My article '5 Tips for People Who Are Easily Embarrassed' is in the latest issue of Happiful Magazine. Ironically, my complimentary copy of the magazine landed on my doorstep when I was knee-deep in an episode of hot, uncomfortable embarrassment myself. I had sent some WhatsaApp messages and felt like I had (once again) shared too much too frequently with someone who maybe wasn't interested in what I had to say. I felt outspoken, even selfish and got stuck in telling myself my old narrative that goes like this: 'Rosie, why can't you control your enthusiasm? Why can't just just keep it to yourself? Why do you always have to overwhelm people? Why do you think anyone would want to talk with you? Nobody cares about your interests and what you have to say.' I was in a shame spiral and being in it made me feel sick. Happiful Magazine - Issue 84 I laughed when I realised why the magazine had been delivered to me because I had forgotten I had written the article. For a moment, I felt silly that I was the one offering advice in a magazine when really I needed (and still need) this advice for myself. But I have never claimed to have all my emotions in check all of the time, especially shame and its sibling emotion embarrassment. I am a mental health blogger and author in the present tense; I still struggle sometimes. Whilst I know a huge amount about myself and my emotions, it doesn't mean I cope well all of the time; I remain vulnerable to panic attacks, intense sadness or anger that momentarily takes over me. For me mental health problems are not something I 'recovered' from and I have drawn a neat line underneath, even though life is so much easier for me now than it ever used to be. I am always learning and my mental health is something that ebbs and flows. I don't shy away from being honest about that. Reading my own article was strangely helpful. Its why I chose to share my thoughts over WhatsApp and how the vulnerability that i implicit in self-expression can sometimes forge connections between people. If you're interested in my article about embarrassment you can read it on page 50-51 here.

I am less guarded than I've ever been about revealing my diagnosis of borderline personality disorder. This is probably, in part, due to becoming mum and caring less about what others think about me. It is also because I refuse to be silenced by stigma like I used to be. I hope that speaking up might be a way of pushing back against hurtful stereotypes. In the last few weeks alone, I've disclosed my BPD to several people at work on different occasions. I only shared this personal information because 1. the topic of conversation was relevant and it seemed like a natural link and 2. I felt comfortable. More or less comfortable I suppose. I still get a surge of fear when I disclose my BPD; fear of character assassination, having rights or responsibilities curtailed or general disdain and horror. The responses were all fine though, as I thought they would be. I tend to only feel comfortable enough with a person to tell them I have BPD if they have indicated to me that they might be open-minded and non-judgmental. However, the responses tended to follow a theme that I've noticed over the years, especially in work settings: surprise. People are somewhat taken aback by my disclosure and it is unexpected to them (and I don't think it was the timing, I think it was the content). Responses often go like this: 'I would never have guessed'. 'You really can't tell'. 'You're so good at your job' or 'But you're so good at your job'. 'You seem so calm when you're handling X, Y and Z'. 'You're always so lovely / friendly / smiley / calm [insert positive attribute ]'. The fact that people are surprised when they hear that I have a diagnosis of BPD, history of self-harm, suicidal experiences and more, says a lot about perceptions of mental illness and mental health difficulties, specifically those experiences that tend to be harder for many people to relate to (such as suicide, self-harm, hospitalisation, psychosis or medications with more of a stigma like antipsychotics). To be taken aback by my having BPD is to think that it doesn't affect people 'like me' (their perception of me). In the public imagination, certain mental health difficulties tend to be thought of as something that other people experience, not those who speak, appear or act in ways that feel familiar and therefore safe. Not people they know or whose company they enjoy, have careers in teaching, healthcare, media or law, smile or say hello to their neighbours and raise lovely children. As you are likely to know if you have, or love someone with, mental health problems there are tropes that circulate, and proliferate, in the public imagination of what a person with a certain mental health difficulties might look like: scary, dangerous, unkempt, aimless, uncontrolled, unsuccessful, rude etc. When it comes to BPD, these tend to be along the lines of 'manipulative', 'drama queen', 'attention-seeker'. I don't fit the stereotype (because the stereotype isn't true), and so people are surprised that such mental health problems are part of my life. Misunderstandings of mental health problems are dangerous for people with mental health problems; they can damage self-esteem, reduce hope and increase isolation (and much more). This negative stereotyping of people with mental health problems also intersects with (and maybe amplifies) stereotypes that are racist, ableist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic and so on. Others' surprise about my BPD affects me in several ways. Part of me feels relief; surprise is not the same as being brazenly and deliberately insulted. Some people feel surprise indicates a compliment (it would be 'bad' to be seen as 'visibly' affected by a mental health condition). People who show surprise usually want to express that they still think highly of me, in the face of this new-found knowledge about me. Another part of me feels pleased. Happy that I found the courage to speak up and as a result someone has learnt that BPD can 'somebody like me' (because it has no 'look' and can affect anyone). Finally, surprise feels jarring. I can't help but wonder if people are piecing together a new version of me in their mind now they know about my BPD, wondering or imagining what I have been through or go through. I know the universe doesn't revolve around me, but maybe some people are curious. I prefer it when people ask me follow-up questions because when I disclosure my BPD I feel anxious. I know it can never be revoked once it's said and others' thoughts about it are out of my control. When the internet is often hostile towards BPD, answering questions makes me feel like I have some control over how this person get their information. Please know that I don't judge anyone harshly who shows surprise. I understand that surprise is not meant to harm and is often coming from a 'good place'. I have had surprised reactions from from people I like and respect very much. A surprised response from someone doesn't indicate that a person has less respect for, or empathy towards, mental health conditions. However, surprise makes me feel less comfortable to immediately open up with someone more fully or feel close with them quickly. I remember when I told my now husband about my BPD, he was very matter of fact and that made me feel very at ease. For this reason and many others, we became very close very fast (that's another story!!). Often, but not always, those who are the least surprised have experiences or identities that are stereotyped and misunderstood. LGBTQ+ people, for example, are often no stranger to meeting people who think they know all about them and deeply personal aspects of their life. As a result of my own experiences, I don't think I've ever been surprised when someone tells me about their mental health problems. I understand they can happen to anyone, anytime, any place. I know how well I can mask my panic attacks or agonising emotions, even in high-pressure or very public settings, so am aware others could be masking their own too. I would love to know your thoughts on this as it's something I am continuing to think about a lot... -Rosie x

I find it upsetting when my daughter cries. I find it difficult to see and hear. My instinct is to do what I can, as quickly as I can, to make her feel okay again. I have to stop and look past my discomfort though: babies and toddlers cry. It’s one of their means of communication and expressing how they feel. Therefore stopping a baby or toddler from crying ought not to be the main aim of a parent. Meeting their emotional (and physical) needs is the primary goal and sometimes that means letting them cry a little, whilst supporting them through that crying. I find this hard to remember sometimes. As a younger baby, my daughter’s episodes of crying were short lived & infrequent. I couldn’t believe what a relaxed and jolly baby she was. More than that though, I took pride in the fact that I could settle her almost instantly. As a breastfeeding mum (that’s a story for another day), I coeuld sooth her any place any time with the magic of instant milk! Instant milk! Ready served at the perfect temperature with no electricity or equipment needed. Needing confidence in my those early days, I tricked myself into thinking “oh I must be a ‘good mum’ because my baby doesn’t cry for long periods of time and I can always make her calm.” Thinking in this way about my baby’s serenity lulled me into a state of calm. I quickly attached a meaning to this: I am a 'good mum' because my baby is calm and, by extension, mums with BPD really can be ‘good mums’. This false logic only became problematic when my baby turned into a little girl, as if almost over night. Her world expanded, her demeanour became toddler. She changed from easily appeased to headstrong and opinionated. She began to have preferences where previously she had none and proper words where she used to have sounds. As a result, I have to put in boundaries because saying no is a form of love. These can be hard to accept and make her cry: ‘strawberries have finished’, ‘I need to change your nappy / brush your teeth / wash your hair’, ‘we are leaving the park.’ Some of the hardest conversations I’ve had to have with both my husband and with myself are about the fact that it’s okay for her to cry. It’s not our job to silence her cry. It’s our job to keep her safe, love her, nurture her and a million other things- but not silence her cry. Not being able to settle her as quickly as I used to is not a sign that she is becoming 'less happy' or that I am becoming a ‘less good’ mum. It would be flawed beyond measure to correlate the amount of crying with the amount of parenting skills (or love). Yet it’s when my little girl cries that my doubts about my capabilities as a mum are most likely to sneak in. If I am tired, hungry or anxious about something, thoughts like these can pop into my mind: - What if my daughter is not happy because of me? - What if I’m not giving her a good enough life? - what if my daughter sees me having a panic attack and is scared? - What if I really am [insert stereotype]? - What if my daughter doesn’t learn to regulate her emotions properly because of me? - What if I can’t handle the challenges of being a parent and life in general, and that has a negative impact on her? Whilst I do truly know that BPD is not mutually exclusive with being a capable and caring parent, I would be lying if I said I never had doubts; long-term exposure to stigma has come at a cost. I spent many years worrying that I would not be able to be the mum I always wanted to be. These fears linger, in spite of my present confidence. Rest helps keep them at bay, but as a mum to a toddler relaxation does not come in abundance(!). I find it more helpful to acknowledge my doubts, than run from them. I try to remind myself of the positives which may quieten my fears: - I have spent many years learning tools to regulate my emotions. I can share these with my daughter. - I have spent years cultivating relationships with people who matter to me. My daughter is part of this web. - I am one parent of two. There is so much pressure on the mum to be the ‘primary parent’ in society. But parenting for me is a shared adventure and endeavour with my husband. I am one of two equal parts in this. - I am creative, loving, expressive, caring and I never let a moment go by without sharing those facets of myself with my beautiful little girl. When I was under the perinatal mental health team when my daughter was a newborn, one of the nurses told me babies are like adults and sometimes they need to just ‘let it out’. She said when your baby cries just hold them and tell them they can let it all out with you. So next time my daughter cries and a doubt about myself as a mum arises, I will not only let her have her cry, but I will let my doubts come into my mind and let them drift back out. Clouds over the sky. Leaves on a stream. Whatever metaphor works. Cry little girl, cry and I will hold you until your emotion (and mine) passes by.

I've had a whole bunch of poems not doing much for years and years. I polished this one up a little bit recently and thought I would share it here in case it means anything to anyone. I wrote the first version of this poem more than ten years ago when I was under the terrible spell of a horrible eating disorder. Luckily, the eating disorder has gone, but my love of poetry is still very much here! Please take consider not reading it if this poem might affect you in a negative way.

People with BPD often have it rough. Like double whammy rough- the difficulties of struggling to regulate emotions combined with wrestling a system (and a society) that doesn't always respond in the way we need it to. Here are seven wishes for you that I hope are true for you already, and if not yet, I hope they come true soon. Rosie x

I’ve been quiet lately, but I’ve got some news to share...I’m working on a second book! It's another stigma-free book on life with a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder (BPD), but this time it will be more of a workbook with creative prompts, guided activities and space for personal reflection. It will be published by JKP who published my first book, Talking About BPD: A Stigma-Free Guide to Living a Calmer, Happier Life with Borderline Personality Disorder. I will share updates on my blog and I hope it will be a supportive addition to your bookshelf if you're interested. I know understanding and comforting books about BPD are few and far between, especially those written by people living with the condition.

There are two people who enabled me to do a total 180 on my life, from daily suicidal thoughts and urges to self-harm to greater stability & acceptance of my intense emotions: my now husband and the best therapist I ever had, Misha.* As I have already written many times over, this does not make my husband my knight in shining armour; I cannot stand fairytale tropes of helpless women being saved by all-powerful men. This man who I decided to marry however gave me, pretty much instantly, such an indescribable feeling of warmth and injected so much humour into my life that I wanted to spend every weekend for the rest of my life with him. I even went from being a person who said 'no, I will never ever want to get married, I don't believe in marriage' to enthusiastically wedding ring window shopping. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely enough, it was just a couple of months before I met the guy who would become my husband that I began sessions with Misha— the other person who would transform my life and my relationship with myself. She was my one-to-one DBT therapist and also my group DBT session co-facilitator. Misha was the best therapist I have ever had by a mile. Until I started DBT with her as my one-to-one therapist, no other therapist (and there have been many) ever helped me fully with my suicidal thoughts and urges to self-harm. As a result of teaching me emotional regulation skills before talking about any intense subject matter, she gave me the sense of safety I never truly felt—but desperately wanted to feel— with other therapists. Furthermore, she made me feel like we were equals, rather than her being someone who was there to inform me in an all-knowing way of the 'true meaning' of my emotion and responses. At that time, I was jaded with therapy, fed up with its poetic or faux-poetic revelations which were no longer revelations to me, but just things that make me sigh or worse, cry. In writing this I don’t mean to discredit my other therapists—they all taught me things that have been useful— but I don’t think they were the ideal fit for me. Misha was more interested in teaching me: 1. how to get myself comfortable when painfully intense emotions and urges struck 2. how to get comfortable with being an emotionally sensitive person. I so badly needed to stop hating on myself for all my expressiveness, excitability and overflowing emotion. Whilst there were a few times I did feel embarrassed and ashamed of myself in front of her, it was generally short lived— unlike with other therapists when I felt shame hot, thick and lingering like a stench or embarrassment that made me feel like a scolded school child. Above all though, Misha gave warmth. It's an under-talked about and under-rated quality in clinical encounters, I believe. For me though, this warmth made me feel whole and not broken; made me feel valuable and wanted when I had spent so long feeling worthless and uncared for in the mental health system that had made me scared, silent and ashamed. This was therapy as genuine human connection and not only did it feel great, it worked an absolute treat. It meant I could enter a relationship with my now-husband knowing I could handle whatever came my way. Misha, knows I thank her from the bottom of my heart. I hope each and every one of you reading gets the Misha you are looking for, if you are looking. *Not her real name as I would like to protect her privacy.

Something has shifted in the last few months. Nearly a decade has passed since I was first diagnosed with borderline personality disorder by the psychiatrist who told me she wouldn't write it in my notes because she didn't want me to be stigmatised. I experienced years of feeling silenced; sick to my stomach with the thought of being 'found out' and told I couldn't be a good mum / partner / friend / teacher / human being because of my borderline personality disorder. As I've frequently documented, the unravelling of my shame has been a direct result of talking, being seen by and connecting with others. The less invisible my experiences became and the more I spoke up, the less shame I felt. It has taken years and it has been a process. There have been many awful moments of me, sweaty and hot with shame. Crying in toilets, red faced in meetings, staring into the bobbing 'typing...' on WhatsApp and wanting the internet to swallow me whole. It hasn't been a linear process. Sometimes I've been hurt ('don't talk to me about this', 'stop being ridiculous', 'you're embarrassing yourself') and I've closed up like a clam. Or a limpet. On a rock. In the sea. In a storm. Over the years, through conversations with people who value honesty and openness, I have been able to accept the different parts of myself. I am me: the capable and caring mum, the reliable teacher, the loving partner, the loyal friend. And I am also me: the woman who has had breakdowns, been crying suicidal on the hospital floors, self-harming night on night, desperate and out-of-breath with panic. It is the same me. I no longer mind who knows my history of serious mental health problems, because I know fully know that this history doesn't make me any less capable, less lovable and less worthy love than anybody else. That doesn't mean it's 100 percent easy to share this aspect of my life with everyone, but it means that when I do I can say it with pride. I know my strength and I know the courage I needed to muster a million times over to survive and nobody can take that away from me. Thank you to everyone who listened. It meant, and means, so much to me.

I know how stressful it is just getting a GP appointment these days, let alone the pressure of making the most of every single second and getting a timely referral. I hope you enjoy this article I wrote for the lovely Happiful Magazine. - Rosie x

September is just around the corner, so I thought I'd take a moment to share some videos I made for students with a mental health condition (or who think they might have one). It can feel quite overwhelming to be studying or starting out in a new situation with mental health difficulties. I hope hearing about my story of mental health difficulties at university can make you feel a little less alone, if you're feeling like the 'only one'. Four Tips for Students My experience of mental health problems as a student at university

A good friend wants to do what they can to help when they see a friend in crisis. However, it's not always easy to help for fear of making things worse, not knowing what to do or worries about 'getting in too deep'. We may not have as much time, energy or resources as needed and, after all, clear boundaries are essential. So what can we do when we want to help a struggling friend, but need to do so in a way that's safe for us and productive for them? Here's an article I wrote on exactly this a while ago for the lovely Happiful Magazine. You can read it here!

When my best friend of more than a decade called off our friendship, I couldn't cope. My worst fears became a reality, shattering my confidence and self-esteem. Even now I find it painful to think about and the loss brings me to tears. I'm more or less okay about it now, but I still wish it never happened and still miss my friend terribly. I wrote this Happiful Article to share some of the things that helped me. I hope you might find it helpful too if you've also experienced this. You can read the piece here.