Search Results

Callum sighed as he pulled open another stiff drawer to be greeted by another cloud of dust. ‘More personal belongings…’ he muttered to himself, as he carefully sifted through the contents. ‘If you can call them that…’ He hadn't been doing this job all that long, but this was the first house he was tasked with clearing out that lacked… personality. A reminder that someone lived here, once upon a time. He was used to tackling houses that had walls covered in fading photos - and reminders of families that were long gone…but not forgotten. But this house… it seemed as if the person who lived here was forgotten. Maybe even by herself. Callum quickly checked the paperwork - a Claire Yates was the most recent occupier, died a month ago from a heart attack at 43. There were some extra notes, explaining that she never really left the house and to expect a lot to clear out. They weren't kidding. Although usually when his bosses left a note like that, it was in reference to knick-knacks, photo albums, or trinkets strewn around the house like a loud and extravagant treasure hunt, just for him. Claire didn't seem to like loud or extravagant, though. Instead of trinkets and photos, the rooms were relatively bare. Like he said - no personality. If he didn't have his paperwork with him, he wouldn't even guess that a young woman lived here, once. Especially one that didn't leave the house much. It was all very confusing. For one thing, he thought, as he yanked open a jammed drawer - Claire had far too much cutlery for someone who lived alone. Sure, they looked slightly dusted and unused, but each divider for forks, spoons, and knives, were almost full to the draws brim with piles of each, as if Claire used to host dinner parties nightly. Photo by congerdesign on Pixabay Strange… Callum thought for a moment, but who was he to judge. Sure, it might not make sense, but it wasn't as if that was the weirdest thing he'd found while clearing out homes of the deceased that had no family or friends to do so. Who was he to judge, when he didn't know these people beyond what they left behind in their homes when they died. Just because Claire didn't leave the house much didn't mean that she couldn't have had dinner parties every night. It was just a shame to see all of this cutlery, ready for guests… only for no one to turn up to help gather what was left of Claire's life. No, they left that duty to a complete stranger, who didn't know her beyond the clues of her sparse belongings that she left behind before she passed. Callum sighed as he opened the next - and last - drawer, only to find it empty. He closed it, but before he could turn back to the cutlery collection, he only just avoided coughing as another cloud of dust danced menacingly towards him. Whatever the case, he always felt as heavy sadness in his chest when he was asked to clear out homes. Especially the emptier ones. Because everyone should have signs of life in their own homes, and friends and family who care about them. But all that seemed evident as a reminder of Claire, whoever she was, was far too much cutlery, far too much dust, a small flat screen TV with a singular armchair facing it, a year or two old laptop that his bosses had already wiped to sell to pay off a very small loan, and a wardrobe of a few outfits that he'd already packed up. All in all, it wasn't much. Callum turned back to the cutlery and started noting it down before loading it into bags. Forks, then spoons, then knives… and then, there was just emptiness… until Callum spotted a corner of paper sticking out from the back of the draw. His chest felt less heavy, for a moment, as he wondered what that paper could mean - a letter from a friend that he could try and contact, or maybe an invitation to a family reunion, planting her family tree in his mind, and allowing him to inform her relatives that Claire passed. Instead of being what he hoped, it was just a slightly faded flyer for a Chinese takeaway. Callum hadn't heard of it, but it was relatively local. He took a cursory look inside - Claire had circled the numbers 27 and 53 - not anything that he'd order, Callum thought, but in a way, it was good that she had some kind of contact with society… until he turned the flyer over and saw that Claire had scribbled ‘ask to leave it outside the door, knock, and leave. Then it's safe to get it if I'm quick ‘ Callum sighed as he traced the looped handwriting. He hoped that this was a positive sign; a sign that Claire had a life - but instead it was another reminder to Callum that Claire was very much alone. And all he could feel was sadness for her as he noted down the flyer in his inventory before folding it back up and carefully placing it back in the drawer. Then he looked around what used to be Claire's home. He had noted down everything and was ready to clear it all out. Not that it would take long, as all the items in the house fit into two boxes and one regular clothes bag - something that when he first started on the job, he assumed it was a bin bag. But no, thankfully Claire had some kind of dignity while the last remnants of her and her life were taken away. Callum found himself sighing again. While his job wasn't the cheeriest, he always found himself feeling bittersweet as he cleared away other people's memories or prized possessions. But today, in Claire's house… he just felt quite bitter. Bitter at the fact that Claire was alone, even if she struggled to leave the house. That certainly wasn't a reason to be alone, and to die alone. And to leave an empty house for a stranger like Callum to clear out. It wasn't fair, and didn't feel right. But what could he do about it? He reasoned. It was too late now, and all he could do for definite was his job, and to respect Claire during the time he was here. So, he did. He spent a moment thinking about Claire, waiting anxiously for her delivery driver to leave before quickly collecting her food, sitting in her singular armchair, and then eating a Chinese takeaway in front of the TV with some of her cutlery collection. While he didn't know what she looked like, he imagined her as slight and delicate, her face worn with frown lines, and felt that bitterness again as his created image was topped off with Claire being full of sadness. Even when trying to respect her, he couldn't ignore how sad this whole situation was. If only Claire had someone who cared about her, he thought. If only. * If only she wasn't so reliant on her habits, Claire might not be in this mess. She had tried to order her weekly Chinese takeaway from the shop she used to be manager at - they knew her well enough to know that going outside made her feel dizzy and anxious - but when she called them, an unfamiliar voice answered. Claire froze, and the young woman on the other end of the phone almost hung up on her before she could even get a word out. ‘I… I'd like my usual, please.’ ‘Oh.’ The voice said, confused. ‘Sorry, I don't think we do ‘usuals.’ I'm new, so I don't… What do you usually order?’ Claire felt anxiety crawl up her body like water, slowly rising and ready to drown her. Her chest felt tight as she imagined this girl, rolling her eyes at her, mocking her, thinking she was ridiculous and stupid and an idiot… Claire tried to take deep measured breaths as the girl on the phone stayed silent. But only for a moment. ‘Hello? Are you still there?’ ‘Lily,’ Claire managed to say, before the anxiety pulled her under. ‘Is she working today?’ Claire could've sworn she heard a sigh on the other end of the phone, making her chest feel even tighter. ‘Um… Not today, sorry. Would you still like to order?’ Claire thought about how kind Lily was, and how she always had time for everyone… there's no way she trained this person. Claire thought about hanging up, before her stomach spoke for her with a low growl. Let's just try and be brave - Claire thought, as she rattled through her usual order. Although she was about to mention if the delivery person could do a no contact drop-off before the girl on the other end of the phone thanked her and hung up. Great, Claire thought. She might have to face even more anxiety late, but she needed food after all. And if she did have a panic attack, if she got through it, at least she could treat herself to a new antique silver spoon going up for auction from the 1800s she'd had her eye on for a while. Everyone has their coping mechanisms, after all. Some people drink a glass of wine after a hard day – Claire, on the other hand, added to her spoon collection, and avoided as many of her triggers as possible, even if that meant staying inside. At first, her work colleagues encouraged the ‘survival treats,’ but as things got worse… As much as Claire loved her collection, she was more terrified of what could happen if she stepped outside, so she avoided it at all costs. She hadn't seen her colleagues in years. She missed them of course - but the fear was stronger. It always was. She felt her chest ache mercilessly, the vice around her tightening with every second of anticipation that she would have to open the door that she usually kept safely locked and step out into the world to retrieve her food rather than just grab it from her doorstep and close the door as soon as possible. She'd have to see someone, and they'd see her, and judge her… Claire took a shaky breath amidst the fierce water that was still drowning her and waited patiently for that dreaded knock. She used to deny she was unwell at first, but now it was undeniable. The last time she took a step outside was 6 years ago, and just the thought of doing it again made her feel faint. She couldn't even explain why, but after witnessing someone choking at her restaurant and having them taken to hospital… it made her realise how unsafe and dangerous the world really was. And that she couldn't risk being around it anymore. Just in case. When the door did knock, it was so suddenly and loud that it made her jump. She walked towards it slowly, her hands shaking as she opened the door. The sun hit her first, obscuring her sight with a fierce and warm light. And the next thing she knew, she was in an ambulance. Apparently, they had to sedate her the majority of the time she was in hospital, she was so inconsolable. She was told this later by her consultant, on the phone. She initially fainted, but the takeaway worker who delivered her food struggled to find her pulse and dialed 999. The doctors found a severe vitamin B12 and vitamin D deficiency and kept her in for a few days to observe her. Claire hated how… pitying the doctor sounded as he spoke, as he mentioned something about her being super tense. She wasn't sure - it was difficult to hear what he was saying beyond the fact that he clearly felt sorry for her. She was glad she barely remembered the time spent outside of the safety of her house. And as for the prescription for those pills the doctor gave her… he didn't seem to care that she'd have to physically visit the chemist since she couldn't get such ‘urgent’ medication delivered. Just the idea of opening the door again… she couldn't even think about it without feeling faint, again. She just couldn't face it. And anyway, she would much rather spend the money on that spoon she was eyeing. She could always try and eat better, right? There were other ways to get more vitamins. She can't be that unwell. They'd let her go home, after all - so she might as well celebrate it. What's the worst that could happen? * Callum took one last look around the house after he loaded the last of Claire's things into his van. Even though there weren't that many items in the house in the first place, it now felt strangely empty to him. As empty as her life likely was. The poor woman, alone and forgotten… He was so distracted that he felt as if he was walking around his flat on autopilot. By the time he realised he'd spent his evening sat on the sofa ignoring the growl of his stomach, he felt far too hungry to wait for something to finish cooking. Suddenly, and idea entered his mind like a flash of lighting, and he knew exactly what to do. Recalling the number, he called the Chinese takeaway from the flyer he found at Claire's. Thankfully they picked up quickly, and before he could really think about it, he found himself ordering a 27 and a 53 and agreeing to pay extra for delivery since he lived a little further away than the places they usually delivered to. It was no problem. Photo by arsenalizedritesh100 on Pixabay Callum hung up before he realised the strangeness of what he was doing - ordering from a dead stranger's favourite takeaway? What was he thinking? He wasn't thinking of anything but his grumbling stomach, honestly - and it wasn't too weird, he considered. It was just food. And not just any food - good food , he realised, as he rushed to open his front door after it knocked and the mixture of pleasant smells hit him as soon as he cracked the door open. His stomach spoke for him before he could, making the woman holding his food laugh. ‘Sorry!’ She said, ‘but it sounds like you're hungry, eh?’ Callum felt his face get hot. ‘Yeah, you could say that. Thanks for being so quick.’ ‘No worries!’ The woman smiled. ‘Our old boss helped move things around so we could deliver things quicker.’ ‘Oh, great,’ Callum said, as the woman handed him the carrier bag that was brimming with the beautifully pungent food. ‘Yeah…’ the woman said, her smile fading as she appeared to be lost in memories. ‘She passed away recently. So suddenly, but she'd been… unwell, for a while. We've missed her for a long time, before she died. She didn't leave the house much.’ Callum almost dropped his food in shock. ‘Was her name Claire, by any chance?’ The woman’s face shifted into surprise. ‘It was! Did you know her?’ ‘Something like that,’ Callum said. He thought of all the things he wanted to ask this woman - and all the things he wanted to know about Claire… ‘Maybe you could visit the restaurant sometime?’ The woman said. ‘I'm Lily. I was her friend for a long time - for the whole time I've worked here.’ Lily passed Callum an identical flyer to the one that used to belong to Claire, only brighter. ‘We’d love the chance to remember her. We got some new staff recently and those of us who worked with her… Well, it feels like we're the only people who got to know her, really. …And it shouldn't be like that.’ ‘Sounds good,’ said Callum. ‘And no, I agree. It shouldn't.’ After Callum agreed to visit the restaurant next week - Lily kindly offered that when he did, his meal would be on the house - he sat down on his sofa and ate some of the best food he'd ever eaten in his life. And later, just before he was going to sink into sleep... he thought about how someone like Claire wouldn't be forgotten - that others refused to forget her even if she tried to forget the outside world existed… He realised he shouldn't have judged her. Things aren't always as they seem, he realised this alongside the fact that he had never in his life felt so full.

Moving to a new city, country, or even continent is exhilarating — until one uncomfortable reality sets in: suddenly, your support network is a hundred miles away, and the comfort of familiar friendships around the corner is replaced by the daunting task of building new ones from scratch. As a PhD exchange student, I experienced this firsthand when I moved to London four months ago for a research exchange at King’s College London. It was an exciting opportunity, especially after missing out on a semester abroad during the pandemic. But, I soon found that working in a new city did not magically fill my social calendar. I am perfectly fine spending time alone — dining solo or visiting museums — but one reason I wanted to live abroad was to meet new people from different backgrounds. That proved much harder than I expected, though. Most people already have established social circles and are not actively seeking new connections. I often felt lost on where to start or how to approach strangers without a mutual friend’s introduction. Building adult friendships can be tough when everyone is busy with their own lives, and I know I am not alone in this struggle. You don’t have to be new in town to crave new connections. It can be intimidating and frustrating, but in this article, I want to share how I navigated these challenges and how research shows that making the effort to connect is so important. The social brain in a new environment Humans are wired for connection. Social relationships buffer stress, help us regulate emotions, and even improve our physical health . When you relocate - even for just a few months - you’re not just moving your belongings; you’re disrupting your entire social ecosystem. Loneliness, it turns out, does more than just make you feel a bit gloomy. Feeling lonely heightens your sensitivity to social threats, fosters negative expectations, and encourages self-protective withdrawal  - all of which make it even harder to connect meaningfully with others. Chronic loneliness also messes with your body; it increases stress hormones and inflammation, disrupts sleep, and weakens your immune system. Over time, these changes increase your risk for many adverse health outcomes , from depression to cardiovascular disease and even early mortality. Image by Ashlyn Ciara on Unsplash Full disclosure: I was lucky. I arrived for my exchange in London to wonderful housemates, and I already knew a few other PhD students. But even with a solid social foundation, I still had days where I felt self-conscious and retreated to my room to binge-watch TV instead of going out or making plans. It’s easy to see how, without those initial connections, isolation could quickly have taken hold of me. And while my housemates were lovely, I still craved friendships built on shared interests, not just a shared kitchen. When time is of the essence My exchange to London was set for just six months. That meant every new interaction came with a ticking clock over my head. This short-term stay created a unique psychological dilemma for me: I wanted to make friends, but I - and everyone I met - knew I’d be gone before we could fill a loyalty card at a coffee shop together. I ended up with a rather stressful mindset of having to force myself into social interactions. Not an easy task for an introverted person who only becomes extroverted once they are familiar with people. I am not one to strike up a conversation with a random stranger in a bar or comment on someone’s cute shirt and end up with a new best friend 10 minutes later. So, where do you turn when you want to break through the barrier of socialising? For me, the answer was apps. Image by Good Faces Agency on Unsplash Online socialising: a double-edged sword Enter Bumble BFF and MeetUp, two digital platforms designed to, in theory, help me and you make friends. On Bumble BFF, you build an account (including photos, interests, a nd a few witty snippets about yourself) and swipe through other people’s profiles. If you both swipe right, you can start chatting. Simple in theory, but in practice, I found it to be quite superficial, and it felt a bit like online dating, minus the romance, plus a lot of awkward small talk. After a week or two, I was left with a handful of dead-end chats and a newfound respect for anyone who met the love of their life online. The process was fast and practical, but also oddly draining , like social jet lag. Dropping the “by the way, I’m only here for a couple of months” bomb probably didn’t help my odds, either. MeetUp takes on a different approach. You sign up for events based on your interests, anything from board game nights to hiking trips, book clubs to language exchanges. No need for endless back-and-forth messaging about scheduling a coffee date, just RSVP and show up. I found this far more effective. At each event, there was at least one thing everyone had in common, so I could skip the icebreakers and conversation came more naturally. I tried a few different events: board games, pub socials, and group hikes. The people were friendly, the events well-organised, and the atmosphere surprisingly relaxed. Sometimes I would see familiar faces at recurring events, which made it easier to strike up a conversation. MeetUp even has a feature to connect with people you’ve met at events, though I usually just exchanged social media if we hit it off. Image by Sergey Tarasov on Unsplash Not every MeetUp led to a friendship, but every event was a pleasant way to spend an evening or try something new. And even fleeting social interactions can boost well-being . I didn’t find a soulmate, but I did feel the mood-lifting effects of getting out and talking to new people on each occasion. Takeaway: Connection is a (mental) health intervention Having a social network isn’t trivial, and loneliness can truly impact your mental and physical health. But by proactively seeking connection, even when it feels awkward, you are doing more than just filling your calendar; you are doing a bit of self-care. You don’t have to be new in town to seek out new friendships. Maybe you are looking for other people who share your niche interest? Or do you want to try out a new hobby? Consider this your nudge to hop online and sign up for that MeetUp event, or to send that Bumble BFF message. It can be frustrating, but even small social interactions can make your day. You can also strike up a conversation in line at the grocery store if that is more your style. Either way, your mental health will thank you, and you might collect a few stories worth telling at your next MeetUp. Image by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

In my opinion, pregnancy and motherhood can be a profound and beautiful experience. The ability to nurture and bring a new life into the world is nothing short of extraordinary, and I’ve always admired mothers as real-life superheroes.   But the true beauty of motherhood lies in choice. It is only empowering when a woman freely and willingly chooses to take on that role. Unfortunately, that freedom is being steadily eroded globally by laws and policies that deny women the right to make decisions about their own bodies.   As a research assistant in perinatal psychiatry, I have seen the emotional and psychological toll that motherhood can take. From the physical changes (and sometimes trauma) of pregnancy and birth, mood shifts and sleep deprivation, to inadequate social support and the overwhelming pressure of building new routines, motherhood is challenging even when chosen. These challenges become far more pronounced when women are forced into motherhood by law, circumstance, or lack of access to medical care. Such coercion strips away autonomy and compound the emotional, physical, and economic burden already faced by many.   In the United States, these issues have intensified since the overturning of Roe. V Wade , the landmark 1973 Supreme Court decision that established a woman’s constitutional right to abortion. As of May 2025, nineteen U.S states have implemented harsh laws that either severely restrict or completely ban legal abortion. These bans effectively force women and girls to carry pregnancies to term against their will, regardless of their circumstances or well-being. They remove the freedom to make critical decisions about their own bodies and futures. While protests and debates continue across the world, several cases have sparked discussion on the ethical concerns surrounding the new ‘ pro-life’ laws . Photo by Harrison Mitchell on Unsplash A recent and heart breaking case highlights the devastating consequences of restrictive abortion laws, and the toll they take on women, families, and medical professionals. Adriana Smith , a woman from Georgia, was declared brain dead in February 2025, after suffering a catastrophic stroke just eight weeks into her pregnancy. Despite being legally deceased, doctors kept her on life-support for four months due to Georgia’s strict anti-abortion law, which bans abortion after six weeks if a foetal heartbeat is detected.   Physicians at Emory University Hospital released a statement explaining their treatment decision was guided by the Georgia Living Infants Fairness and Equality (LIFE) act , an anti-abortion law that grants full constitutional rights to any unborn child once a heartbeat is detected. By granting personhood to Adriana’s foetus, the law effectively removed the rights of Adriana and her family, forcing medical staff into an ethically problematic situation. This meant that Adriana’s body was no longer her own, and her and her foetus were treated as two individual patients. Her family were denied the right to weigh up their options on what would be best for both Adriana and the foetus, and whether they would have preferred to take her off life support. The baby was delivered prematurely via Caesarean section in mid-June, weighing 1lb 13oz, and is currently being treated in neonatal intensive care.   Adriana’s case has become a flashpoint in the broader international debate around reproductive rights, medical ethics, and end-of-life care. It raises profound and unsettling questions on how society defines life, whose life is prioritised in a medical crisis, and what happens when laws override consent and human rights. Co-Author of ‘Liberating Abortion’ noted that Adriana’s case highlights that ‘women’s bodies are not valued beyond our capacity to give birth’ , and that Adriana was not able to die with dignity due to society perceiving her body as a carrier.   Since Adriana’s death, her loved ones, reproductive rights advocates, and Democratic State Representative Park Cannon have rallied behind a proposed bill called ‘Adriana’s Law’ . This legislation aims to ensure women retain agency over their bodies and medical decisions, even in states with restrictive abortion bans. It would provide clear protection for families and medical professionals navigating the painful intersections of pregnancy, medical emergencies, and personal autonomy.  It is profoundly disturbing that even in death, women’s choices and bodily autonomy can be overruled by laws and governments. Once again, women are forced to fight for rights that should be fundamental and unquestionable. Photo by Harrison Mitchell on Unsplash Across the United States, the rollback of reproductive rights has inflicted immense psychological, physical, and emotional harm on women. As the ITM writer, Sorcha Alford, explored in a recent article , the fall of Roe v. Wade has given rise to countless stories like Adriana’s, where women endure painful, life-threatening pregnancies and are subjected to unnecessary and forced suffering under restrictive laws.   Maternal mortality rates in the Unites States have risen sharply compared to other high income countries, with 18.6 deaths per 100,000 live births . Furthermore, a 2024 study also found a significant increase in mental distress among women with lower levels of education and income, revealing a troubling link between restrictive abortion policies and deteriorating mental health. Far from protecting life, these so called ‘pro-life’ laws are exacerbating healthcare disparities, worsening outcomes for marginalised and low-income women, and deepening the already vast inequalities in access to healthcare and autonomy.     While the states aim of abortion bans is to reduce abortions, the reality is far more dangerous. They drive women towards unsafe, illegal procedures or force many to endure unwanted or medically risky pregnancies to term. These laws do not stop abortion, but simply eliminate safe access to it.    As we have seen in the case of Adriana Smith, by granting personhood to a foetus at the expense of the woman, society effectively erases the woman’s own personhood. These laws reduce women to vessels and incubators without agency, stripping away their fundamental right to bodily autonomy. When legislation prioritises ideology over individual choice, we not only risk poor medical outcomes, but also pave the way for a society where women’s bodies are no longer their own, but governed by political agendas.   As I explored in my recent article , today’s reality is beginning to mirror the dystopia imagined in Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Handmaid’s tale’, a world where women’s bodies are controlled, and their reproductive rights systematically stripped away. Governments are no longer just influencing women’s choices, but instead are actively policing them, transforming what should be a private decision into a public battleground.   We must recognise that forced motherhood is not empowerment, but instead oppression. Autonomy, dignity, and choice are not privileges. They are basic human rights that we must defend for women across the world.

I am a professor of Developmental Psychology in Portugal and Chile. About thirty years ago, I did my PhD research on the quality of an interview to measure attachment in adults. The Adult Attachment Interview (AAI) was then, in the 1990s, a relatively new method, and its qualities needed testing. Since then, the use has increased exponentially. Now, when we search the literature, there are 354 studies with a total of more than 26,000 interviews . What is Attachment? We have an inborn tendency to develop relationships. Children need caring adults simply to survive, and they need stable caregivers to thrive emotionally. In a secure attachment relationship, children use their caregiver as a haven of safety when they are frightened, hurt, or ill. Once comforted, they are ready to explore the world again, knowing that they have someone to rely on when necessary. In less secure attachment relationships, children do not develop the same level of trust. Photo by Kelly Sikkema  on Unsplash In adolescence and adulthood, we reflect on the experiences with our caregivers and further develop ideas and feelings about other close relationships. That is what is called a " representation of attachment ". The AAI measures this representation of attachment. Questions of the Interview The interview asks questions about childhood, such as: Can you describe the relationship with your parents when you were young? Can you tell me a specific event as an illustration? What happened when you were ill? The interview also asks about current feelings and thoughts: How do you think those experiences have influenced your personality? And a few questions deal with experiences of loss or traumatic events: Have you lost through death someone who was close to you? Have you experienced something that might be considered traumatic? Coding the Adult Attachment Interview The interesting thing about the interview is that it does not focus on the importance of specific childhood events, but rather on distinct patterns based on how people speak about their childhood experiences. This is best done by analysing text; therefore, interviews are recorded and transcribed. Coders look at how coherent a transcript is. In a secure interview, the reader can easily follow the story as it is told and will agree with the evaluations made by the interviewee. General descriptions of caregivers and relationships are not in contrast with specific memories. In other words, secure interviews are coherent. Photo by Liza Summer  on Pexels But, interviews can also be incoherent, and these interviews are considered insecure; when very positive general descriptions are linked with memories of unhappy events, experiences of rejection, or if no evidence is given because the interviewee can’t remember anything. If negative events are acknowledged, but their positive effects are stressed ( "it made me stronger" ), those interviews are coded as "Dismissing". Interviews are coded as "Preoccupied" when they are incoherent because interviewees are lost in their own thoughts and feelings during the interview. They seem angrily or passively overwhelmed by their childhood experiences. In addition to these three insecure categories (Secure, Dismissing, and Preoccupied), interviews can be coded for "Unresolved" loss or other trauma. On the topics of loss or traumatic events, when there are contradictions, or when the interviewee addresses the person who passed away as if they are still alive, interviews are coded as Unresolved. Dismissing, Preoccupied, and Unresolved interviews are indicative of insecure representations of attachment. Are the Majority of Adults Secure? Yes, in non-clinical samples, the majority of adults have a secure representation of attachment, 30% have a dismissing representation, and 14% are coded as preoccupied. Around 17% have unresolved loss or other trauma. That might seem like a lot, but it is a reminder of the fact that groups who suffer the most losses and traumatic events often find it difficult to come to terms with these experiences; adversities tend to cluster. When we focus on secure, dismissing, and preoccupied attachments, we do not see a difference between males and females. The idea that males are more distancing and more dismissive of close relationships is mostly based on self-report measures of attachment styles. The Adult Attachment Interview does not show such differences between males and females. Adolescents So, no difference between males and females. However, we do find a difference between age groups: adolescents show the same proportion of secure interviews as adults, but relatively more dismissing (35%) and fewer preoccupied (10%) interviews. It may well be that adolescence is, at least for some, a period during which the relationship with parents becomes less close, while stable romantic relationships have not yet developed. If, as an adolescent, you are working on your independence, you may (temporarily) place greater stress on self-reliance. When asked, you may talk about the relationships with your parents as not so important, which is in line with a Dismissing interview. But, it is good to realise that this focus on self-reliance does not mean invulnerability, for we also find that adolescents, especially girls, are vulnerable to unresolved loss. Photo by Antoni Shkraba Studio  on Pexels    A Global Perspective Caregiving routines differ around the world in terms of valuing autonomy or interdependence. Nevertheless, for child-parent attachment , the country or continent does not make much of a difference for the proportions of children with secure and insecure attachments. The same is true of adult attachment. We find similar proportions of secure, dismissing, and preoccupied interviews around the world. However, some continents are uncharted territory. Clinical Groups The most striking difference between clinical - referring to adults with a diagnosed mental health condition - and non-clinical groups - referring to adults with no diagnosis of a mental health condition - is the much higher proportion of unresolved interviews. While in non-clinical groups, on average, 17% have unresolved loss or trauma, in clinical groups, this is 40% . In all clinical groups, whether charactersed by externalising (addiction, antisocial behavior), internalising (depression, anxiety, eating disorders, obsessive compulsive disorders, borderline, PTSD), or thought disorders (schizophrenia), the proportion of secure interviews is lower and the proportion of unresolved interviews is higher than in non-clinical groups. Additionally, some disorders seem to go together (more often than chance) with dismissing attachment representations (e.g., obsessive-compulsive disorders), and others with preoccupied attachment representations (e.g., borderline). Photo by Casey Horner  on Unsplash What does this all mean? Attachment relationships are an important part of life, from infancy to adulthood, or, in the words of John Bowlby, who is the ‘grandfather’ of attachment theory, " from the cradle to the grave ". Adults have different thoughts and feelings when it comes to attachment, and these can be measured with the Adult Attachment Interview. But note that the interview has been developed for comparisons between groups. It is not meant for diagnosing individuals . For individual diagnostics, more sensitive measures are needed. Moreover, without thorough training, it is impossible to rate your own or someone else’s representation of attachment. That said, it can make sense to think about your experiences and how these have affected you. What we have learned from this study comparing 26,000 interviews is that clinical groups more often have insecure adult attachment, and in particular unresolved loss and other trauma.

If you feel like dating is a Sisyphean task, you’re not alone. As a neurodivergent woman, I’m probably (definitely) considered an ‘oversharer’ by some. This is something I am very conscious of and curious about in the context of dating. Given that one in four people in the UK struggle with mental health issues, I wonder why we are still so scared to open up about our struggles with mental health, neurodivergence and disability when dating. According to a recent survey by Forbes Health , a total of 78% of people experienced burnout with online dating, and younger generations are feeling it the most. Why? Well, besides the standard rejection and anxiety that can come with putting yourself out there romantically (unfortunately, it’s never actually like Bridget Jones), in the current dating landscape there is also an influx of therapy language to parse, concepts such as “the ick”, an overwhelming fear of being “cringe”, and a lot  of choice.  Image Credit: Markus Winkler on Unsplash Theoretically, modern dating involves being open about topics like mental health, political beliefs and future hopes - dating app Happn  reports that Gen Z are choosing to ensure they are compatible, often politically and sexually, before even agreeing to a date – but this pressure to be so perfectly aligned and open straight away can add up to a strange dissonance between thought and action… as well as a lack of  meaningful connection. Simply put, we’re surrounded by a lot of noise, and that can be difficult to make sense of.  With a mental health condition, which one in four  people in the UK experience, navigating this landscape can be even more complex, especially as it can feel as though there is a sense of obligation to be transparent about our mental health to potential romantic partners. With pop culture figures like Chappell Roan being upfront about their mental health, and films like The Substance  reflecting the impact of societal pressure on our mental health, mental health conditions are firmly in the zeitgeist, and we’re thinking about how to accommodate our mental health more than ever before.  But this has also translated to an influx of self-improvement and therapy language to muddle through. With psychology terms like “love bombing”, “gaslighting”, “trauma-bonding”, and “trauma-dumping” (sharing trauma without considering the other person’s emotional capacity to receive it) making their way into dating lexicon, and often being misused, sharing about our mental health in a romantic setting can feel scarier than ever before.  How are you supposed to bring up a mental health condition to a potential romantic partner? When? Do you even have to? It can feel a bit “much” for a first date.  Image Credit: René Ranisch on Unsplash I spoke with several mental health professionals to understand their take on this modern dating problem.  Clare Patterson, a BACP (British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy) registered therapist, argues that the concept of “trauma-dumping” can stop us from trying to connect with others and our past: “Needing to feel 100% ready or safe to share our traumas is never going to happen, as it will always feel somewhat uncomfortable, and so looking for this guarantee from the outside world is likely to keep us frustrated and our partner confused. It may be they are much more open to what we want to share than we think.” Equally, you might learn that a therapist might be a better option, as they can listen from a non-judgmental perspective. She goes on to say that relationships should allow room for mistakes and exploration when sharing information: “You can trust your partner to tell you if they don’t have the time or headspace for what you are sharing, and this can be a good point of ‘re-navigation’ in the relationship for you both. It is only by sometimes over-sharing and sometimes under-sharing that we can reach a healthy balance, and this cannot happen if we are afraid of either.” Effective communication is known to be the hallmark of a great relationship, but perhaps being so focused on perfection can lead to an intolerance of the little human imperfections that come naturally when getting to know one another. On the flip side, oversharing too soon can also leave you feeling vulnerable and overwhelmed.  Image Credit: Mitch on Unsplash Kamalyn Kaur, a BACP accredited psychotherapist, says that finding the right balance is all about boundaries and timing between you and your prospective partner: “If your health conditions affect your daily life, it’s totally fair to bring them up early on, especially if they might impact your relationship… Dating is about building trust step by step, so take your time, and don’t feel pressured to lay everything out at once.” In fact, Kaur comments that sharing challenges in your life can “invite understanding and support [which] is more likely to create connection”. The same discernment with which we’re desperately trying to cultivate meaningful relationships can also negatively harm those with mental health conditions, disability, or chronic illnesses, who may not necessarily always keep things as light as those without, as well as neurodivergent people who may “overshare” compared to a neurotypical person. For most, it’s not their intention to exclude people, but it is an unfortunate side effect of the words we use and the social constructs we value.  Ultimately, it’s important to remember that having a mental health condition doesn’t mean that you can’t be a great, loving, supportive partner, or  that you have to stop looking for ways to grow and change from mistakes. We’re all human, learning as we go and…well, we all have bad days, don’t we?

When the toy company Mattel launched the first-ever doll with scoliosis and a removable back brace a couple of years ago, I must admit I was genuinely and positively surprised. I was even more impressed when the global fashion retailer ASOS featured models with scoliosis in their e-commerce photos, boldly showcasing their visibly curved spines and post-surgery back scars. Although my own journey with scoliosis — including years in a back brace and a spinal surgery — is now well behind me, I found this recent increase in visibility truly empowering. This sentiment was echoed by many others with scoliosis, who praised these brands in the media for challenging traditional beauty standards  and celebrating diversity . Image by Mattel As these examples show, the representation of scoliosis has gradually increased in the past few years. Celebrities like Princess Eugenie as well as models like Martha Hunt and Emm Arruda have proudly shown their scoliosis scars on public occasions, whether at royal weddings or major fashion runaways, advocating for greater awareness and visibility. Likewise, many people outside the spotlight have started sharing their scoliosis journeys on social media, fostering a sense of community and belonging. As such, for Scoliosis Awareness Month this June, I wanted to reflect on why representation matters and how it can support the mental health of young people with scoliosis. What is Scoliosis? Scoliosis  is a condition where the spine curves or twists to the side. It can affect people of any age, but it is most common in children and adolescents, affecting approximately 3% of them globally . Image by Hermann Braus on Wikipedia Depending on the severity of the spinal curvature, scoliosis can result in a variety of physical differences, such as a visibly curved back, uneven shoulders or hips, and a prominent ribcage. People with severe scoliosis may need treatment to prevent a progression of the curvature; this can include wearing a rigid back brace or a cast and, in a minority of cases, surgery (called spinal fusion) to straighten the spine. However, people with mild spinal curvatures often do not need any treatment. While scoliosis is unlikely to cause any severe or long-term physical health problems, especially if detected and treated in a timely manner, it can have long-lasting consequences on young people’s mental health. How does Scoliosis Affect Young People’s Mental Health? Living with scoliosis can be particularly challenging for young people who already face the typical challenges of adolescence, such as peer pressure, puberty and changes in physical appearance. Research has shown that young people with scoliosis are at increased risk of mental health conditions,  including anxiety and depression. These psychological difficulties have been linked to the practical and social challenges of living with scoliosis, such as disruption to daily activities, feelings of loneliness and isolation, as well as worries about treatment. These struggles have been vividly captured in qualitative literature exploring the lived experiences of children and adolescents with scoliosis,  as reflected in their own words: “I had to stop training, and when I could take it up again it felt difficult. The team had grown so much better and I was left behind”  “I don’t know many people with the same condition, sometimes I feel a bit lonely” [referring to their upcoming surgery] “I was scared of being paralysed and not being able to walk again, to sort of have to be bound to a wheelchair” Additionally, adolescents with scoliosis have been shown to have lower body image satisfaction and self-esteem  compared to their non-affected peers. These have been suggested to be due to the visible physical differences caused by scoliosis, such as uneven shoulders or a curved back, heightening feelings of self-consciousness about physical appearance and a sense of being different from peers. Treatment can further exacerbate these feelings; indeed, wearing a bulky back brace or having a long scar can act as constant reminders of one’s differences at a time when fitting in seems to be essential. These challenges have also emerged in the qualitative research mentioned above: “When we were all getting in our swimsuits and going to the beach and all that… I didn’t want to get into my swimsuits because my body didn’t look right” “I was worried about the brace being visible under my clothes and I didn’t want to go outside the house, not even to have fun” “I cannot visit a swimming pool or go to a beach because I don’t want anyone to see the ugly scar, and I don’t want anyone to touch it or ask about it. ”   As this evidence shows, scoliosis can take a profound emotional toll on young people — so, where does representation fit into this picture? The Important Role of Representation Representation can support the mental health and wellbeing of young people with scoliosis in many ways. Firstly, visibility can promote body positivity, ease body image concerns and boost self-esteem. According to the Social Identity Theory  our sense of identity and self-esteem are deeply influenced by how we see ourselves in relation to others. For young people with scoliosis, seeing others with the same condition — be it a model proudly showing her back scar or a peer confidently wearing a back brace — can make them feel part of a valued and accepted group. This sense of belonging can normalise their physical differences and empower young people to embrace them with confidence. Images from ASOS Representation can also promote the development of supportive communities where young people can connect with peers facing similar challenges. With celebrities opening up about their scoliosis, many young people have followed suit — sharing their journeys through personal blogs, social media platforms, and online support groups . These peer support networks allow young people to share their experiences with others who understand what they are going through, reducing feelings of loneliness and isolation. These platforms can also provide reassurance, especially around common worries like wearing a brace or undergoing surgery. While it is important to approach information on the internet with caution, hearing from others who have navigated similar journeys can offer validation, comfort and practical insights.   The power of representation extends far beyond raising awareness and visibility; it creates opportunities for self-acceptance, connection and support. While this can’t brush away the struggles that come with living with scoliosis, it can help young people feel less alone in their experiences and empower them to face these challenges with positivity, confidence and pride. Although 15 years ago I found my own path to accepting my body, I sometimes wish this representation had been around then, and I find it uplifting to see it happening today for the young people who need it the most.

Trigger Warning: Description of suicide attempt. The needle whirrs and purrs, and an image of a naked woman reading a book, her head exploding into fireworks, slowly appears on my skin. The ceiling’s pattern looks beautiful from where I am, despite the intense brightness of the tattoo artist’s lights. This is my fourth tattoo—but unlike the first three, this one carries a deeper, sadder meaning. The book the woman is reading has a semicolon on the cover. Popularised in 2013 by Amy Bleuel, the semicolon became a symbol of perseverance, resilience, and hope in the face of mental health struggles, depression, and suicidal ideation. According to Project Semicolon , a suicide prevention organisation set up by Amy, “It represents a sentence that the author could have ended, but chose not to. The sentence is your life and the author is you”. If someone wears a semicolon, it is a sign that their life (or the life of a loved one) did not end; it merely momentarily paused. Which is exactly what happened to my life on June 12th, 2022. That year, I was completing my Post Graduate Certificate of Education (PGCE) to become a languages teacher. I had moved from France to the UK eight months prior, away from friends and family, with only a small—albeit wonderful—support system. I had struggled with my mental health since I was 14, when I was first prescribed antidepressants. Then, after the first lockdown in 2020, I was hospitalised for five weeks with severe depression and anxiety, following weeks of suicidal ideation. Moving across the Channel to undertake a particularly demanding year of study may not have been my best idea, but I had met a wonderful man and was slowly building a life for myself. I never once stopped to question whether crying myself to sleep almost every night, or waking up every morning feeling anxious, would eventually have consequences. Source: Majestik Lucas on Unsplash On June 12, my best friend and I went to see ABBA Voyage . We then went for drinks in the sun with my boyfriend and some friends, and following an anxiety and alcohol-fuelled fight with my boyfriend, I stumbled back home, too drunk, disoriented, and still buzzing from the surreal experience of ABBA Voyage . I remember walking back from the train station, confused and numb. I stood on the bridge over the tracks, annoyed that the protective railings wouldn’t let me jump. I made it home, body swaying, tears tightening my throat. I shut my bedroom door behind me. The emotions rushed in—uncontrollable, fierce, unforgiving. I remember standing in front of the mirror and not being able to understand what I was seeing. The blurred shape of a person crying stared back at me. Nothing seemed real, nothing except the pain inside—a giant, oozing chasm inside me. Thousands of images and sounds clashed together in my head: from my life in London, and other, more painful memories from two, ten, fifteen years before. And words, so many of them, swirling, sneering, telling me how much better the world would be without me. How relieved my friends, my family and my boyfriend would feel if they finally, finally were rid of this depressed, anxious, awkward, annoying, ridiculous person. For years, I had been living with intrusive and suicidal thoughts. I had seen five or six different therapists. I had tried so many medications. I had been hospitalised. And yet, despite moments of happiness, I would still tumble back inside my world of darkness, over and over and over again. All I wanted was to never feel again—all I wanted was to float in something as close to the unknown as possible. All I wanted was for all of this to stop. I turned to my bedside table, where a pile of medications sat beside a full glass of water. Something, an inexplicable force, pulled me down onto the mattress. I unlocked my phone and tried to call every person I loved: my mum, my sisters, my best friends. A Saturday night, it wasn’t surprising that none of them picked up—I didn’t really give them a chance. My brain twisted it as a sign that nobody needed me—nobody would miss me. I swallowed pill after pill. Then, what felt like a slap across my face: I was going to die. In a panic, I called my partner: ‘I don’t want to die,’ I repeated between frantic sobs. The world around me blurred, its edges softened, things inside my head quietened. There was a knock on my front door. I stood up to open—then, nothing. Source: Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash I lost about twelve hours. The only fragment of hazy memory I have is lying in a hospital bed and begging my boyfriend to let my university tutor know that I wasn’t going to be able to hand in my essay in time. Talk about priorities. I fully came back to my senses at five o’clock in the morning, after I had been discharged from my local A&E. The following two weeks were spent bed-bound, drowning in guilt and shame. A rotation of psychiatric nurses and therapists sat on the battered chair right next to my bed, patiently listening to all the reasons why I attempted suicide. I poured the weight of my self-hatred right into their hands. I told them how convinced I’d been that the world would be a better place without me in it. That I was a bad person, and even worse for what I had done. Each and every one of them listened, without judgment. They all had the right words. I couldn’t stop thanking them—I still believe we take the NHS for granted. With the help of these professionals and my loved ones, I slowly rebuilt my pulverised sense of self. I went for walks around the house. I looked up at the trees, at the squirrels, at the clouds. I listened to hours of Céline Dion and watched hours of The Vampire Diaries. I cooked some terrible meals—and some really good ones. I reread my favourite book and discovered some extraordinary new ones. I laughed. So much. Laughter, more than anything else, pulled me through. I firmly believe laughing will save the world. Amy Bleuel founded Project Semicolon after losing her father to suicide. In 2013, she put out a call on social media for people struggling with mental illness or suicide ideation to draw a semicolon on their wrist and share a photo on social media with the caption ‘Your Story Isn’t Over’. Amy lost her life to suicide in 2017, after living with depression for so long. But her legacy carries on; on their website, Project Semicolon offers a plethora of helpful resources, from assessment tests, symptom checkers, to medically reviewed articles. Their aim is simple: to help prevent suicide, but also to put an end to the culture of shame surrounding suicide. This is why I got this tattoo: I am not ashamed. No one should be ashamed of their pain. It’s what makes us so beautifully human. It’s also a hopeful reminder, for when I struggle: I can get through this, I did it before. If you or a loved one struggles with suicidal thoughts, there are countless ways to reach out, here are but a few: Samaritans Papyrus UK Mental Health Foundation UK This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust,  who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.

We are Dima and Phuong, MSc students in the Developmental Psychology and Psychopathology programme at the Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology and Neuroscience, King’s College London. As part of our accredited placement, we had the exciting opportunity to review findings from two studies led by researchers at King’s College London, in collaboration with the Safe Passage Study group in South Africa . These studies focus on understanding early developmental risk and resilience – key areas that have not only deepened our interest in developmental psychology but have helped shape the direction of our upcoming dissertation projects. Through this article, we can share some key insights we have gained and reflect on how this placement experience is influencing our research journey. Not all connections are built to last, and when they break, the effects can be profound. Whether it’s a personal relationship or a biological one, disruptions can leave lasting marks. During pregnancy, the mother and baby are connected through the placenta, a temporary yet vital organ that acts as the bridge, facilitating the exchange of oxygen, nutrients, and waste, ensuring the baby’s development. The placenta contains two distinct areas (i.e., vascular compartments) where blood flows: maternal and foetal. However, complications during pregnancy can arise when placenta functioning is impaired by altered maternal blood flow. We will unpack placental malperfusion (PM)—a condition where blood flow through the placenta is reduced or uneven, affecting either the mother’s or the baby’s blood vessels—and recent research investigating links between PM and offspring development. Photo by Getty Images for Unsplash+ Understanding Placental Malperfusion Affecting around 5–15% of normal pregnancies , PM may consequently put both mother and baby at risk of health problems . There are two main types of PM, categorised by where the interruption of blood flow occurs: Maternal Vascular Malperfusion (MVM) : Maternal blood doesn’t flow properly to the placenta. This is often linked to preeclampsia (a condition marked by high blood pressure and signs of damage to another organ system, most often the liver and kidneys) and poor foetal growth. Foetal Vascular Malperfusion (FVM): Foetal blood flow within the placenta is compromised, commonly seen in preterm births and associated with intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR), a condition where the baby grows more slowly than expected in the womb. While PM is a recognised term , inconsistencies in naming and classification have complicated cross-study comparisons. Causes of PM are likely multifactorial, involving a mix of maternal, placental, and foetal factors, with lifestyle risks (smoking, diabetes, obesity) and maternal mental health implicated . Placental Malperfusion and Child Development: What the Research Says Study 1: Reviewing the Evidence In recent years, scientists have become increasingly interested in how reduced blood flow to the placenta may affect a child’s brain development, at birth and into adulthood. While some individual studies have touched on this connection, there hadn’t been a thorough review of all the existing evidence—until Ibrahim and colleagues (2025) conducted a systematic review study on this topic. This type of study design systematically identifies, selects and evaluates all relevant research on a specific topic. The authors reviewed studies where PM was identified by closely examining placental tissue under a microscope to check for signs of infection, inflammation, or problems with the blood vessels. Child development outcomes included movement, cognitive, language, and mental health assessments up to age 8. What did the Research Team Report? In total, nine studies examined links between PM and child neurodevelopment. Of these, four studies found that MVM was linked to poorer neurodevelopmental outcomes, such as the development of autism , delays in motor skills , poor language development , or delayed cognition , in children between 10 months and 18 years of age. Interestingly, among preterm babies (born before or at 34 weeks of pregnancy), assessed before the age of 2 years, there was no clear evidence of links between MVM in women and their children’s development . Among six studies examining FVM, findings were also mixed. Two studies reported FVM associated with poor development in children aged 2 to 8 years , especially among preterm babies with growth restriction. In contrast, there was no evidence of links between FVM and children’s physical outcomes or the functions of their nervous system after birth. For some studies, better cognitive skills and lower risk for autism spectrum disorder were even found, which may have been due to differences in the group of participants studied or positive environmental factors that helped make up for early challenges. What do the findings imply? The link between PM and child development depends on things such as how early the baby was born, how severe the placental issues were, and when the child’s development was measured. However, many studies had small sample sizes or used different ways to define and diagnose PM. To really understand the risks, future research needs to get on the same page—using consistent definitions, considering other pregnancy complications like preeclampsia, and making sure developmental assessments happen at similar times. Photo by Curated Lifestyle for Unsplash+ Study 2: Utilising existing data to answer a new research question Next, using existing data from the Safe PASSage Study of the Prenatal Alcohol in Sudden Infant Death Syndrome and Stillbirth Network, the research team analysed data from 1,297 pregnant women from a low-income community in South Africa and their full-term babies, investigating how maternal blood flow resistance during pregnancy affects cognitive development at one year. Weissgold et al. (2025) focused on maternal placental health by examining the uterine artery pulsatility index (PI)—a measure of blood flow resistance in the uterine arteries. During the second and third trimesters, uterine artery PI was measured using Doppler ultrasound (an imaging technique to assess blood flow). Higher PI indicated greater resistance to blood flow and potential maternal-side placental malperfusion—essentially, the placenta is not getting as much maternal blood as it needs. After birth, placentas were examined under a microscope for signs of dysfunction, particularly MVM and accelerated villous maturation – two well-known markers of placental pathology. Cognitive and motor skills at two months were also assessed. So, what did this study report? Greater resistance to blood flow (i.e. higher uterine artery PI) was associated with lower cognitive scores at one year, even after accounting for alcohol consumption and mothers’ experiences of depression during the second trimester of pregnancy (weeks 13 to 27). Surprisingly, placental pathology findings after birth did not affect this relationship, suggesting that blood flow resistance during pregnancy independently affects neurodevelopment. The clinical effects observed, however, were quite small, and key information was gathered through self-reported surveys, which can sometimes be unreliable. Plus, the study only included a limited number of pregnant women, recruited on specific days, which raises questions about how well the sample represents the broader population. Future research should aim to include larger and more diverse groups of participants, extend recruitment over longer periods, and rely on more objective tools to measure alcohol use and mental health. It would also be valuable to explore other environmental factors that may influence a child’s development. Clinical Implications While Ibrahim and colleagues’ (2025) systematic review focused on the link between PM and children's development by examining the placenta after birth, Weissgold and colleagues' evidence suggests that in-utero blood flow resistance (detectable during pregnancy) may signal risk to offspring development before birth. This is especially important for low-resource settings, where early intervention can make a profound difference in a child’s life trajectory. By integrating insights from both studies, this research team is helping to map the invisible early influences that shape a child’s future. In the words of the researchers, ‘the womb is not just a place of growth, it's where the story of brain development begins’. Monitoring placental blood flow through ultrasound and examining placentas after delivery could improve our ability to identify at-risk children early. Early identification of placental abnormalities could help paediatricians initiate developmental screening and intervention sooner. Obstetricians, pathologists, and paediatricians should collaborate more closely, standardise reporting, and include placental pathology findings in neonatal records. Clinicians should individualise discussions about placental findings, balancing medical significance with parental needs. Open, supportive conversations can empower families with critical knowledge about their child's developmental journey.

Image source: Alexander Mass on Pexels In the modern day, everyone has heard about the push to “destigmatise mental illness” – a perfectly noble goal. Nonetheless, I find that when many people are pressed to explain what this truly means, little explanation is offered beyond being understanding. But what does that look like, truly? What about the things that aren’t easily understood, that can’t be solved merely by offering someone space or a “mental health day”? Why do many oft-repeated phrases about destigmatisation often sound like vague platitudes, offering me only the briefest reprieve from the social and professional consequences of an illness that has otherwise caused huge disruptions in my life? With mental health stigma potentially back on the rise , I can’t help feeling that this push for acceptance was only partially earnest in the first place. I sometimes wonder when people express how “we all get depressed now and then”, what they would do if they knew that I’ve had delusions. That mania can encourage me to run up all my credit cards, make dangerous sexual choices, and fill me with an energy so bright and all-consuming that I won’t eat for an entire day and not feel any different. That depression can leave me in bed for hours and hours, staring at the wall without distraction or preoccupation, or urge me to crack my head against the wall simply to stimulate some sensation in my body. But it’s more than this. Despite my best efforts, my symptoms cannot be totally self-contained, and this appears to be a major hurdle in the quest to destigmatise. If I miss my meds, I grow hypersensitive, snippy, and reactive. I get rejection sensitivity so intense that I feel actual shooting pains in my limbs, and it’s hard not to unfairly take this out on others. I make impulse decisions that remove others’ agency or step on people’s toes in the workplace. I lose touch with people and cut others out of my life unfairly. At many points, I have objectified people and used them only to see how much serotonin I can squeeze from their attention, like wringing out a rag, then wondered why none of my romantic endeavours succeeded. I work on these things often. Now engaged to a neurodivergent man, my partner and I, as a rule, explain our behaviours – not to excuse them, but to help the other understand that these actions aren’t their fault. His overstimulation and subsequent hypersensitivity need accommodation, not my hurt feelings, and my impulsivity and back-and-forth moods need communication, not condescension. This delicate balance acts as a barrier for many people, despite their good intentions to understand the vast and varied experiences of people with mental illness. I have often felt that my experiences as a woman with bipolar disorder are judged on several levels. My disorder takes up space in my life and interjects itself into my relationships with others. Instead of a wilting flower whose limitations inspire sympathy, I am a loud, “difficult” woman. I have often noticed that when a man falls victim to loneliness, depression, emotional distance, alcoholism or other dependencies, they are sometimes offered sympathy, the cluck of a tongue, and a comment about their struggles; women do not seem to have this wiggle room to be messy. The limitations of gender feel doubly suffocating when intersecting with those of wellness. Many others living with mental illness or neurodivergent people I know have experienced this. An autistic man who is paralysed by his inability to focus or socialise is called lazy or flaky. Meanwhile, his disinterest in social constructs of masculinity, which can be even more illogical to someone not naturally attuned to social cues and structures, inspires homophobic comments. A woman with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is perpetually perceived as flippant, a loaded gun, while a man with depression so severe that he struggles to maintain physical hygiene or steady work is a layabout. An autistic woman with a black-and-white view on sexuality is slut-shamed or misdiagnosed. (Many autistic women are misdiagnosed  as having personality, anxiety, or mood disorders . After all, autistic people couldn’t possibly  partake in romance or sex like allistic people, could they?) Image source: Unsplash It’s hard to encourage neurotypical people to be more conscious of these possibilities and symptoms without sounding like I’m making excuses. Normalising or destigmatising something doesn’t necessarily mean those things are positive or should be accepted uncritically. It’s just removing the shame surrounding them or shifting perspectives. However, making changes takes time, thought, and a series of improvements in one’s environment, and some changes will even require relocating, therapy, and new items or equipment, which all cost money. So, what do we do? How can I reliably tell someone that I got exceptionally manic and irresponsibly took over a task on a group project, potentially damaging the quality of our work in the process, because I was in a new house, lost my support system, and went off my meds? (Something that actually happened.) Moreover, how can I do so without fear of losing a friendship or the respect of a coworker? The truth is: I can’t. The fear will be there, inspired mostly by the fact that I can’t control whether a person wants to keep my occasional unreliability in their life or workplace. It’s worth trying, though, because there are people in my life who surprise me. But it’s not one-way. Suppose someone is truly interested in accommodating mentally ill and neurodivergent people. In that case, they will have to make peace with the fact that they can’t always understand others’ actions or feelings. Not all mental health symptoms or episodes are  common or “reasonable” or “sympathetic”. They might not have distinguishable causes – or if they do, you simply might not know about them, nor are you necessarily entitled to. But imagine navigating a world where every job you need to survive, every social interaction you participate in to feel connected to others, feels as if it’s not made for you. People shift at comments that you believed were normal – maybe even ones you practised – and suddenly pull back from socialising with you, and you can’t understand why. Jobs are again increasingly unwilling to accommodate hybrid schedules or remote work ; attending daily is either physically or psychologically overwhelming, making you more likely to quit the job and plunge yourself into financial instability. In some cases, as in mine, you’re told that treatment through medication, therapy, or (ideally) both will be not only beneficial but necessary to successfully manage your disorder; otherwise, the illness is degenerative and likely to exponentially impact your life. It’s exhausting. A more open mindset won’t solve everything. A genuinely understanding person can offer a disabled individual relief, assistance, and accommodation, but, as is the case for physically disabled people, changes must  be structural as well. Until someone can ask for sensory-safe spaces, can mark that they have a disability on a job application, can mention the less common side effects of their mental illness without fear of being denied a job, housing, healthcare, friendship – until these changes are institutional as opposed to simply individual , stigma will still linger. Still, social movements begin internally, and they then enter the political discourse, where wider change can be made. This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust,  who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.

Photo by Matheus Ferrero  on Unsplash I’ve bid lovers tearful goodbyes. I’ve sobbed them to my mother as I lit her pyre. But having to say goodbye to a therapist was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Twice, that too. Therapy, as anyone familiar with it, is a process that becomes a journey. As a writer and creative director born and bred in Mumbai, I am no stranger to starting a journey without a clear idea of its destination. As a lifelong procrastinator, I begin far fewer journeys than I ought to.   You never forget your first   Janaki and I hit it off right from the start. Whilst I had tried another therapist for one session, I began going to regular therapy with Janaki after seeing we seemed like a good fit. (I say ‘going to’ because, in the days before “pandemic” was a familiar word, one actually went in and met one’s therapist. in-person)  Her calm yet firm manner, coupled with the blanket of confidentiality was crucial in allowing me to lay myself bare and approach my issues quicker than I expected.   We started with the anxiety. Working on a root-cause approach helped uncover what my causes triggers, for the anxiety were. Techniques like 5-4-3-2-1 helped me ground when I felt myself spiralling. Uncovering and understanding my traumas and their resultant patterns helped greatly lessen the panic attacks that would jerk me awake at night.   Photo by Alex Green on Pexels P for Pandemic A little over half a year later, COVID-19 forced us all indoors and I learned to call, over Zoom, into my sessions with Janaki. Two months after India went into lockdown, my mother passed away in my arms. Those early weeks were a blur, but Janaki’s presence during our calls and sessions was a comfort I remain grateful for.    One year and a lot of progress later, our sessions moved from weekly to fortnightly. One September morning, as that session drew to a close, J anaki also brought our time together to an end. She was expecting and taking a break to focus on her pregnancy and the subsequent child-rearing. As happy as I was for her, I was deflated, so I felt comforted when Janaki mentioned that she’d be happy to recommend a therapist I could continue my work with. Enter Mark.    No second thoughts    Mark, Janaki’s first pick and my second therapist, was based in Goa, so we began remotely. A few months later, I moved there so we met in person. His approach to therapy was emergent, and I soon learned how much progress this new approach would bring.  Mark was measured. He had a way of being inscrutable when he wanted to (essential for maintaining boundaries) and openly warm when needed (essential for maintaining comfort).   With Mark, much of what I had felt whilst Janaki was my therapist returned, whilst still different. For instance, I felt the same eagerness to meet him as I did with Janaki. But while I met Janaki in her office, Mark was happy to meet at the promenade along the mouth of the Mandovi River and talk as we strolled to the sound of the waves. This pleased the thalassophile in me, and being outdoors and walking also brought a lot of vagal calm , something that I later understood helped make tough breakthroughs easier to accept. Photo by MaxDora  on Unsplash An end to find a beginning Around two years later, Mark noticed a trend; I was coming to therapy with not much to discuss. We’d talk, almost like we were catching up, and because Mark’s approach was emergent, he wouldn’t force a topic or structure.   He observed that I was increasingly bringing solved situations for validation, which led us to delve into why I was persisting with therapy. Comfort, clearly. More importantly, I was reluctant to give up the safest space I’d encountered.  I meandered for another year while Mark waited patiently for me to broach the topic I dreaded. I still remember that last session: sitting by the river, washing down onion fritters with a cup of tea, I turned to him and asked, “It’s time for the training wheels to come off, isn’t it?”. He smiled the “Mark smile” and replied, “If you’re ready”. I knew then that I was. I smiled nervously and asked, “Will I see you again?” and, for the first time ever, he replied only by smiling. I shook his hand and walked away to the sound of gulls calling as they wheeled above the waves.    The hardest goodbye As I learned from my time with both Janaki and Mark, being in therapy is one of the most fundamentally unequal relationships one will willingly participate in. You strip yourself down to a degree of honesty that you’ve likely never done before and might not do again. You tell your therapist almost everything about yourself while they remain opaque, sharing even less than Google might throw up. As they must.  You know that they are bound by code not to betray your confidentiality, and this brings unshakeable safety to disrobing yourself of the cloaks you’ve learned to wear. And yet, they never let you see them for much more than the role you’re paying them for.  The fact that you’re paying them is sobering. You understand, as much as you want it to be otherwise, that they aren’t your friend. And, in time, you realise it is for your benefit. You feel an acceptance you’ve hungered for. You taste your truths.   You talk about the end of your therapeutic relationship, whilst you know fundamentally that you’ll never become friends in the future. Because that would require them to sit you down and fill you in on who they are and what made them who they are, like you’ve done over so many sessions. How else would you bring parity, something that is essential for a healthy friendship?  I can understand if comparing therapy ending to cremating my mother might seem unseemly. Before my therapy, I’d have felt the same. But while I had no choice in how and when my time with my mother ended, this is one ending that was of my choosing. Even if it hurt to have made that choice, especially since you know you can reach out, but shouldn’t. As my time in therapy came to an end, I learned to make peace with the final truth: as much as I’m always going to be grateful to my therapists and want them in my life for longer, I can't. And that I’m never going to be more grateful for a ‘breakup’.   Photo by Mantas Hesthaven  on Unsplash This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust,  who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.

Spoiler alert: You don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it! “What are your hobbies?” This is quite a common icebreaker when having a conversation. For quite a few years, when someone asked me that, I actually had to think about it, and didn’t quite have an answer. After all, scrolling endlessly on social media in the evenings isn’t really a hobby, is it?   As a part-time PhD student and a full-time researcher, finding new hobbies over the past 2 years has been a great way for me to unwind and find a suitable work-life balance. As I have mentioned in previous articles, the pandemic was truly a catalyst for me to focus on my wellbeing, and it was only then that I started to truly think about self-care. That really was one positive that I took from the pandemic. It taught me many coping skills and self-care activities that I still use now to ensure I have a healthy work-life balance. I know that over the years, I digressed a bit, but I had to mention this to discuss why finding new hobbies in my 20s has been a subtle but very important part of my self-care. Photo by TEAcreativelife│Soo Chung on Unsplash Showing my vulnerable side, the second half of 2023 was a challenging time for me, and both my physical and mental health weren’t exactly the best. In January 2024, as I got back to London after a much-needed winter break at home, I decided to change this and prioritise overall wellbeing. After all, our physical health and mental health are so deeply interconnected. Finding your creative side through hobbies I discovered the relaxing effect colouring had on me. I came across this hobby unexpectedly- my cousin gave me a colouring book for adults, and I spent 2 hours that evening in my pyjamas, discovering just how well I could switch my mind off and enter the “Worlds of Wonder” (as the title of my favourite colouring book  is aptly called). I have since diversified to paint-by-numbers kits, recommended by a family member whose pieces I love. Though I am not very good at it (painting has never been my forte), I have spent many evenings sitting on the couch with my paint and an episode of my comfort show (any Gilmore Girls fans here?). Interestingly, creative leisure hobbies have been shown to have a positive impact on wellbeing and mental health in research studies. Take this study , for instance, which found that individuals who participated in arts and crafts activities and do-it-yourself (DIY) projects had higher levels of life satisfaction during the pandemic. Additionally, another study  among older adults found that time spent doing craft activities led to improvements in cognitive performance. Food and drink My partner and I have been on a quest to find new hobbies together. For him, a more recent one has been coffee. In fact, it's his mission to find unique hobbies that inspired me to write this piece. Tired of relying on instant coffees during his time as a student, he decided to learn more about the entire coffee brewing process. He tried to use different methods and sourced different kinds of coffee beans from small, family-owned businesses, as compared to larger commercial companies. One drawback of these kinds of hobbies we noticed, however, is that more often than not, they aren’t free and might not be the most accessible kind to do regularly if they require a financial investment. With that being said, if you are also a lover of food and drink, you can find sustainable hobbies that don’t break the bank. Photo by JSB Co on Unsplash+ Sports and physical activity In our research group, we pride ourselves on being quite an active group. While running is the preferred hobby for our Editor in Chief, who ran his first marathon  this year, others (like me) enjoy activities like yoga, Pilates, or swimming. Personally, I started yoga last year because of the numerous benefits it has on physical and mental health (you can read more in this piece ). I was very anxious to try out other workout classes, because of the internal monologues I had saying “you’ll be terrible at this, and make an embarrassment of yourself”. I slowly diversified to trying indoor spinning classes, and you guessed it, I took the bike furthest away from the instructor, in the last row, in a tiny corner. As I discovered how much I enjoyed it, I became more comfortable attending this more. Believe it or not, spending 45 minutes on a bike, with loud music, is oddly therapeutic, as I leave all the stress of the day outside. While I still, even a year later, struggle with my endurance and cannot always keep up with the instructor, I am glad that I did this, as it really pushed me to try new things for my physical health. If I hadn’t tried this, I wouldn’t have tried pickleball either. And if I hadn’t tried pickleball, I wouldn’t have joined the gym! Don’t get me wrong, I still have major gym anxiety, I will stick to the 5 machines I watched tutorials on, but hey, small steps lead to progress, right? Years and years of research have shown that having activity-based hobbies, like sports or running have tremendous benefits on mental health. Take, for instance, this review , which found that participating in sports as an adult is associated with overall psychological wellbeing, especially when in the form of team sports. Similar results  have been found when considering the impact of running on mental health. Photo by Pablo Merchán Montes on Unsplash+ My key takeaway One of my key takeaways from this journey has been that you don’t need to be good at something to enjoy it. My paint strokes are messy, I don’t have much endurance during a spin class, and I’m not flexible enough to do the most aesthetic yoga poses. But they make me happy. They relax me, and they allow me to learn more about myself. So, the next time you’re afraid to try something new, think about this piece and dive right in. Photo by Giulia Bertelli on Unsplash

We live in a time of huge worry about our teenagers and their mental health – from fears of a phone-obsessed adolescence to concerns about an offline world of bullying and drugs. But what if we parents, caregivers and teachers don’t need to be so fearful? What if our teenagers are a gift we can all learn from? Photo by Duy Pham from Unsplash You may be reading this and thinking, She’s mad! Teenagers a gift? More like a nightmare! Moody. Snappy. Communicating via the occasional WhatsApp from a darkened room. Indeed, when I told a friend about the putative title of the book I’ve just written on the subject ‘The Gift of Teenagers: Connect More, Worry Less’, he joked that it must be a slim volume.   It’s true that in general, the lot of the teenage parent is a sorry one: right now,  parents are generally less happy  than non-parents, something known as the ‘ parental unhappiness gap ’. In this, Britain comes a close second to the USA.   More colloquially, there’s talk of the ‘motherhood penalty’, and even the view that parental stress is a public health issue . Society has made parenting harder by forcing people to work longer hours for shrinking pay and raising the costs of getting any help. And grandparents are often too frail to help by the time their children become parents. It’s tough out there. I get it.   But stay with me. I really believe that raising my own five children in an anxious age has led to several gifts, the first being some psychological growth of my own (and I hope that doesn’t sound smug: I’ve plenty more to learn and there are plenty of other ways to learn apart from being a parent of teenagers). And maybe it can contribute to yours. In a series of blogs for Inspire the Mind, I will be sharing my recent finds. I’ve spent the best part of five years visiting schools, talking to adolescents, their teachers and parents, and to lots of experts ending with ‘ist’ – psychologists, therapists, neuroscientists and psychiatrists. I’ve long been interested in mental health, and consider myself an ambassador into that world, someone who has written a book or two on the subject and has links with charities, academics and experts in the field, and a person who can report on sensible ways to worry less about teenagers, and connect with them more. I feel I can share useful strategies I’ve learned having shepherded five adolescents of my own through this challenging stage, and perhaps help others do the same.   I have three boys and two girls. Our eldest son is now 30; our second son is 28; our elder daughter is 25; and the youngest two are twins, a boy and a girl, now 21. ,   Raising resilient teenagers begins with becoming a more resilient – and better informed – parent and person, someone who has learned to manage their own emotions and thinking patterns, become aware of their parenting style, and understand the world teenagers are growing up in. Photo by Helena Lopes from Unsplash If we nurture our own psychological health, we can be examples to our teenagers, who can learn from us. Calm parents or caregivers; calmer teenagers. Thus armed, we can engage with our adolescents better and discover how their brains work (short answer: not always like ours!).   Which brings me to the second gift that teenagers can deliver to us parents: the chance to connect with them as burgeoning adults. We can establish a new relationship with them, a blessing that can last a lifetime.   Raising teenagers taught me to accept a different role for myself as a mother. I realised that my children no longer needed me in the same way as when they were small – to make them their favourite spaghetti Bolognese (not so secret ingredient: a splosh of red wine) or drop them off at school. More independence for children (a good thing) can make us parents feel redundant (not such a good thing).   I have also had personal reasons to be especially concerned that any teenager of mine might succumb to mental health problems, as it was something I had experienced myself, albeit as a young adult. I had been a highly anxious teenager and succumbed to two serious depressive episodes as a young mother.   There were so many worries, both in the world and inside my head, that at first I found it tricky to stop being the ‘anxious mother’ looking at my offspring with pitying eyes. Photo from iStock Indeed, in some ways, it’s easier to be someone who worries. There’s a widespread view that worrying about our children’s welfare is a good thing, and the more we worry, the better parents we must be. At least if we’re worrying, we’re doing something. I know I’ve done this countless times myself, bonding with other parents about quite how concerned I am about my child, and the difficulties young people today face (like the horrors of social media, or the turbulent world in which they are growing up). And the thing is, all these concerns are valid.   But the calmer we are, I’ve found, the more we have to offer to others, our teenagers included. If we worry, they will worry in turn. Instead, we can model what a more accepting and compassionate person looks like and share ways we have found to be less stressed and cope with difficulties. This approach invites teenagers in turn, to find their own answers when facing challenges, from social media to mental health issues.     Throughout my series with Inspire the Mind, I will discuss several topics where we can have a role in supporting teenagers. First, smartphones – how can we keep our teenagers safe in a digital age? Second, strategies to help understand alcohol, its appeal to teenagers and ways to encourage responsible drinking. Third, dealing with drugs: how we might set boundaries and rules for teenagers. Fourth, addressing adolescent loneliness - why it has become an issue for young people since Covid, and ways to help adolescents make friendships and connections. Next, handling the easy availability of pornography. What can we say and do to help our adolescents develop a more positive approach to their sexuality and romantic relationships? And sixth and finally, coping with adolescent mental health problems. How can we support young people finding life hard?   No parent can ever not worry at all about these and other issues, and I’ve had plenty of heart-stopping moments myself on what has inevitably been a choppy ride. But my aim in this series is to help you bring your parental anxiety levels down from, say, an eight or nine out of ten to a more manageable three or four, and take your enjoyment levels up to an eight or nine, to the point where you can see this period as one that contains blessings as well as bruisings. Ultimately, my aim is to help you appreciate your children’s teenage years, the people they are becoming, the life lessons they teach you, and yes, on occasion, to tell them what’s what as the adult in the room. The Gift of Teenagers book The Gift of Teenagers: Connect More, Worry Less  is published by Hachette and now available. https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-gift-of-teenagers/rachel-kelly/9781804193167