Don't tell me to get my shit together

There's inevitably somebody, somewhere, spouting bollocks about mental health.

Now, before I get your back up, let me put you straight. I'm not saying mental health issues are bollocks, I'm saying how some people "deal" with it is.

I won't bore you with the details, but sometimes, I have really shitty days. I know the signs, I know the reasons, and I know the solution.

AND THAT SOLUTION IS NOT THAT I PULL MYSELF TOGETHER!

Let me chuck you an analogy: someone's leg has snapped at the knee - shattered bone fragments have ripped through the skin and their foot is facing the wrong way. Are you going to make like Jesus and say "Rise... and walk"? No, because their leg is broken, and they can't.

And when someone's mind has broken, they can no more pull themselves together than Long John Silver perform Riverdance. So get off our backs, OK? We're doing the best we can.

It's said that beautiful things come in small packages, and cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) encourages you to look for the golden moments in your day. It could be your partner's kiss on your forehead, that lingers for a moment as they inhale the scent of your hair to take with them while they're away from you. It could be the tiny purple flower that your first-born found in a garden of roses, and presented to you saying it was as beautiful as you. It could be eating an entire pack of petticoat shortbread while catching up with More4. My point is, there is something in every day that is golden.

But when you're suffering, even those golden moments are defiled. He's kissing your forehead and that's really close to hair that you've not washed for more than a week because you don't have the energy. That flower is from a weed, as invasive as the poison that dripped into your soul and put you in this place - and a reminder that you just aren't keeping the house/kids/garden/weight/eating/mood swings/relationships/ironing/add-as-necessary under control. And you're going to loath yourself for days for scoffing the biscuits, even if no one else in the house likes them. You fat pig.

Some mornings, life seems good. You've slept, you're clear-headed, you know what's ahead of you for the day and all arrangements have been triple-checked to ensure things go as planned.

Some mornings, or at any given point or points over the course of your day, life seems helpless, hopeless and fucking horrendous.

During my career, I've had to listen to so much corporate bollocks about how businesses care about their employees' mental health, as well as their physical health, and that old chestnut, the work/life balance. In fact, I've spent a lot of time writing this bollocks for businesses, and then pushing the elephant up the hill to try and make them deliver what they commit to.

Regrettably, some businesses really are only committed to a tick in the proverbial box. They don't truly care about the health and wellbeing of their staff, unless it's easy, cheap, and doesn't derail their plans.

How many good, loyal staff have walked from their jobs because they were wrung dry and wound up by their bosses, who repaid them by blatant disregard?

And when will these corporate bods (I was well up for a little alliteration there) realise the damage they do? Perhaps when karma comes a-knocking?

Everyone that works for my business is cared for. I give my staff the same time, care and attention as each other. If they need to cry, I'm there with a cathartic clip from YouTube. If they need to rage and wail, they can borrow my scream box (Google it - they're amazing).

For the first time in my life, my boss really, really cares about me. And she's amazing. She understands life's ups, downs and triple somersaults. She's surrounded me with some wonderful people and there are more waiting in the wings when I need them.

I fucking love being self employed!

PS I apologise for the liberal garnish of expletives in this post, but sometimes I really DO need to let it out.