Our physical and mental health are closely related; tightly interwoven like the threads in this rich tapestry we call life. They cannot be separated from one another without damaging the fabric – if one unravels, the other surely will too.

A healthy mind needs a healthy body to reside in and nourish it; similarly, for a body to function at its optimum level it requires a sound mind at the helm, telling it what to do. You body is the puppet, its actions only as fluid and streamlined as the decisions of the puppetmaster pulling its strings – your mind.

Someone who understands the power and importance of the mind/body connection is Anton Pattenden, a boxing coach living in Kent. Having made the link many years ago, he overhauled his own lifestyle and began reaping the benefits in all aspects of his health and relationships. Keen to pass on what he’d learnt, he began coaching boys and young men in football and amateur boxing.

Fast forward to 2020, and Anton is now a licensed professional boxing coach at Honour And Glory, complete with a fully-equipped boxing gym in the grounds of his Sidcup home. He has witnessed on many occasions the transformative power of exercise in general, and boxing in particular, on the people he trains.

“It’s incredible,” he says. “People who are suffering with chronic anxiety and depression – even PTSD in some cases – have shown a complete shift in their mental state after regular sessions in the ring. Even those who were so traumatised they could barely make eye contact or hold a conversation have totally come out of their shell. You can see the change in these guys’ personalities – and in particular their eyes – as well as their physiques and fitness levels. Their eyes are shining by the end of a session.”

The current pandemic has seen cases of mental health issues soar, with people who may have been struggling prior to lockdown now more isolated and in need of support than ever before. Which is why Anton’s new brainchild, Healthy Minds, a charitable organisation aimed at helping people with mental health issues through the restorative powers of boxing, could not have come at a better time:

“My aim is to help as many people as I can by building their self-esteem and reducing symptoms of stress and anxiety through these training sessions, as well as providing the social interaction that comes with being part of a boxing club; meeting new sparring partners and making new connections.”

Anton’s vision is to connect with other local mental health services and charitable organisations in order that they could cross-refer one another’s services, working together to give their members a multi-pronged, holistic approach to their recovery. He has plans for twice-weekly workshops and a brand new site lined up which is large enough to host them.

This scheme could be a lifeline for those struggling with the crippling effects of depression and anxiety, but is not without a struggle of its own: the one to fund it. Which is where you come in.

In recent months, Anton and his team have been busy training for various fundraising activities, including recently completing a 5-peak climb in the Brecon Beacons, and a gruelling SAS trial. Next week sees the team tackling their toughest challenge yet: the Three Peaks Challenge. This task involves climbing three mountains (Ben Nevis, Snowden and Scafell Pike) spanning three countries (Scotland, Wales and England) in 24 hours. He also has ‘fun walks’ factored in to support the cause, involving multiple 5k coastal hikes. Anton envisages that these types of fundraising missions will become annual events; by bringing people together to participate in these physical challenges they will strengthen all aspects of their health as well as forging social connections whilst simultaneously raising funds for the cause. It’s a win-win.

With so many people, and young men in particular, at grave risk of rapidly spiralling into the depths of depression, accelerated by the current pandemic, this campaign has taken on a particular urgency. Anton, his team, and their supporters are eager to get more of these sessions underway, in order to avoid vulnerable people sinking into the quicksand of mental illness.

Would you like to take part in a challenge to raise funds for Honour And Glory: Healthy Mind? Do you know someone who is struggling with mental health issues who might benefit from the Healthy Mind project? Or would you prefer to show your support by making a donation to this very worthy cause?

Mental illness is something any one of us could succumb to at some point in our lives, due to life events and difficult circumstances, so can we afford NOT to help?

Contact Anton on 07544 737278, or email him at ap@boxingandfitness.co.uk. To make a donation please follow the link below:

https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/anton-pattenden

Thank you for reading, and for your support.

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.ifyouboozeyoulose.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (lifeabirdseyeview)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Healthy Body, Healthy Mind appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

Ella is writing a book entitled Yeah, Right: A Girls Guide to Surviving Teens and asked me to contribute to the Image And Appearance section, explaining how my negative body image, specifically around my height (I’m almost six feet tall), affected me then and now. Here’s my story:

The Height Of Happiness: How I Grew To Accept Being Tall

I’ve always been a tall girl; as a child I was the very embodiment of “growing up.”

I grew up. And up. And up.

Like many young girls I attended ballet classes – mostly because I loved the idea of wearing frilly tutus, prancing about looking dainty and elegant. Unfortunately though, it quickly became apparent that being the tallest in the class meant I’d always be sidelined for the female roles; instead I was chosen to play the male partner in the dance shows. While the other girls shimmied and swirled in their frothy pink outfits, I’d tug at my boyish shirt and pedal-pushers crossly.

In photos I always had to stand at the back, a body-less head floating above the crowd. When my nan made me jumpers she’d have to click-clack away with her knitting needles, adding extra row upon row to the arms, like she was kitting out an octopus.
In my early teens, my average-height girlfriends could borrow each other’s clothes, chatting away at school about which items to swop with one another for the party at the weekend…but their stuff would never fit me – the arms and legs would be miles too short. At that age, we all wanted to look the same – or at least very similar – to one another. Matchy-matchy, like a girl band.
When it came to boys, they seemed to prefer the shorter girls – cutesy curvy ones they could tuck neatly into their arms, dropping the occasional kiss on the top of their head. Which guy wants to have to reach up to kiss his girlfriend? I was about as curvy as an ironing board; my family nicknamed me Olive Oyl after Popeye’s gangly girlfriend (if you’re too young to know who she is – google it and weep). My mood swings were vicious: I’d shout and slam doors, or lash out at my mum for making me such an unlovable shape. It was a design flaw, a genetic defect – and therefore all my parents’ fault.
But then, something quite remarkable happened. I grew into my lanky body. People starting complimenting my stature, suggesting I become a model. I was stopped in Oxford Street by scouts when out shopping. I did a modelling campaign for a bridalwear company, where I was actually being PAID for my height.

Suddenly, my height was my USP (Unique Selling Point). We all have one – several actually – I just hadn’t figured out that my height was one of mine. By now I was almost six feet tall. People noticed me. When I spoke, people listened (I also have a very loud voice, but that’s another matter entirely). In shops I went straight to the bottom of the folded pile for the 34 inch leg jeans without complaining. At concerts I could see everything, whilst my shorter friends craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the show. I could reach tall shelves without a ladder. Boys asked me out. People looked up to me (they had no choice, but hey, it felt good).

These days, I love my height. It turns out that being tall is an advantage, not the disability I saw it as as an awkward teenager. I used to think my legs looked like golf clubs – huge feet on the end of stilts. I stooped; hunching my shoulders to try and look shorter, yanking my sleeves down over long arms. Now I know that my feet are perfectly in proportion, as is the rest of me. This is how I was meant to look. And I look pretty good (…well maybe not when I first wake up, but after breakfast, certainly). I’m 41 years old (which I know sounds ANCIENT to you) and this body has given me a wonderful life so far: I’ve travelled the world, got married, worked hard, danced and partied and laughed and cried. My body is strong and healthy and has served me well.
So if you’re feeling down about your appearance remember this: your uniqueness is what makes you you. If we all looked the same the world would be a boring place. Whilst you’re worrying about your looks, you’re wasting valuable energy that could be spent having FUN.

That other girl, the one you wish you looked like? She’s worrying about her looks too. Be kind. You’re so much more than a big nose, or frizzy hair. Your personality is what makes you shine; it’s what people remember the most. When you talk to yourself in your head, your body listens. So tell it you’re amazing. Tell it you’re thankful for everything it’s doing to keep you alive: pumping your blood, beating your heart, inflating your lungs. If you tell yourself good things, you’ll feel good. Try to look outside of yourself, rather than always looking inwards. There’s a big world out there, a whole life waiting to be lived. The things that matters to you now probably won’t matter to you later. When I think of all the hours I wasted fretting about my looks, I wish I hadn’t. My height, that thing I hated most? It turned out to be one of my best assets. I’d never have believed it if someone told me that when I was your age. Love yourself. Embrace your individuality. Be kind to your body. It’s the only one you’ll ever have. I wish you happiness and joy and a wonderful life. Now get out there and live it and stop worrying about your hair.

Sam x

To support Project Teen and get Ella’s book Yeah Right! A Girl’s Guide To Surviving Teens to the girls that need it most, click here. Please share this post to raise awareness of the campaign, the issues facing teenage girls and to let them know that we love them, we support them and we have their backs. 

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post The Height Of Happiness: How I Grew To Accept Being Tall appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

G’Day Birds Eye Viewers!How are you all on this dull February morning?Now, those of you who know me personally and not just via the blog will already know that I’m something of a motormouth. I have a tendency towards being pretty full on: turbo-charged and as nutty as a tray of Ferrero’s at the Ambassador’s Reception. Some of you may remember my previous podcast recorded with Washington DC-based podcasters Sip And Shine.

Trying to get a word in edgeways when I’m on one is no mean feat…as Mike Douglas, creator of the mental health podcast Mike’s Open Journal, was about to find out, when he invited me onto his show to talk about my experiences with mental health issues, specifically in relation to infertility, IVF and marriage breakdown, as described in this blog post…

                              
Having had his own experience of mental health issues and also a marriage breakdown and no children, Mike and I have plenty in common. Unfortunately what we don’t have in common is the same calm and controlled style of speech, so listening to Mike’s even and lilting tone will be soothing and easy to listen to; my own hyper and breathless babbling…not so much.

I wonder which one’s me…? photo credit

So apologies for the frantic pace of my chatter – oh, and the fact that I sound like Pat Butcher from Eastenders…and say “yeah” a thousand times. Believe it or not, despite the mile-a-minute rambling, I actually don’t like the sound of my own voice that much. Let’s just say I make Bianca Jackson sound posh.

Anyway, thanks for listening! I hope I don’t send your blood pressure soaring and you can listen with a nice cuppa, and not require a vodka and a fistful of statins to get through the hour-long episode….

 To listen to the podcast click here




Listen to Mike’s other episodes 
Follow Mike’s Open Journal on Twitter

Who, me? I don’t know what you mean… photo credit

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post I’m a guest on Mike’s Open Journal Podcast appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

You are the star in the theatre production of your life; whether you’re the extrovert lead in a high-octane, all-singing all-dancing performance, a stand-up comedian using humour as your armour or an autonomous one-man show: it’s your gig. How you live it is entirely up to you.For the most part, we get up and at ’em on a daily basis; like Groundhog Day, this repetitive show is a long-runner – it requires stamina. Day in, day out, you paint on your public persona – for women quite literally, using make-up as war paint – and step out onto the stage.Some days, the spotlight’s warmth feels good as you tap-dance out onto the well-trodden boards, all smiles and jazz-hands. On others it takes every ounce of strength to plaster on that grin and slip into your costume, drawing a deep breath as you step gingerly out to take centre stage, the bright lights blinding you.

We all experience ups and downs – basking in the glory of our achievements and good fortune, cursing when the universe seems to be conspiring against us.

But what happens when the rough days outweigh the smooth? When you lie awake at night, dreading tomorrow’s performance? When your life really does feel like acting: you stutter along, feeling awkward, forgetting your lines? Sometimes what’s going on backstage becomes distracting – how can you be the best version of yourself, head high and shoulders back, when there are problems with the set…or the other actors in your show are fooling about in the wings? In this production, you are the star – there is no understudy.

We are human; we all experience peaks and troughs in our daily moods, our performance. But how long does it take for an acute case of stage fright to develop into chronic depression?

Until I reached the age of about thirty, I was of the belief that depression was largely down to your genetic make-up, a chemical imbalance in the brain; an unwanted heirloom passed solemnly down the family line.

Like everyone else, I’d experienced things that had greatly saddened me – which affected my thoughts and feelings – but I don’t recall being actually depressed. Even when I had stage three pre-cancer and subsequent treatment, which you can read about in my last blog post, I wasn’t knocked by it – I was young, healthy and never for one moment thought I might die, or even suffer any repercussions from the treatment.

By and large, life had been kind to me and I saw no reason why that should change. I’d been lucky. Generally if I wanted something, I strived to make it happen. Like most ordinary working-class folk I’ve got a strong work ethic, instilled in me by my parents from a young age:

“You can be or have whatever you want in life, if you want it badly enough – you just have to work hard.”

And I believed it; that’s how naive I was.

So it took me by surprise when I decided that, having got the job, met the man, got married, bought the house (tick, tick, tick off my list of life goals) what I wanted next was a child….”worked” for it….and then didn’t get it. Unfazed, I tried a bit harder. Doctors got involved, money was thrown at it, along with various quacks’ wacky fertility-boosting ideas and hippy alternative therapies.

Nothing.

That was the point when the dark hands of depression began to squeeze my soul – his cold, bony fingers reaching into the deep recesses of my mind, taking my logical approach and tossing it aside with a derogatory sneer. Days passed…months…then years, and my usual upbeat approach began to slide, replaced with desperation, sadness…then deep despair, accompanied by an anger so incandescent it scared me, a white-hot ball of molten lava bubbling in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t asking for a private jet, a penthouse – I simply wanted what everyone else seemed to get almost by accident: a family.

When the doctors finally told me there was simply no point in having any more fertility treatment, I felt momentary relief at stepping off the medical merry-go-round.

And then…emptiness.

Like a carcass picked apart by vultures, I was hollow inside – mentally as well as physically, having had the various treacherous organs that had betrayed me removed in the process.

Not only had I lost my chance of motherhood, I’d also lost something vital to my mental health: hope.
It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking into the ravine. It took all my strength not to jump.

Of course, life goes on – you have to work, there are bills to be paid. The world doesn’t stop turning because your life has unravelled. But how do you carry on when you’ve painstakingly laid the foundations and lovingly built the house….only for it to come crashing down around you, leaving you standing, bewildered, amongst the rubble wondering what the hell just happened?

Hence followed the hardest few years of my life. Everything felt heavy: my shoulders were stiff, my heart physically ached. Somehow I was excelling at work in spite of my personal problems and had recently been promoted, yet I’d start each day crying in the shower. My marriage collapsed like a deck of cards and I found myself living alone for the first time in 37 years. The silence in my new house was deafening.

I was now a Ms, which, as a mate reminded me with a wry grin, is “short for misery.” I felt like a failure; my self-esteem plummeted. In my darkest hour I contemplated suicide. Eventually something had to give and I stepped down from the demanding role at work and took a three-month sabbatical during which I gradually got a grip on my life again.

This is what I’ve learnt from the experience. Everyone is different, I’m not saying this will definitely work for you if you’re struggling with mental health issues, but I thought it might be worth sharing:

1. Are you surrounded by assholes? Avoid them!

I remember reading this quote:

photo credit

If you’re feeling down, look around at the people in your life – is one or more of them the cause? Sometimes a simple cull of toxic friendships or relationships is all that’s needed. There were a few people who inadvertently made me feel worse when I was down, so I actively avoided them.

2. It’s Good To Talk

I was lucky in that my friends and family were extremely supportive. They often said they didn’t know what to say to make me feel better; they felt helpless as they couldn’t fix my problem. Let them know you don’t expect them to have all the answers, just being there for you and listening is enough. My mum was my saviour. Men in particular tend to feel uncomfortable revealing their feelings – it’s hardly surprising, then, that suicide is the leading cause of death in men under 45. Go to a counsellor if you don’t feel able to talk to someone you know, or if you feel you need professional help.

3. Visit your GP

For me, my problem was two-fold: a combination of situational depression brought about by my personal circumstances, combined with the hormonal imbalances created by gynae surgery and IVF. (I was not diagnosed with premature menopause until much later, despite having textbook symptoms). I visited my GP when it became evident the feelings weren’t going to go away on their own. She was relatively sympathetic, despite refusing the CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) I requested and dismissing my menopause concerns. She prescribed an SSRI (a type of antidepressant) which I was reluctant to take, but I did for a year or so and it helped. When I was ready to stop taking them I did so easily with no adverse effects.

4. Remove yourself from the situation

When I announced I was taking 3 months off work and going to Thailand alone to recuperate, some implied I was running away from my problems. “Yeah, and…?”
I can honestly say the minute I landed in Koh Samui for my solo adventure I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. I know not everyone is able to do that, but try to reduce your everyday stress as much as possible. Take measures to simplify your life: don’t be afraid to say no if you don’t feel upto something, streamline financial affairs, de-clutter your home and your life wherever possible. It helps you feel more in control. If you can take a complete break, even just for a short time – do it. When all of my senses were stimulated by the exciting new sights, sounds and tastes of Thailand, I found myself dwelling less on my problems and thinking more positively about the future. It was an epiphany. (You can read that blog here, if you’re ever really bored).

5. The drugs don’t work

Well they do, obviously, but only in the short term. It’s common for people who are depressed to use drugs and alcohol as a crutch, but these deplete the serotonin in your brain and ultimately leave you feeling worse. A hangover is hellish at the best of times, right? Try to eat serotonin-rich foods and take care of yourself as well as you can, even if you just want to curl up under the duvet with a giant vat of ice cream. Exercise may be the last thing on your mind, but the endorphins it produces will give you a much-needed buzz. Take brain-feeding high-strength omega oils, or eat plenty of oily fish. Most Brits are deficient in mood-enhancing vitamin D since it comes largely from the sun, which, to our chagrin, is often in short supply. You could consider taking a multivitamin high in vitamin D as an insurance policy if your diet is lacking. Vitamins A, C & E are powerful anti-oxidants (which you also need to process the omega oils) and you’re likely need extra B-vitamins, since these are used up particularly quickly by the body when you’re stressed.

6. Change the things you can, accept those you can’t.

They say time heals. This is true, to a certain extent. Take everything one day, and one pigeon step, at a time. Ask yourself, will this still matter to me in a year’s time? If the answer is no, deal with it swiftly and move on. How about 5 years? Personally, my health issues are permanent, and yes, it will still matter to me in 5 years. I realised that I couldn’t change the situation, only my attitude towards it. If you can’t fix it, can you at least alleviate the burden? Life is constantly changing and evolving, who knows where you’ll be in a year’s time? Don’t underestimate how much your mindset may have altered by then. The hardest part for me has been finding my place in the world, now that my planned life path has changed dramatically. What’s my raison d’être? It’s a work in progress…

7. Do more of what makes you happy

Be kind to yourself. Take pleasure in the small things: a beautiful sunset, a well-made coffee, a long bath. Go for a run. I often felt guilty about feeling so sad when there were others in the world with much “bigger” problems. A few people told me as much, which is not helpful since we only know our own feelings. Everything is relative. Allow yourself time to feel sad: lick your wounds, then start to deal with it and move on. Later, when I felt better, I was able to acknowledge that yes, there are people with much bigger problems than my own, so I fund-raised and volunteered in Costa Rica, helping disadvantaged children in the city of San Jose (you can read my blog about it here).  As well as helping those kids, it also helped give me a renewed sense of purpose and direction when I needed it most.

Some of the Costa Rican children who put the smile back on my face.

8. Get out of your comfort zone

When you feel up to it, stop just existing and throw yourself headlong back into the land of the living. If someone invites you somewhere, go. Stop making excuses; start saying yes to everything. Be open to new experiences – you never know what might happen, which inspirational people you might meet. Life is about doing not having. It’s about the memories held in your mind’s eye, not the material objects held in your hand. You want your life to be a Hollywood blockbuster, not some low-budget play? Make it happen! This is not a dress rehearsal: you only get one take. Write a bucket list of things you’d like to do and work towards them. As I get older I ask myself how I want to be remembered, then challenge myself to be more like the person I want to be : bold, ballsy, adventurous, fun. Which adjectives would you like people to use when they describe you?

Hey, I’m not a doctor, don’t take my advice as gospel. It’s just my own experience – how I’ve grown as a person through overcoming some of life’s challenges.

I guess this is how I’d sum it up:

You are a glass that has been smashed. You are broken. It happens to us all at some point. It takes time to glue all the little pieces back together. Occasionally you’ll cut yourself on a jagged fragment and have to start over, but you’ll gradually begin to take shape again. If you look closely, there’ll always be imperfections, scars. You’ll never be exactly the same as you were before, but that’s ok. Because one day you’ll look in your dressing-room mirror and notice that the sparkle in your eye has returned. As the curtain comes up on a new act in your life you’ll realise with a smile that, finally, you’ve put yourself back together again…

My “Eat, Pray, Love” moment whilst travelling solo around Thailand

This article has also appeared in The Huffington Post UK 

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post We’re All Broken appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.