation Spirituality'. I connected with my creative self and escaped the parental control and manipulation which had put me through Cambridge University and led me to working as a BBC radio journalist.  With massive suicidal depression alerting me to the fact that inside there was something very wrong, I escaped first to Los Angeles where my childhood friend was living,  and from there was led to the course at Holy Names College in Oakland, which in turn gave me the certain knowledge that there was a divine aspect to the universe.

Since then much water has passed under the proverbial bridge.  I met my husband,  in a pub in Halifax, in Yorkshire,  where I am from.  I had had to return from California, as shortly after being released from my incarceration in the Langley Porter Unit in San Francisco... came news from home that my beloved Mum was dying of cancer.

Six months after her death I met my husband, and we (I was 33 and my biological clock was ticking), got married and pregnant within two years.  When I was six months pregnant we upped and left all family and friends in Halifax and headed off to our new life in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Borders.

It seemed a completely crazy move.  And yet...it is now my strong belief that it was God's plan.  There it was that I met the person... and people that connected me with the only thing that could begin the process of healing my utter brokenness.  I gave my life to God and oh the relief.  For 40 odd years I'd battled so hard to make it work and make it alright... and my flesh was doing its damndest to hang onto me with that 'you can do this by yourself' nonsense. Finally,  thank you God,  I reached the point where I could not not surrender to Him and say God help me please, it's over to you,  my life is yours, Your will be done because I can't do this any more.

From there the journey has continued... with its inevitable in the world battles and struggles.  I consider myself an overcomer. No longer a victim I walk in the victory of knowing that He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world.

My heart is to help others suffering with these issues at the same time balancing my own needs and continuing mini ups and downs.  We ALL have a state of mental health and this is why Mind and Soul say, and I wholeheartedly agree,  it is no longer an option for church leaders not to know about this stuff.  We all know the statistics and we know the reality of how widespread these issues are.

I consider myself blessed to have had the journey and experiences I have had.. they may have been tough but they give me insight and compassion.  I am so happily sporting my kintsugihope.com t-shirt and necklace.... with their slogan and meaning 'discovering treasure in life's scars' and it's OK not to be OK.  These words connect directly into my heart and my experience.

We enjoyed a fantastic message from Beth Redman all about hope in adversity referencing those wonderful verses Exodus 14:13-14 and Psalm 46:10. When we reach the end of ourselves we need the courage to not be afraid,  in the way we are told so often in the Bible, we need to be still, to trust God, stop striving, we need to enter God's rest and watch the miracle happen.  He can and will do it if we will just let go and get out of the way.

I have, along the way,  been working as a healthcare assistant in a psychiatric unit,  and through church have been helping run a mental health support group 'Peace of Mind.

There was so much good stuff from everyone yesterday and it will be available via mind and soul's website.  I've come a long way and I just had to write something about that fantastic conference this morning. Rev. Will van der Hart gave such real talk encouragement in his final message.  It was about acknowledging we are all in this together. I can help others and others can help me.  God wants us to work together.. to 1) accept my imitations, 2) welcome my uniqueness and 3) lead out of my vulnerability.  God wants us to know we belong, we don't need to hide behind a false self...we need to be our true selves to carry out our true mission. Jesus bore our shame that we might share His glory. We need to show up and be real.

Thank you to everyone involved in yesterday's conference.  It was awesome. I am fuelled up and ready to continue this amazing adventure that God has blessed me with. Slowly, step by step, day by day, walking forward into His mission for my life.

George starts University..new seasons and beginnings

We are going to miss this girl so much.  It's been an intense couple of days. We headed north on Friday, and stopped overnight in Perth. Yesterday we were up with the lark travelling north again, to Aberdeen University.  It was a beautiful day, a perfect one to enjoy the stunning Scottish scenery unfurling before us. We stopped at Dundee for a lovely breakfast with a view.

After that we were just a few short miles from Aberdeen. I will never forget that last bit of the journey as we sang our hearts out to David Bowie's 'Ziggy Stardust'.
Once we found the area of her student accommodation there were loads of friendly helpers and endless freshers and parents all in the same boat... lugging heavy cases, boxes and bags about.

We unloaded the car and George did some unpacking.  She met two girls in her bit of accommodation, they have shared kitchen/ living space, and they seemed lovely (thank you God).

After that I took her for a quick shop and knew that then it was time for me to let her get on with it and me to make myself scarce. I managed to hold it together saying goodbye. Then off she went without a backwards glance, striding confidently into the next chapter of her life.
I shed some tears and set off south, all the while passing places we had taken the children on holiday when they were little and we lived in Scotland.  My head was full of pictures of young George and Dylan in Kirriemuir, Forfar, Glamis castle, Dundee to name a few.  Finally I reached the Borders, the place where she was born 18 years ago and drove past the hotel where we had had her christening party.
I travelled on,  to my dearest friend Susana's house in Selkirk, the town where our children spent the early years of their lives.  There was something weird and wonderful and therapeutic about taking her to University and then doing this kind of geographical journey down memory lane revisiting so many places of her childhood, right back to the place she was born.
I am officially exhausted... emotionally and physically....as well as being so proud and happy for our amazing, unique, funny, feisty, kind, considerate, gorgeous inside and out George, as she starts this new adventure and chapter in her life 💜

#journeys #life #seasons #freshers  #university #adventure #scottishborders #aberdeen #scotland

GOD KEEPS ME SAFE THROUGH EMOTIONAL STORMS

21 years ago tomorrow (18.11.94), at the age of 65 Mum died from cancer. I can remember it like it was yesterday. As someone who regularly proclaims how bad my memory is, it amazes me how clearly I can recall the events of the day before Mum died, the day itself and the day after. There was a strange peace the day after Mum died. It was a grey and misty November day and the four of us - my sister and two brothers - and partners went for a long and lovely walk. Someone - it might have been me - commented that it felt like Christmas. I guess it was an extraordinary out of the normal routine day.

Collage made from 'After Mum' painting

In the following days I was doing some frantic 'this is the only way I can deal with these emotions' type painting. Not long after that I was hauled off to see my psychiatrist - eight months into my official bipolar disorder diagnosis. To say I didn't much care for my psychiatrist at that time was an understatement. He did what medical consultants should never do, ergo, talk to whoever took me to see him - about me - in the third person, as if I didn't exist. I remember one time waking up in a daze having been admitted in the middle of the night to the Priory at Altrincham, and dosed up with anti-psychotics. Sitting up in my beloved 'Betty Ford Clinic' t-shirt (those were my pre-Christian recreational drug imbibing days) with its back slogan 'Clean and Serene', I saw said psychiatrist and let out an audible groan. The man was far too interested in talking about my slightly well known, knighted father than listening to me. One day on the depressed end of my spectrum I challenged him on this and he got so cross he threw me out of his consulting room. The scene was so bizarre/funny it acted like a massive injection of instant anti-depressant. Within days I was much better and then came under the care of a wonderful woman psychiatrist from Iraq, Dr Booya, who really 'saw' me, and treated me with respect and sincere and loving kindness. The world would be a better place with more psychiatrists of her ilk.

At 65 Mum died far too young, missing out on all her grandchildren except one. I am sad Mum never met my husband Dorian - whose interests and concerns are so aligned with hers as to be uncanny. Of course our children Georgina and Dylan missed out on a very special Granny. I have lived with the loss of not having Mum through all the many difficulties and challenges of life in general, bipolar and of course parenting. I have missed so much the physical comfort of Mum, not being able to give her the massive hugs she loved. A student at the Royal Northern College of Music - where she met Dad - she gave up her hopes and dreams of being a musician and dedicated herself to being a Mum. She was a person of utmost integrity. An animal rights campaigner, a dedicated vegetarian, a lover of English setter dogs, someone who taught me and the rest of my siblings: 'everyone deserves respect' and 'stand up for the underdog'.  I mark the anniversary of Mum's death as I always do by just putting it out there that my heart is full of thanks for all that Mum was, all that she gave and all that she sacrificed. 

12/11 is another a day of heightened emotion - our son Dylan's birthday. We celebrated his first in the psychiatric unit of the Borders General Hospital where I was sectioned. I made a birthday card on a bit of scrap paper. I had been torn away from breastfeeding him at 9 months when I was admitted. It was 3 months before I was discharged and it was many more months before Dylan would reach out his arms or come to me at all. I thank God that Dorian was doing an amazing job of looking after our children - in our house in the middle of nowhere - with no family support - George a toddler, Dylan a baby and both in nappies. Being a Mum who was incapable of actually being a Mum broke my heart. But God. Dylan was 15 last week and I praise God for how my life has been turned round since 2001. Joel 2:25.

In the midst of all this, last weekend my beloved sister-in-law (Dorian's sister) and sister in the Spirit Kim, was baptised.  It was a wonderful and happy occasion but a general feeling of too much emotion and too little sleep has been the outcome. I praise God that he has brought me to an incredible place of insight as regards my 'illness'. It's in the background most of the time, but I know when it is triggered - as it can be when I get too busy and there's lots going on. I heard God's still small voice telling me yesterday to get with Him, to overrule my fleshly tendencies to be out in the world doing needless stuff like shop shop shopping and to listen to the command of Psalm 46:10 'Be Still and Know that I am God'. Just keep going and keep very close to God is what He's telling me. Day by day, step by step, I can trust Him. He will lead me and guide me.

Birthday Blog

Young me!

Happy Birthday to me. Wow, it's a while since 1961, and so far it's been amazing, surprising and at times a dark and challenging journey. I'm glad to report that I am happier than I have ever been today thanks to the fact that I will soon be celebrating (on September 25th) 10 years since I was 'born again'. I have a brand of happiness deep within that comes from God. It's so different from the party high happiness of my teenage days and into my thirties where I was up and down like a rollercoaster and my state of mind was dependent on external things. With God - He is the same everyday, His Holy Spirit lives in me, and my value is a given through Him. .. 'the joy of the Lord is our strength' Nehemiah 8:10

At the moment I am enjoying 'scoping' (broadcasting from a mobile phone), and my account is www.periscope.tv/vivianwade Through scoping I have connected with an awesome group called Perisisters in Christ. www.perisistersinchrist.com . The group has been going a couple of months, one of the founding perisisters is Kim Cash Tate www.kimcashtate.com. Kim scopes every weekday in the morning (in the US) - I listen at 3pm here - and it's a wonderful bible class - in scoping world a #devoscope. We have themes and this week's has been 'pursuit'. Up to now we've had seasons, courage, soldier. Each week's theme has really spoken to me and I have a real sense of growing in God.

As we have been thinking about 'pursuit' I have had a revelation about what pursuing God diligently and earnestly actually means. In the world - one I very much grew up in - all about achieving and striving ( I went to Cambridge University - and there were expectations....) the word pursuit, the act of pursuing, at first made me think of running about chasing after something. Quite often like the proverbial headless chicken. Also, because of my bipolar diagnosis - it's not hard for me to build up steam running about firing on all cylinders. But, and it's a big BUT, God has revealed to me this week, that 'pursuing' Him, the one who is in me, is about settling down, getting quiet and being with Him. Psalm 46:10 'Be still,and know that I am God' and 1Kings 19:11-12..those beautiful verses about hearing from God through a 'still, small voice'.

At the beginning of the week I was thinking about pursuit and about pursuing God - and His purpose for my life. As I was taking one of my regular prayer walks with our little dog Pete, I looked at the trees swaying effortlessly in the breeze. I reflected on how the natural world lives out its purpose - knowing what to do and when to do it. I know that's how God wants us to live - easily - yoked to Him, in obedience to Him, and He'll lead us and direct our steps. It's a blessed relief to stop striving, to let go and let God. My prayer is to walk with Him in the way Jesus puts it in Matthew 11:28-30 'Come to me,all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.'

All these beautiful pictures were taken by my 14 year old son Dylan

Reflecting on 9/11

My strange memories of 9/11 are because on September 11th, 2001, I was in a rather different scary place to the rest of the world. I was sectioned (legally held for my own safety) in a psychiatric unit.  Just a few days earlier on the 8th of September I had 'celebrated' my 40th birthday with a huge party. My mental health had been gradually deteriorating for a couple of months as my stress levels (completely self-inflicted) over arrangements had been mounting. I was taken away in the middle of the party, before the fireworks my sister and brother-in-law had paid for as a gift to me, and before the end of the night had been admitted to a psychiatric unit.

Within a few days the unit at the Borders General Hospital had been unable to cope with the extent of my illness. I was transferred by ambulance to the intensive care psychiatric unit in Edinburgh, an hour drive from our home. I have no memory at all of that transfer or of much of those early days of my inpatient stay. The ICPU was a horrendous place. It was the most depressing, dilapidated environment a person could find themselves in. It served inedible food. I didn't eat partly because I thought someone was trying to poison me - but also because it was revolting. I lost 3 stone in weight in a few weeks ( the only good thing to happen in that time - needless to say all and more piled back on afterwards).  I was so unwell with bipolar, (the story of my diagnosis is documented to some extent in earlier blogs) that my psychiatrist thought, in his words, relayed to my husband, that my head 'had gone and was never coming back'.

In the unit where I was sectioned,  the televisions were constantly on. One was usually on a children's TV channel but others were permanently showing the news. I was vaguely aware that something terrible had happened, and I can remember seeing George Bush and Tony Blair making a lot of speeches together. Somewhere in my head I thought that whatever had happened, it was my fault.

At the time my babies were just 9 months and 18 months. I was cut off overnight from breastfeeding my little boy and I was away from them for 12 weeks. My husband Dorian did an amazing job of holding things together - out in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Borders - where we then lived. He brought them to see me when possible but I suppose as I became a bit better I became more aware of the reality that I was a Mum who was physically and emotionally incapable of being one. It was the most painful thing I have ever experienced.

This is a hard photo for me to look at, Christmas 2001, just out of hospital and struggling

Since then I have become a new creation. In 2005 I gave my life to God and was born again. I have written about my journey to God in earlier blogs. On September 25th 2015 I celebrate 10 years since my baptism in Selkirk swimming pool. My baptism verse is Jeremiah 29:11: 'For I know the thoughts that I think towards you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.' I also love the next couple of verses: Jeremiah 29:12-13 'Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.' I have been walking with God for 10 years. I know I have a long way to go but looking back I have come so far. I was so lost, and have been found, I was in chains and have been set free. From being in a place where my 'bipolar' diagnosis dominated my life I praise God for how he has healed me.  I was a victim, then a survivor, now I am an overcomer, helping others. I know that God has an amazing plan for my life. I have to play my part, stay close to and be obedient to Him.

So 14 years since 9/11 - and there is a relevance in the fact that's two lots of 7 years - as 7 is an important number biblically - being the number of completeness both physically and spiritually. I'm not enough of a bible scholar to say much more than that. I do know that since 9/11 God has transformed my life. It's 7 years since I was last an inpatient in a psychiatric unit. And 7 years down the road from that I have set up and am helping run a ministry in my church which supports people going through mental health and emotional stuff. It's called 'Peace of Mind - sharing the journey'.

My marriage has survived - hard as it has been along the way - our kids have survived - and are growing into two fantastic young people. As I think of the thousands of people who lost their lives that awful day and pray for the families they left behind, I remember that time in a different way and my heart overflows with thankfulness to God,  for all He has done and continues to do in my life. 

Family picture summer 2014

Celebrating Dorian's 50th birthday September 2015

Mental Health Awareness Week 2015

I first knew something was wrong when I was taking my A levels back in the late 70s. There was a lot of pressure on me to perform well and I was set to take the Oxbridge entrance exam. There was a long journey from a sense that something deep within wasn't right to diagnosis of a mental health issue.

At University I was quite up and down mostly dependent on how many parties I had been invited to, what narcotics I had indulged in and 'boy' stuff. In my twenties working as a radio journalist in London I lived a strange mix of months as a wild and popular party girl and months as a deeply depressed social recluse who vaguely managed to drag herself into work to perform broadcasting duties. I resisted diagnosis and medication. A doctor did give me a prescription for anti-depressants but I threw it away. I went the route of talk therapy and floundered around getting various recommendations and visiting a series of unsatisfactory therapists.

When I couldn't take it any more I was fortunate to be able to run off to California and stay with my oldest friend, who was living in LA. The whole excitement triggered me into a massive high. My beloved friend had quite a handful with manic me on hand. We are still best friends to this day God love her. One little insight into manic behaviour - on a fairly mild level - that I can remember from that time was when I ended up arguing with her saying that it was actual, real lava that was in lava lamps. Sara was trying to talk sense to me but I was having none of it. Lava lamps contained real lava as far as I was concerned and that was the end of it.

After LA I studied and worked for a while in Berkeley, where I had my first 'psychotic' experience. I thought I  had caused the strange warm wind that was blowing and I  had caused all the computers to crash at my workplace. I was wandering the streets at 5am inviting road sweepers to a non-existent party. It was scary. Eventually I let my therapist get me admitted to a psychiatric hospital in San Francisco where I was soon transferred from the open to the locked side of the unit. Unlike anything we do in the UK (praise God) I was actually put in 'isolation' in a room and strapped to a bed. The most horrific and terrifying experience to someone who already feels pretty terrified and weird I can tell you. It was there that I received my bipolar diagnosis and was put on medication.

I continued to have inpatient stays in the UK on my return. The worst ever time was being separated from my two small children and sectioned when we lived in Scotland. My husband was amazing, looking after them and keeping it all together while I was very unwell.

The other crucial part of my story is that while living in Scotland I had an amazing God encounter and became a Christian. I was baptised in Selkirk swimming pool in 2005.  With God as my rock and foundation, I live a full and recovered life. My default settings are peace and joy not rollercoaster. I still take mood stabilisers but bipolar no longer defines me. It is very much in the background.

I have been involved in setting up a mental health support group Peace of Mind at my church and it is my ministry to help others, if I can, walk through some of the stuff that I have experienced. My marriage and family, through all the challenges, has survived. The small children are now teenagers and memories of me in hospital are pretty distant.

I have always always been open and talked about my mental health, because I passionately believe that until people are open mental illness will remain scary and there will be stigma. That is why I write this week to share a little glimpse into my story.

On #BipolarAwarenessDay I am offering some of my book in progress - based on my experiences with bipolar...

PART ONE

Touching down in L A Martha felt free. She was relishing the elation after months of suicidal depression. Swanning through the airport she reflected on how her decision to take a few months away from her work in England, to visit her old friend Gilly, had in no time changed the direction of her mood...

The friends had known each other since they were toddlers. They were like sisters minus the family angst and couldn’t remember a life the other was not a part of. Gilly was the personification of a caring friend. She had lovingly prepared the guesthouse in her West Hollywood yard...comfortable bedroom with shower and loo ...and had held off selling her car so Martha could use it. It was one of those long, low Volvos, old and slightly battered. Martha thought it was perfect and could hardly wait to get behind the wheel, undaunted by the thought of negotiating the LA roads. 

Me far left....

Soon she was signing up for energetic step classes and made friends with Nancy the teacher. She frequented the nail bars, sporting bright pink acrylic nail extensions. She maintained her dope habit and one evening got completely stoned alone in the guest house before heading out with Nancy and two LA boys who looked like variations on a theme of Donny Osmond. They spent the evening playing pool at the Hollywood Athletic club, and in her altered state Martha found the whole experience quite surreal.

PART TWO

(Set in the days just after 9/11)

Martha paced restlessly up and down the dirty white corridors. Dazed and confused. Medicated to the eyeballs.  To the office to ask for a cigarette from her supply. To the smoking room. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm the sense of panic. It didn’t work. Back to the office to ask for another. She was a prisoner. Sectioned. She didn’t know how she’d got there. She didn’t know how, or if she’d get out.

A fellow inmate, glazed expression, nicotine stained fingers, grey uneven teeth, sits rocking manically. A large American guy dressed in a shabby tweed suit – his pockets stuffed with bits of paper is demanding loudly to see this that or the other person in a way which is almost impressive but tragically ineffective.

Martha felt disgusting. She isn’t allowed in her ‘room’ – mattress on the floor, clothes locked away, more of a cell really – for much of the day. She wanders around in a scruffy green velour dressing gown, threads hanging loose, feeling like a non-person beside the smartly dressed female psychiatrist.

She hardly eats believing they are trying to poison her. There are several televisions that blare out constantly. Some are tuned to CBeebies, others are on 24 hour news. Martha is aware that men she recognises as Tony Blair and George Bush are making lots of speeches together. Something bad has happened. She’s not sure what but she fears it may have been her fault...