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A coldish evening and I am back from a class on how to give a presentation, cradling a mug of celebratory hot chocolate. Even the thought of the lesson had given me the heebie-jeebies. I had fretted that I would make a fool of myself by freezing and forgetting my words. Humiliation is one of the most powerful emotions, and humiliating moments are often those we find hardest to forget. I did not want to be embarrassed. But I went because avoiding what I am frightened of usually only makes it worse. The best way to overcome my fears is to find the courage to face them, hard as that can be. As Eleanor Roosevelt supposedly said, do one thing every day that scares you. So that’s why I found myself in a group of ten students and longing to be back home, cuddling Sammy in front of the telly. But my mood began to change thanks to a sympathetic tutor dressed in an inviting apricot kaftan. She told us how we would overcome our fears and move out of our comfort zones by practising in baby steps. We would adopt the Pre, During, and After method — or the PDA approach (no, not as in a Public Display of Affection!). First, the Pre. This meant we would prepare for the presentation. We would remind ourselves of our purpose in being at the workshop, and how we would talk to a friend who was feeling nervous. We would practise in front of a mirror and in pairs. We were advised to use some relaxing standing exercises to steady ourselves. Then the During stage, when we would present to all the strangers in the class. During these first two stages, we were supposed to stick with any anxious feelings, accepting the discomfort until it gradually dissipated and using breathing exercises if need be. The more we did this, she said, the more we would build up what psychologists call our ‘distress tolerance’ — our ability to withstand negative emotions or distressing states. We could even reframe anxious feelings as energising and arousing instead. Then, in the After stage, we would discuss how we felt our about presentations and any other techniques we might include to improve them. Her method worked. I was able to face the group without a pounding heart when I did my own presentation, and learnt much in the chat afterwards. Going forward, our coach suggested that we could continue our journey out of our comfort zones by listing those situations that fill us with fear, or those we avoid. So in my case, that might be giving a presentation to 20 people rather than the ten I had faced that night. We should list these scenarios from least scary to most frightening. Then we should build our confidence by tackling the easier ones first. If you begin with something too challenging, you might just give up all together. In addition, in the absence of a coach like her, was there anyone else who could support us as we embraced new challenges? Understanding why we prefer to stay in our comfort zone can also, counter-intuitively, make us more adventurous. We humans are loss averse. We dislike loss far more than we like an equivalent gain. Such a cognitive bias probably kept us safe amid the dangers of the African savannah, where the downsides of taking risks were as big as the lions on the prowl. But there are dangers in not being a risk-taker: our ancestors also benefited from variety, whether of habitats, food or mating partners (though this is not an excuse for infidelity!). In fact, the American educational psychologist, Carol Dweck, argues that we need to adopt a ‘growth’ rather than a ‘fixed’ mind-set: if something is hard, then that’s a good sign as it shows our brains are growing and adjusting. We need to question our self-imposed limits on what we can achieve and expand our horizons. We imagine that when we are thrown out of our usual comfort zone, all is lost. But it is only then that what is new and good often begins. And that includes a mug of hot chocolate afterwards. YOUR TURN TO FACE YOUR FEARS AND CHALLENGE YOURSELF WHEN YOU WOULD RATHER WATCH TELLY OR TALK TO YOUR PET: 1. Write on the dartboard the activities you will try that are out of your comfort zone. The more frightening the situation you face, the more points you receive. Think of it like a dartboard, only this time you aren’t aiming for the bull’s eye. You may find it daunting to think of as many as three different challenging situations, so just start with a 10-point activity if that feels more comfortable and perhaps come back to this exercise in a few weeks’ time. 2. Now choose a 10-point activity from your dartboard to ease yourself into this process. Here is a reminder of the PDA method. Have a think about the questions below and then plot your own PDA on the steps in the image on the next page. The Pre stage– How you will prepare before the activity Why are you doing this? Is there a way of practising ahead? How would you reassure a nervous friend who was contemplating something outside their comfort zone? The During stage– How you will prepare for doing the actual activity Using breathing to stay steady Accepting difficult feelings and letting them dissipate The After stage– How will you make the most of having found your courage? What you have learnt What you might do differently next time Adopting a growth mind-set going forward NOTE FROM THE EDITORS: We are thrilled to have British Author and Mental Health Advocate, Rachel Kelly, writing for InSPIre the Mind. Rachel has written as a journalist for The Times and has written books including Black Rainbow: How Words Healed Me — My Journey Through Depression, Walking on Sunshine: 52 Small Steps to Happiness, The Happy Kitchen — Good Mood Food and her latest, Singing in the Rain: 52 Practical Steps to Happiness — An Inspirational Workbook. This is the first blog of a three part series: part three coming soon. Rachel Kelly Website: www.rachel-kelly.net Twitter: www.twitter.com/rachelkellynet

I have spent much of the morning trying to find the right sentence with which to start an article. I am playing with the phrase ‘it is a truth universally acknowledged’, but I don’t like borrowing from Jane Austen. I am aware it’s a clichéd approach, yet I can’t find an alternative. The harder I try to perfect my sentence, the worse it reads. I know I must stop soon or I will trip over a hidden rabbit hole I know only too well — that of being a perfectionist. Feeling we must be perfect is a growing problem in our digital age: comparing our humdrum existence with the shiny lives of celebrities makes us feel that anything less than perfect is not good enough. Yet often it is those who shine most brightly and seem to have supposedly perfect lives who actually find life the hardest. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. One study even links some types of perfectionism to increased rates of suicide. In some cases, setting exacting standards can be appropriate — if you are a surgeon or a pilot, for example. But in my own less exacting life it is easy to apply perfectionist standards when they are not needed, or are inappropriate or even damaging. In the past, I have set myself overly high ideals and imagined there is no middle way between succeeding and failing: a frightening prospect. And because my standards were too demanding, I have often felt a failure, as naturally I have not always met those standards. I have concentrated on what has gone wrong, with little compassion for myself, rather than remembering what has gone right. What could be less motivating than focusing on our blunders? How then to change? Start by thinking of someone you admire. Now consider. Did they ever fluff anything? Of course they did! Then, recognise perfectionism is often linked to a black-and-white thinking approach. I am either a brilliantwriter or a dreadful clichéd hack. Of course, neither are true. Replace this approach with a gentler, more realistic narrative. Note what you have achieved rather than what you have failed to do. And remind yourself that by cracking on, over time your writing will improve (you hope). I like the story of a ceramics teacher who divided his pupils into two groups. One group was asked to make as many pots as they could, and the other group to make one perfect pot. In the end, the group who focused on quantity rather than quality made the best pots. Their pots were smoother, with less bumps and a more pleasing shape, even though the students produced more, and worked more quickly. Why? Because those who made more pots were trying, failing and learning. Those who were trying for the perfect pot didn’t take any risks for fear of failure, which is why their skills didn’t improve. Fail more, but master more too. As few of us have access to a kiln, I have adapted this idea into a flower drawing exercise. It is not about being brilliant and including every last floral detail. It is about giving something a go. Imperfect action is better than perfect inaction. You could develop this idea by deliberately trying to do something less well, just to see what happens. Try giving yourself a time frame, as procrastination and perfectionism are linked. It’s harder to stay a perfectionist when you have a set time period in which to complete a task, which is not the same as an invitation to rush. When you have finished your drawings, ask someone else about the images. Sometimes our anxiety about perfectionism is because we worry about what others will think, which holds us back. Yet in reality, others tend not to expect the level of detail or skill we feel we need to provide. Imagining their criticism demotivates us. That is a truth that’s universally acknowledged. co-editors attempt NOTE FROM THE EDITORS: We are thrilled to have British Author and Mental Health Advocate, Rachel Kelly, writing for InSPIre the Mind. Rachel has written as a journalist for The Times and has written books including Black Rainbow: How Words Healed Me — My Journey Through Depression, Walking on Sunshine: 52 Small Steps to Happiness, The Happy Kitchen — Good Mood Food and her latest, Singing in the Rain: 52 Practical Steps to Happiness — An Inspirational Workbook. Rachel Kelly Website: www.rachel-kelly.net Twitter: www.twitter.com/rachelkellynet

A New year, and a time when publishers traditionally promote January diet books urging self-restraint after the season of merrymaking. While recognising the need for many of us to slim down, I prefer an alternative approach, rooted both in science as well as age-old spirituality. Try eating with your mental health rather than your weight in mind. First, the science. I might never have become interested in the relationship between food and mood had my GP not mentioned the topic at the end of a routine appointment nearly six years ago to discuss my ongoing battle with anxiety and low mood — a battle that in the past had meant I was hospitalised for depression. As I was leaving, she asked if I had heard of “happy foods”? Oily fish and dark green fibrous vegetables, in particular. And dark chocolate. I was intrigued. Miso Sea Bass with Green Tea Rice. Photograph by Laura Edwards Further research revealed that there is growing evidence that some forms of depression and mood imbalance may be linked to low-grade, chronic inflammation in the body. Adopting an anti-inflammatory diet can help improve our mood. There were four main aspects of my new anti-inflammatory, mood-boosting diet. The first was to eat more vegetables; the second to eat more fish; the third to eat more fermented and gut-loving foods; and finally to avoid foods which would exacerbate inflammation. Alongside changing what I ate, I also changed how I ate. I cultivated an attitude of gratefulness by pausing and saying a few words to myself before meals, an old-fashioned religious grace, even if it just to myself and under my breath. “For what I am about to receive, may I be truly grateful’.” Science dovetails with ancient truths: plenty of psychological studies confirm the power of adopting a more grateful attitude. In a similar way, cooking too can become a time to appreciate all the food we can otherwise take for granted. Standing still at the stove can allow time for reflection and reawaken our jaded senses. The hiss of peppers sizzling in a pan, the scent of ginger and garlic, the sight of rich reds and yellows: all this can gladden our souls and redefine how we think about food in a positive way at what can otherwise feel like a judgemental, negative time of year. Creamy Sweet Potato and Red Pepper Soup. Photograph Laura Edwards. There may even be some evidence that cultivating this sort of appreciative, happy kitchen can help us live longer. For years, scientists have pondered the so-called “French paradox”. Why is the mortality rate from heart disease in France less than a third of that in Britain? Why do the French on average live four years longer than Americans, despite eating, on average, more saturated fat? One explanation could be that the French enjoyment of cooking and food. And a culture that celebrates eating slowly, surrounded by family, has a positive effect on their mood. Pausing to allow a moment for gratefulness also means I now eat more slowly. Like so many of us, I used to bolt down my food and treat mealtimes as a means to an end, rather than an end in itself. I would eat with the fridge door gaping, on the move, or “al desko”. Science once again is at one with spiritual wisdom. Our digestive system expects us to chew and swallow our food properly, as this gives our stomach time to prepare the right digestive juices. Up to 40 chews is thought to be about the right number for tough meat and vegetables. Yet the reduction in the size of the average human jaw over the course of human evolution and the prevalence of compacted wisdom teeth could be a sign of how rarely we now use our chewing powers. Eating in his way also helps us eat more slowly and reminds us that food is not just fuel to be consumed mindlessly. Rather, eating with focus means we tend to consume what we naturally need, rather than over-eat. You just might not need a diet book after all. Rachel Kelly is a writer, mental health campaigner and an ambassador for SANE. Her books include The Happy Kitchen: Good Mood Food (Short Books). NOTE FROM THE EDITORS:We are delighted that Rachel is a regular contributor to our blog platform. She has written three previous blogs already, on relaxing physically, escaping our comfort zone, and being happy, not perfect. Creamy Sweet Potato and Red Pepper Soup. Photograph Laura Edwards.

1. Make your bed first thing Every morning, make your bed to your own satisfaction, the duvet nice and straight and the pillows plumped. The act of achieving and controlling something as soon as you wake up puts you in the right mood to continue a sense of control throughout your day. You have the power to affect your own thoughts and feelings. Start as you mean to continue — make a promise to yourself to look after your mental health all day long by being as calm as you can first thing in the morning. 2. Use breathing exercises, the simplest being to block one nostril When we are anxious, our breathing becomes fast and shallow. When we breathe more slowly this forces our racing minds to slow down as well. It can help to close one nostril with a finger — this means we breathe at half the rate than normal. You can only breathe in the present, so it’s the best way to be calm and centered. When we are anxious, we worry about the future and regret the past. Breathing keeps us in the present. Image from SriSugam 3. Look after your physical health by exercising, getting a good night’s sleep and eating a balanced diet, with plenty of ‘happy foods’: Our mental health is closely linked to our physical health. So, get outside, go for a walk if you can — respecting the need to stay a few metres from others; go to bed at a sensible time each night; and nourish your body, with these top three mood-boosting foods: oily fish (like salmon, anchovies and tuna); dark green leafy vegetables like kale, cabbage, and spinach; and dark chocolate. 4. Connect with others by being kind, even if it is remotely: Connecting with others by being kind and grateful has a very real effect on our happiness. We become kinder to ourselves and also become more accepting of others. Clearly, it is impossible to do this easily in person at the moment, but it is still possible Here are some ideas of what you might do to be kind: Smile at someone if you pass them in the street, if out for a walk, or in a shop Pay attention to a family member or friend when they talk to you — even if this is on the phone Spend more time listening to others and less time talking at them. (There’s a reason we have two ears and only one mouth.) Offer to help someone locally by dropping off food or medical supplies if you are able to Send a supportive text Start a WhatsApp group with friends to share any positive news such as steps to find a vaccine 5. Be in the present by doing an everyday activity in a mindful way: Mindfulness is a way of focusing attention on what we are experiencing in the moment. The trick is to remember to be mindful! Make a few everyday activities mindful ones. You could start with washing your hands in a mindful way, as this is something we should all be doing right now, or you could also choose from: Brushing your teeth Doing the washing up Tidying your room In a mindful way. As you do your activity, pay attention to all the sensations you are feeling. If your activity was washing your hands, feel the coldness of the water, hear the sound of the tap, smell the soap. Use these mindful moments to slow down and enjoy what is happening in the present. Image source Elizabeth De Jure Woodrain 6. Change your negative thoughts by remembering to ‘Catch it, check it, change it!’ Our thoughts, feelings and behaviour affect each other. Watch out for your negative thoughts. First, recognise them. Let’s say you are catastrophising about the virus. Your negative thought is that everyone you know and love will be affected. Step two is to check that thought — is it really true? And then third, change the thought. So maybe say to yourself, I am prepared, I am taking precautions, most people recover well. It isn’t always possible to do this, but the important thing is to remember you can challenge your thoughts and be flexible. 7. Do something new by learning this poem Setting a new goal or learning a new skill can be a great way to feel a sense of achievement. So, try learning a poem! This one is a great choice, as its message is that we appreciate good times more by having experienced the bad. In fact, we would not appreciate sunnier times without living through the rainy ones. The Rainbow, by Charles Mackay. Oh you tears, I’m thankful that you run, Though you trickle in the darkness, You shall glitter in the sun The rainbow could not shine if the rain refused to fall, And the eyes that cannot weep are the saddest eyes of all. Image source Pinterest 8. Keep a gratitude notebook: Focus on what you are thankful for. Find a notebook, and then every evening write down in as much detail as you can three things you are grateful for. They could include: A yummy meal A beautiful day Making a cake Being more conscious of our fellow human beings Image source Boho Berry 9. Imagine a Happy Place: We can create or experience visual pictures in the mind even if at the moment we cannot go there. Close your eyes and remember somewhere you last felt really happy. What did it look like? What did it smell like? What were the colours and scents? Where you with anyone else? Write down here what your own happy place looks like. Mine is by a stream in the Lake District. Then bring to mind your happy place whenever you feel stressed. If one good thing comes out of this terrible time, it will be a new focus on our mental health. We will all need to prioritise our psychological wellbeing in the months ahead, as we gradually adjust to a new post-COVID reality. We will have to rebuild our lives and businesses, perhaps find new jobs, and adjust to the loss of loved ones. All will take mental resilience and strength. I hope my tips will help you, whatever your future journey. Rachel Kelly is a speaker, author and mental health campaigner, and a regular writer on InSPIre the Mind — you can read her other fantastic blogs for InSPIre the Mind here. Rachel speaks publicly about her experience of depression and recovery to help educate and break stigma. She is an official ambassador for SANE, Rethink Mental Illness and The Counselling Foundation. Rachel has written four books: Black Rainbow: How words healed me: my journey through depression, Walking on Sunshine: 52 small steps to happiness, The Happy Kitchen: Good Mood Food — Joyful recipes to keep you calm, boost your energy and help you sleep… and Singing in the Rain: 52 practical steps to happiness. Follow Rachel on Twitter. Header Image Source: Shutterstock

As we adjust to a second lockdown, one musical voice keeps playing in my head: that of Rumi, the thirteenth-century Persian poet and Sufi. Like Anna Maria Di Brina, who wrote movingly in an earlier Inspire the Mind blog about how she derives solace from reading (as well as writing) poetry, I too am drawn to verse right now. Rumi’s poem ‘This Being Human is a Guesthouse’ in particular is working its magic. The poem casts the individual as a dwelling, allowing each chapter of life to take its room within. We must “treat each guest honourably”, he writes, even if “a crowd of sorrows” greets us: our ‘sorrows’ can be the making of us. It is a philosophy which makes sense of these dark times. The separation between the personified emotions and the person is comforting: the highs and lows of this challenging pandemic need not define us, nor are we responsible for them. We simply play host to all these different experiences. We need not be overly attached to them. The poem ends with the belief that the most unprepossessing guest “may be clearing you out for some new delight”. In twelve short lines, a poet gives us a way to cope. This is not the first time that Rumi has helped me through difficult times. He was one of the poets I turned to during a long battle with severe depression which began when I was in my thirties. Just over twenty years ago, I was lying in bed in so much physical pain that I begged to be allowed to kill myself. That I didn’t was in large part thanks to my love of poetry and my mother. She would sit by my bedside and say aloud a phrase from Corinthians that reminded me of my childhood: ‘My grace is sufficient for thee; my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ While it is a line from the Bible, I did not think about religion when she repeated those few words. I thought of the beauty of the words, and the message they contained. In the midst of my first severe ‘depressive episode’ that had gripped me in its terrifying embrace, I owed my survival to such poetic mantras. There was nothing else to which I could turn. My psychiatrist and his drugs had yet to take effect. My mother and husband were as loving as they could be; but they couldn’t reach me. I had ceased to be aware of them. They had faded in my consciousness to vague presences. Our two children had vanished altogether. But the healing words my mother recited were lifelines. A picture of Rachel’s Mum who inspired her to love poetry It would have been impossible to learn anything new. I could though remember the words my mother softly repeated from my childhood without much effort. It was a different refrain, more positive than my previous chant that I wanted to die. I would recover, and indeed be stronger. There was a point to the suffering. Poems also temporarily laid my anxiety to rest when I was unwell by fixing me in the present. It was as if the words had become embodied, almost physical in their power, something to hold on to and rub, like prayer beads for the mind. As I continued to recover, my mother added more and more healing poems to her repertoire. Favourites include the last lines of Arthur Hugh Clough’s ‘Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth’, also famously quoted by Winston Churchill in his wartime speeches. “In front the sun climbs slow; how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright.” Of course the healing power of words has a long history, dating back to primitive societies who made use of chants. By the first century AD, the Greek theologian Longinus wrote about how he believed in the powers of language to transform reality, to affect readers in deep and permanent ways, and to help them cope with the vagaries of their existence. Spool forward to the twentieth century and by 1969 the Association of Poetry Therapy was established in the USA. A powerful poetic line can diminish your loneliness, one of the worst characteristics of clinical depression. This was especially striking when I came across poems written hundreds of years ago, like Rumi’s, which described a similar blackness to that which I was experiencing. Then there is the way poetry encourages your mind to focus on the present moment. Depression cripples your sense of time: your involvement in the present is overwhelmed by worries about the future or regrets about the past. But the complexity and subtlety of poetry requires you to concentrate right now. A picture from Rachel of a nice candle and cuppa to settle down and read Now recovered, poetry has remained a constant friend in need. It is not the only thing that has helped me stay calm and well. I have been helped and written about other approaches too, such as mindfulness and the importance of nutrition, the subject of my book ‘The Happy Kitchen’. But there will always be a special place for poetry in my heart. Robert Frost, demonstrating my point perfectly, put it far better when he said that a poem can be a ‘momentary stay against confusion.’ That’s what happened all those years ago when my mother sat at my bedside and spoke the words aloud; and that is what is happening now through this lockdown when I recite my Rumi. Rachel Kelly is a British mental health advocate and author. Her memoir about how poetry helped her recover from depression ‘Black Rainbow: How words healed me — my journey through depression’ is published by Yellow Kite Books. Website: www.rachel-kelly.net Twitter: www.twitter.com/rachelkellynet Singing in the Rain: An Inspirational Workbook NOTE FROM THE EDITORS: We are so excited to be publishing another wonderful blog from Rachel Kelly. Rachel has written as a journalist for The Times and has written books including Black Rainbow: How Words Healed Me — My Journey Through Depression, Walking on Sunshine: 52 Small Steps to Happiness, The Happy Kitchen — Good Mood Food and her latest, Singing in the Rain: 52 Practical Steps to Happiness — An Inspirational Workbook. It is a pleasure to have Rachel share another lovely blog with our InSPIre the Mind readers. Header image source pinimg

How do we make meaningful lifestyle changes that stick and are more than a blink in January’s eye? We know it’s not easy. Studies show that by the end of March, many of us have abandoned our resolve and settled back into our old patterns. In one University of Bristol study in 2007 by Richard Wiseman, only around 12% of people who make New Year’s resolutions felt that they were successful in achieving their goals . I am a mental health advocate and writer, as well as a KCL’s Associate and host on the Inspire the Mind series of interviews with leading figures in the mental health world. In this beginning-of-the-year blog, I want to talk about how we stick to our resolutions and make meaningful change. Some psychologists distinguish between ‘subordinate’ and ‘superordinate’ goals: the first refers to specific and concrete goals, while the second type of goals are more abstract or vague. Decide that your aim is to lose ten pounds (a subordinate goal), instead of saying to yourself ‘I resolve to get in shape’ (a superordinate goal). Focusing on something specific in this way has helped my own efforts to stick to resolutions. For years, like the rest of the world I have wanted to shed some weight. I am managing to do so only by adopting a narrow and clear aim: I will not eat anything containing sugar — in other words, a subordinate goal. This will also help me avoid sugar highs and lows and keep my mood steady, ideas outlined in my book The Happy Kitchen: Good Mood Food about the links between nutrition and mental well-being. A second key to successfully changing your lifestyle habits is to focus on one change. By adopting one clear resolution, and focussing my efforts on just that, I am more likely to succeed than if I had spread myself too thin (pun intended!) on multiple goals. Focussing on one goal at a time, and succeeding it in, starts a virtuous circle. I’ve kept to one resolution, so I can keep to another. The Happy Kitchen: Good Mood Food by Rachel Kelly with Alice Mackintosh Dr Jamie Arkell is a consultant psychiatrist who I interviewed for this article. I wanted to bring a professional perspective to the making and keeping of resolutions, and to learn from Dr Arkell’s experience with his hundreds of patients. He agrees that the ‘Just one thing’ approach makes sense. It is an approach also popularised by the writer and author of the Fast 800 book Dr Michael Moseley, makes sense. “I had a patient today, overwhelmed with work,” Dr Arkell says. “He also needs to see a GP, and see a specialist, and fill out HMRC forms, and he hasn’t seen a friend for months. So I said he had to see a friend from his old regular group just once before our next review, and to forget the swimming and healthy eating and prioritise ‘just one thing’”. In addition to being specific and focussing on one aim, some experts also say goals should be measurable, achievable, relevant to you and time-oriented, an approach that neatly creates the acronym ‘SMART’. The SMART approach also appeals to Dr Arkell. “I like the use of SMART goals which management consultants and coaches use,” he says. But he acknowledges how very challenging patients can find it. “A challenge of 10 mins per day for ten days sounds not much but is amazing how few manage it”. The SMART approach has helped me, but I have added a sixth element to make my SMART goal setting stick: approaching my goals in a compassionate and kindly way — making a contract that has a human element. In adopting this approach, I have learnt from Carla Croft, Clinical Psychologist at Barts Health. I discussed my thoughts on resolutions with her for this blog, again seeking to learn from her experience of working with hundreds of patients. She applies this ‘compassion-focussed’ approach to SMART goals, transforming what otherwise might feel rather ruthless and clinical, into a much more human and forgiving process. She advises that before adopting a new goal, we need to properly care about the habit we wish to change. “Think about what you really value in your life,” she counsels. “Perhaps more time at the gym in the afternoon takes you away from the kids too much. We need to stop and notice whether it is causing us suffering and whether it is truly something we want to change. It is also so important that we are honest with ourselves about where we really are up to today. It is no good deciding to run the marathon when you have not started walking — a goal that is lacking in compassion!” Dr Arkell agrees. “The intention behind the resolution is important,” he says. He also recommends visualisation as a technique. “You might visualise why you want to lose weight and exactly how much would feel an achievement by what date.” Dr Croft also argues that we may have more success if we seek support from others. “Adopting a healthier habit doesn’t have to be done by you alone”, she says. Reminding yourself of our common humanity helps with what could be seen as a final stage for anyone trying to change their ways — reviewing your progress. This is the moment you arrive at the allotted time goal and look with gentle honesty at what has happened. The review is more likely to be successful if it starts with “We are all in the same boat, humans have these sorts of challenges, you are not in this alone,” says Dr Croft. Here’s what I wrote in my own book on this subject: Walking on Sunshine: 52 Small Steps to Happiness, as a postscript to myself and to any readers who are struggling with resolutions or steps to happiness. “It may be that you’ve fallen off the wagon in your own quest for happiness. You’ve lost your yen for Zen. Maybe you’ve become frustrated with meditation … or quite simply want to scream at someone… When I find myself in that situation, I try not to berate myself. Sometimes I try and imagine talking to myself as if I were a child. I would talk to a child in a loving and forgiving way. Being kind and self-compassionate is just as important as becoming more aware and setting new intentions. Keep the wagon rolling. You are good enough just as you are.” Wishing you all the happiest of New Year and love and luck in keeping your resolutions. Walking on Sunshine: 52 Steps to Happiness by Rachel Kelly

Can poetry help our mental health? While I’m convinced of this, so much so that I’ve written a new book on the links between verse and our emotional wellbeing, I wanted to know if there was any research which attests to poetry’s power to heal our minds. I had my own personal reasons to see whether there was any scientific data on the subject, because it’s not an exaggeration to say that poetry saved my life. In my thirties, I fell so ill with severe depression that I went to a psychiatric hospital. I wasn’t well enough to read a chapter, let alone concentrate on a whole book. Instead, I found comfort in soothing poetic one-liners, ones that told a more positive story and reminded me that I was not alone. My favourite line, which I found at the height of my illness when I was suicidal, was from the Bible. It’s an extract from Corinthians: “My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” Author's own image My experiences and poetry’s role in my recovery led to my 2014 memoir, Black Rainbow: How Words Healed Me: My Journey Through Depression. Ever since I’ve been banging on about the healing power of poetry and running ‘Healing Words’ workshops in prisons and for mental health charities. When I started sharing poems, I found that many other people were interested in finding words for difficult times. This came naturally to me. I was able to share the poems which had got me through my depression. The religious poet George Herbert’s Love (III) was a particular favourite. The poem includes a dialogue between the narrator, who feels unworthy — “guilty of dust and sin”: a phrase I often come back to as a description of depression — and Love, a gentle, non-judgmental voice in the conversation. By the final verse, the narrator finally lets himself be loved for who he is. And that message helped me move past my own feelings of worthlessness. Since first meeting Herbert, my poetic tastes have changed. The big shift happened when my mother died nearly four years ago. She had first introduced me to poetry and had a head full of poems she could recite from memory. She wasn’t only drawn to consoling poems, but poems of joy and hope too. After she died, I started to feel more drawn to poems which let you experience joyous feelings. My Mum’s death taught me that life is too short not to. Poetry gives us permission to feel deeply, whatever mood we might be in. Neurologists say that poetry speaks to a primitive part of our brain, perhaps a part that was more active when poems were passed down orally before writing was invented. The result has been my second book about poetry. It’s called You’ll Never Walk Alone: Poems for Life’s Ups and Downs. In it, I explain and share the poems which have helped me (and those in my workshops) to understand and allow our feelings, whether despairing or joyful and to feel we have a poem to keep us company. Author's own image I’ve organised my selections according to the season in which they more or less ‘belong’: we all have seasons of our minds, from the wintry and dark, to the more spring-like and hopeful. I remember one woman starting to cry as she read Derek Walcott’s poem ‘Love after Love’ during a workshop held at my local hospital in West London. Fighting through tears, she eventually said, “I feel understood”. Everyone in the room knew just what she meant. She had, in Walcott’s phrase, struggled to “love again the stranger who was yourself”. The poet’s invitation to “Sit. Feast on your life” was the nudge she needed, in language which spoke to her, to imagine loving herself in a way she had always found hard. Poetry had worked its magic, unlocking a feeling of inner connection, and in turn a connection to all of us sitting in the workshop. To paraphrase the poet Paul Celan, a poem is like a handshake: it creates bonds between us. Or as Scott Fitzgerald wrote of literature: “You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.” Given this enthusiasm, I was naturally keen to review the literature on the power of poetry. It shows that the therapeutic impact of poetry is an unfolding field of interest in the clinical world. New studies are starting to emerge about how poetry can affect us in three main ways: when we read (or listen to) poetry; when we write poetry; and when poetry is used in the training of healthcare professionals. A fourth, and final area of interest for me personally, is the effect of sharing poetry with others. Stay tuned for my next article, where you can read about my findings following my search for literature and scientific evidence for the power of poetry in mental health. Rachel Kelly’s new book You’ll Never Walk Alone: Poems for Life’s Ups and Downs is published by Yellow Kite.

Can poetry help our mental health? Image source: Freepik In my last piece, I spoke about my personal experiences with poetry, and the life-changing impact it has had on me, so much so that I’ve written a new book on the links between verse and our emotional wellbeing. However, now I am here to share the evidence that attests to poetry’s power to heal our minds. Author's own image I set about to find what research existed, and came across a number of studies which I divided into three categories, depending on the way we interact with the poems: reading or listening, writing, and sharing. 1. Reading or listening to poetry First, let’s investigate the efficacy of reading or listening to poetry to boost our wellbeing. One way listening to verse can help is by reducing pain, a role that music can also play. A 2016 study of cancer patients found that listening to both music and poetry produced a similar improvement in pain intensity. The two therapies also affected ‘depression scores’, but as a bonus for the power of literature, only poetry increased ‘hope scores’, a measure of how hopeful subjects felt. A second way in which listening to or reading poetry can help us is by improving our memory. A 2015 study found that stroke patients who read poetry improved their thinking powers, or “cognitive function”, which in turn improved their capacity to cope with stress. A third way that reading poetry can help our wellbeing is in supporting us when we experience difficult feelings. We can feel less alone, for example, if we remind ourselves that others have felt likewise. The same 2015 study about stroke patients also found that patients experienced poetry reading as cathartic. That was because many of the poems in the study expressed sadness, which helped patients who were navigating their own feelings of loss. Another 2021 study also found that reading poetry helped youngsters with challenging emotions. The study, published by the American Academy of Pediatrics, evaluated the effects of both reading and writing on a group of 44 hospitalised children. The children were given poetry-writing kits, with paper, pens, markers, and writing prompts, and also given poems to read, including Hope is the Thing with Feathers, by the American poet Emily Dickinson, one of the poems featured in my own new book about poetry’s therapeutic powers. The study found reductions in fear, sadness, anger, worry and fatigue among the children. The children reported that reading poems helped both by allowing them to process their feelings, and also by providing a welcome distraction from stress. It also helped them reflect on their feelings. Photo by Michał Parzuchowski on Unsplash 2. Writing Poetry Now let’s look at the second main category of research: whether writing poetry can aid our mental health. Studies show that putting thoughts down on paper can help make sense of whatever experience a person is going through. Here are a few examples. One 2015 paper records the thoughts of an adolescent girl facing spinal surgery. During psychotherapy, she tracked and narrated her experiences through her own poems, which proved an “empowering method” to make “personal sense of challenging experiences” . Image source: Freepik Another reason writing poetry can encourage healing is because people can be gentler and more compassionate about themselves when they express their feelings in a poem. A 2018 paper explored the efficacy of writing poetry as a “means to help people living with chronic pain to explore and express their narratives in their own unique way.” The paper went on to contend that “[t]he cathartic poem is an attempt at self-healing through self-empathy”. In a nice detail, it also turns out that a final way writing poetry can help is that it improves our memory (just like listening to poetry can also help with memory). A better memory in turn can increase an individual’s ability to cope proactively with stressful events and is associated with greater recall of medication instructions and turning up to appointments, all of which can help people to lead healthier lives. 3. Sharing Poetry A third way poetry may be therapeutic is that healthcare professionals, by sharing poems during their training, can become more empathetic towards their patients. Poetry has been used to develop greater emotional awareness among nurses, to take one example. Anecdotally, therapists and psychiatrists have also told me how important literature and art have been in their own training and their efforts to understand their patients. Beyond the specific example of healthcare professionals, a final area in which poetry can be helpful is when people share poems between themselves. To paraphrase the poet Paul Celan, a poem is like a handshake: it creates bonds between people. Poetry, and the creative introspection it fosters, can help individuals feel more connected to themselves, to those around them, and to the external world as a whole. Here the evidence is largely anecdotal and reflects my own experience running poetry workshops in prisons and for mental health charities. Beyond the anecdotal, however, there are also some interesting pockets of research. Take the example of two Harvard students, David Haosen Xiang and Alisha Moon Yi, who wrote in a 2020 article in the Journal of Medical Humanities about their experience of leading a series of virtual poetry workshops with local library systems in Cambridge and Las Vegas. Their aim was to help participants form “meaningful social relationships with each other”. The authors continued: “We consistently had participants remark on the sense of belonging and community that the workshops provided, and how encouraged they were to speak and share their hopes and fears, their worries, and joys, and to feel a real connection to others, while learning and immersing themselves in poetry.” Image source: Freepik Looking at all this research, the evidence does suggest that ‘poetry therapy’ can work, especially in the three areas of reading and listening to poetry, writing poetry and using poetry in training healthcare professionals. Of course, we need more evidence about the ability of poetry to improve our mental health. But I feel hopeful that that will emerge, given my own experience of how sharing poems can help us all feel a greater sense of belonging. After all, with a poem at your side, you will never walk alone. Rachel Kelly’s new book You’ll Never Walk Alone: Poems for Life’s Ups and Downs is published by Yellow Kite.

Odd as it might sound, often the most comforting poetry is the darkest. I know this from personal experience, as a mental health advocate who has been running Healing Words workshops in prisons and for mental health charities for five years now. I set up the workshops as I myself had found poetry helpful during two severe depressive episodes when I was in my thirties. During the workshops, I explain and share poems which help us to understand and allow our feelings, whether despairing or joyful, and to feel we have a poem to keep us company. Therapists are rarely available at three in the morning. I organise my selections according to the ‘season’ in which they more or less ‘belong’: we all have seasons of our minds, from the wintry and dark, to the more spring-like and hopeful. And surprisingly, perhaps, my first Winter session is often the most popular among attendees. Photo By Timothy on Unsplash Why might this be so? Well, first there may be relief in realising that others have been desperate too. Take the story recounted by Eileen Simpson, who was married to the famous American poet John Berryman. Eileen remembers a time when another poet, Galway Kinnell, met a woman who carried around a copy of Berryman’s poem He Resigns in her handbag (described by the American Kinnell as her ‘purse’). Berryman’s poem is dark indeed, and is one I include in the Winter section of my new book about the therapeutic power of poetry You’ll Never Walk Alone. It ends with the lines: I don’t think I will sing any more just now; ever. I must start to sit with a blind brow above an empty heart. Berryman pares his vocabulary down bleakly to the bone, just as he himself has been pared down. He is hollowed out with nothing linguistic to offer, just as he has nothing emotional to offer, other than sitting with a ‘blind brow’, blind here meaning lacking perception, and judgement. His normally extremely (and scholarly) active and reliable equipment has let him down and is no longer working. The word ‘ever’ seizes our attention in the last verse, after the unnerving and only semicolon in the poem makes it sit alone at the start of the line, with nothing to distract us from its finality. We are suspended in the purest state of loss: a purity that, in a paradox, lends a richness and beauty to Berryman’s nihilistic vision. He allows us to be open to our own pain. On being asked why she would carry around such a desolate poem, the woman explained that she had discovered it when on the brink of suicide and finding someone else who had felt the same emptiness as she had brought her such comfort as to save her life. This anecdote comes from the preface of the 1990 edition of Poets in their Youth by Eileen Simpson, and confirms that dark poems can be powerful because they reassure us that we are not alone in the darkness. Photo from Macmillan The difficulties that we face are not new. They have echoed through the generations and across the globe. We are, temporarily, part of a community that has suffered, and beneficiary of a kinship that transcends the limits of time and place. There’s something comforting in that. A second reason that dark poems may paradoxically cheer us is that they allow our own darkest feelings to find expression, and thereby some sense of ease. We can feel into our own darkness, which counterintuitively relieves it. Dark poems give us the words when we cannot find them: It may be impossible to beat the descriptive language of some of our greatest writers. They provide the most astonishing written record of the reality of suffering. I remember this feeling when I came across Gerard Manley Hopkins’s poem No Worst, There is None. He evokes the unending, unrelenting nature of despair with the unforgettable image of a mind having mountains — cliffs from which we fall. O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne’er hung there. Repeating the word ‘mind’ in a grammatically odd way makes the phrase more striking still. The terrible twist is that we never reach the bottom. I remember that same feeling of falling when I was depressed. Our hearts go out to Hopkins even more when we realise that he wrote the poem in the 1880s, while experiencing severe depression himself. By sharing his experience, and giving us words for what he was feeling, he throws a lifeline out at sea: his images give us something to hold on to. And I think there is a third reason that dark and sad poems comfort us. These writers have succeeded in expressing their experience of sadness with such extraordinary skill. However bleak that time was, and unwell they were, they found the courage and imagination to record their ordeals. To me, these acts of creation feel like symbols of hope and a triumph of the human spirit over any anguish. Photo by free stocks on Unsplash And I think the fourth and final reason that these texts can help our mental health is that they can be useful on a practical level, to explain to someone else how you are feeling. Returning to the Hopkins poem: It is one that allows someone who has not known despair – ‘hold them cheap / May who ne’er hung there’ – to feel something of that descent into dizzying horror. I remember when I was ill myself sometimes my husband would share a poem with someone to explain how I was feeling, rather than explain himself. “The poets expressed things better than I could,” he remembers, “and it saved time when I needed my resources for looking after you.” So while at first it might seem odd, poems that express sadness unexpectedly can comfort us, by making us feel less alone, giving us words for our suffering, allowing us to appreciate astonishing creativity, and giving us a way to share our feelings with others. Accept their gift, then and let dark words nurture you in unexpected ways. Rachel Kelly’s You’ll Never Walk Alone: Poems for Life’s Ups and Downs is published by Yellow Kite. https://uk.bookshop.org/books/you-ll-never-walk-alone-poems-for-life-s-ups-and-downs/9781529395341

Image Source: Pixels Phew. I’m not alone, it seems, in my enthusiasm for poetry’s healing power. No less an organisation than UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) also believes in banging the drum for verse: March 21st is World Poetry Day, established by UNESCO. It was back in 1999, it turns out, that UNESCO set up World Poetry Day during its 30th General Conference in Paris in 1999. Its aim was to support “linguistic diversity through poetic expression” as well as “Increasing the opportunity for endangered languages to be heard.” All very laudable, but the bit that spoke to me in UNESCO’s blurb was this, and I quote: “As poetry continues to bring people together across continents, all are invited to join in.” It is the power of poetry to connect us to others, and indeed ourselves, that speaks most powerfully to me. That poetry unlocks a feeling of closeness to others is something I’ve witnessed in my own Healing Words workshops which I run for schools and in prisons. But how exactly can poetry make us feel connected? To borrow a famous line from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnet, ‘Let me count the ways.’ Image Source: Freepik The first way poetry can bring us together is that we discover other people who have experienced similar sentiments, and we are not solitary in our despair or indeed our delight. When we have a poem by our side, whether on a bedside table or tucked into a bag, it feels as if we are accompanied by a friend: an authorial arm is wrapped around our shoulders. As Scott Fitzgerald wrote of literature: ‘You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.’ Image Source: The Telegraph This particularly matters for our well-being at a time when many of us feel isolated. Yes, you can share your feelings with friends, or a therapist if you are lucky enough to have one. But that may not be possible. Sharing words as an alternative allows us to become more connected to ourselves and others (not least the poets themselves), and this has never been more true or necessary than during our uncertain times. Knowing that someone else has felt in a similar way makes it all okay. Poetry allows all those feelings to find expression. It lets us more fully inhabit that feeling. And gives us the words and images for our emotions when we struggle to find them, which is especially good if you are no wordsmith or are busy with other things, as most of us are. Poems are short, and handy when you are in a rush and trying to nail a mood. There’s that lovely moment of recognition when you go, ‘yes! – that’s spot on! That’s what I’m feeling!’ Poets can be so generous in sharing amazing images to make sense of our moods, images that have made my frightening feelings less scary, and my happy feelings even happier. Take Gerard Manley Hopkins writing about despair in his poem ‘No Worst, There is None’ . He evokes the unending, unrelenting nature of that despair with the unforgettable image of a mind having mountains – cliffs from which we fall. Repeating the word ‘mind’ in a grammatically odd way makes the phrase more striking still. The terrible twist is that we never reach the bottom. O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne’er hung there. I remember thinking this was the most perfect description of my own depression. The fact that Hopkins had felt a similar feeling did indeed make me feel less alone. Our hearts go out to Hopkins even more when we realise that he wrote the poem in the 1880s, while experiencing severe depression himself. A second way that poetry can bring people together is also illustrated by Hopkins: it can provide a way of letting others know how we feel. Hopkins’s image is one that allows someone who has not known despair – ‘hold them cheap / May who ne’er hung there’ – to feel something of that descent into dizzying horror. I remember my husband sending friends a copy of Hopkins’s poem as a shortcut to explain how I was feeling, when I suffered my two serious depressive episodes in my thirties. Feeling less alone, and being able to let others know how we feel, are two ways poetry can bring people together. Good verse can also be make us feel more connected to ourselves, and become a helpful companion, whatever you are feeling. Here the question for me has been, how do you make poetry part of your everyday emotional life? In a practical way? For me, there have been two answers. The first is by keeping poetry close, literally. And the second is by memorising poetry by heart. Image Source: Pexels The French philosopher Michel de Montaigne used to write his own inspiring quotations on the beams of his sitting room, where they remain today. I do not have any beams to decorate, but I like writing out quotations in nice ink in a tidy script, perhaps decorated with an illustrated border to keep poetry close by. I like short poems and copying them out helps me remember them. Feelings are awakened during the process of committing the words to the page. I also enjoy jotting down my favourite lines of poetry on cards, so I have them to hand, slipped in a pocket or bag as aides-memoires. Sometimes I prop the cards up on a bathroom mirror or by my computer – pocket reminders of feelings or approaches that can be helpful. For example, John Milton’s ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself / Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven’ reminds me of the power of thought, and how by changing what we think we can change how we feel. And I reflect on the truth of Susan Coolidge’s line that ‘Yesterday’s wounds, which smarted and bled / Are healed with the healing which night has shed.’ Other favourite sayings calm me down: reassuring messages such as Max Ehrmann’s conviction that all of us are children of the universe ‘no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here’; or Roger Hammerstein’s promise that if we ‘Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart / . . . you’ll never walk alone’. Some are simple calls to action, good for days when motivation deserts me: Gaskell’s ‘Do something’ comes to mind. or they amplify that glorious feeling of being at one with nature: Wordsworth’s‘A motion and a spirit that impels/ All thinking things, all objects of all thought,/ And rolls through all things.’ My second way of staying connected to poetry is to learn it by heart. I often write out a poem first, before learning it. Writing slows you down and gives you time to learn the lines. I learn what the poem is made of – each word and pause and line feels special. Its meaning is one that has become part of me. It works its cathartic magic. Image Source: Pexels Learning by heart emotionally companionable poems may help you to engage even more closely with the emotions they evoke, without the distraction of the printed page. Your feelings, and the way the words work on them, can merge, the two becoming embedded in your psyche. There you may find some answers to those feelings, ways of negotiating them and truths that can help. That way, you take the poem inside you into your brain chemistry, and you know the poem at a deeper, bodily level than if you just read it off the page. Through learning by heart, your own heart feels the rhythms of the poem, almost as if they were echoes or variations of your own heartbeat. So wherever you are across the globe this World Poetry Day, my hope is that poetry helps you connect with others, and indeed yourself. I can’t improve on UNESCO’s own invitation: please join in and enjoy a poem, and share one with someone else too. Rachel Kelly’s new book You’ll Never Walk Alone: Poems for Life’s Ups and Downs is published by Yellow Kite.

Photo by Sophie Grieve-Williams on Unsplash With Spring comes hope. After the gloom of Winter, the days lengthen; the daffodils bloom; the sun reappears. Yet for some, counter-intuitively, the arrival of Spring can be desolate. It turns out that people attempt suicide and die more often by suicide far more often in the springtime. Things get tough just as the tulips begin to unfurl. T.S Eliot, it seems, got it right when he wrote "April is the cruellest month," in his poem The Waste Land. Experts aren’t entirely sure why we can feel more vulnerable in Spring. One theory is that we become more active in this season after the lethargy that many of us feel in Winter. This in turn increases levels of manic behaviour in the springtime; in fact, there is evidence that bipolar disorder worsens this time of year. A second theory is that, as the weather warms up, there is more pressure to socially connect with others, which may be a source of significant stress, especially for those who feel lonely. A third is that Spring is a time when inflammation increases as plants release pollen, and there have long been associations between mood disorders and inflammation. Whatever the reasons for the psychological challenges of Spring, we should be aware that it is a time when we may need extra emotional support. My own answer is to turn to three poems which inspire hope and courage at this time of year. The first is by the Japanese poet, Bashō. The temple bell stops – But the sound keeps coming out of the flowers It is the combination of the two different, indeed seemingly unrelated, images of the temple bell and the flower that surprise us here in Bashō’s haiku. Photo by Deniz Altindas on Unsplash Some small facet of the natural world explodes into new existence under the poet’s scrutiny. Here it is the striking image of flowers, which we imagine to be silent, harnessing and connecting to the previous ringing of a bell, presumably by a monk. The ‘sound’ emanates from the flowers even if we might expect the poet to say ‘scent’. The effect is of the flowers’ fragrance acquiring a new amplitude that takes it beyond the five senses or links them all synesthetically in a deepened appreciation of nature. Human endeavours (like the ringing of a bell) and lives seem finite, but in fact, are connected to the infinity of the natural world. The dash at the end of the first line evokes the dying out of the sound of the bell, leaving a silence within the poem that is even deeper than that suggested by a line break. But that same sound is picked up in nature, through the agency of the flower. We too are part of nature and our human music never stops. Next, I rely on Emily Dickinson in my own gloomy Spring moments. She argues that we all need strength and hope. These are weapons already in your arsenal, waiting only for you to deploy them. "Hope" is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson ‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all – And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm – I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me. Dickinson gradually allows the analogy between hope and a little bird to unfold: the bird itself only appears directly at the end of the second stanza. She thereby avoids a commonplace simile that hope equals a singing bird, instead giving us time to think about both birds and hope in new ways. Photo by Nila Maria on Unsplash Her strange "thing with feathers" lives inside us, as if our ribs were like a branch; and unlike every other bird, it never stops singing. Her idiosyncratic use of capital letters for certain words, personalising them, helps to draw our attention to them. Meanwhile, all the dashes force us to pause. They could represent the obstacles the little bird has to hop over: in the line about the gale, there are three dashes, suggesting this is a particularly large obstacle, as if the bird is being beaten back by the wind. The rhyme scheme, unpronounced at first, strengthens as it goes, culminating in a triple rhyme in the final three lines, affirming the poem’s message that hope can weather any storm. This certainty is confirmed by the poem’s final and only full stop. In stages, we recognise the obstacles that "hope" steadily over-comes, with the last verse emerging as the most personal. Believing in this kind of hope — never-ending, inside us, asking nothing of us in return — is essential. I especially like the way that hope is part of us. It is not something we need to find or earn through our good behaviour. There is nothing transactional about it. It is there, inside us, anyway. My final poem for Spring-time blues is by the seventeenth-century religious poet George Herbert. He shares a message of introspective healing: self-forgiveness, self-love, and self-restoration. Healing, reparation, and compassion are all possible, even when we feel "guilty of dust and sin". The kindly voice of love in response to the injured speaker in Herbert’s dialogue brings together the two halves of the self. Love by George Herbert Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lacked any thing. A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he. I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, ‘Who made the eyes but I?’ Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat. So I did sit and eat. Here is a conversation between two states of mind, both of which can exist within one consciousness. The alternating indents are confirmation of a dialogue between the narrator, who feels unworthy, and Love, who is personified: Herbert is using Love rather than God. The voice of Love is enthusiastic and eager in the first verse: witness the short and easy-to-voice syllables in "Love bade me welcome". By contrast, the narrator’s voice is slow and heavy, matched by the heavy syllables that take longer to pronounce in "my soul drew back" and "guilty of dust and sin" (I can’t imagine a better description of feeling depressed); similarly, with "quick-eyed Love" and "grow slack". Love is warm and friendly, someone who draws nearer, and questions sweetly — not someone who judges us, as we sometimes imagine God is doing. In the second verse, the narrator still feels unworthy of being Love’s guest. Love asks: "Who made the eyes but I?" Throughout, Love is questioning our answers, rather than answering our questions. Yet the narrator is lovable: he was created by Love in the first place, witness the wordplay on "eyes", meaning both the eyes through which we see and I as in a person. By the final verse, all doubt is gone. Herbert unites heart and soul and the self. Faith is restored to the narrator. Bread is accepted (the food is metaphorical, representing the Christian sacrament of Communion). The narrator has felt shame, rather than guilt. He hasn’t just done something wrong. He is something wrong. But through the gentle invitation of Love, he finally lets himself be loved for who he is. He accepts Love’s reasoning, that he is good enough to join in, eating the food set before him. He does so with ease and simplicity, suggested by the six single syllables of the last line. The master becomes the servant. Love gets the last word in the poem. Love is not something we trade, or exchange. We cannot earn it, nor destroy it. It is something we are, in a similar way that Dickinson suggested that hope is also part of our fabric. Photo by todd kent on Unsplash Good messages and good poems for anyone feeling vulnerable this Spring and in need of solace and sustenance. And ones that may mean that Eliot was wrong. With these poems to keep you company, April need not be the cruellest month after all. ~ Rachel Kelly is a writer and mental health advocate. Her latest book is ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone: Poems for Life’s Ups and Downs’.

A hot June day that finds me visiting the Japanese garden in our local park. Enclosed within the grounds, the garden abounds with carefully pruned maples and shrubs set between smooth, round rocks and mounds of bright green moss. At its heart is a waterfall that flows into a pond of giant carp. Image source Unsplash I sit down on one of the large slabs of stone that serves as a bridge in front of the waterfall. Then I close my eyes and listen to the water for three or four minutes. When I get up, I feel rejuvenated. My head has emptied of its worries, almost as if they have flowed into the water. I’m not quite sure why running water is so calming. Maybe it’s the perpetual motion: it never ceases to move and is full of vitality. Maybe it’s the soothing sound that muffles the hard noises of a big city giving us a sense of peace. Or perhaps it’s because humans are around seventy per cent water and somehow we are reminded of the connection between the water within us and the water without. Become separate from nature, and we become separate from ourselves. Numerous studies attest to the power of biophilia – which sounds rather grim but simply means the love of life, from the Greek ‘philia’ meaning 'love of'. Back in 1984, the American biologist and ecologist Edward Wilson came up with the ‘Biophilia hypothesis’, also called BET, which suggests that humans have an innate tendency to connect with nature and other forms of life. And that this is good for us and our mental health. Image source Unsplash There is research which shows the beneficial effect on our psychological wellbeing of listening to birdsong from the home team. Research from the Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology and Neuroscience at King’s College London in October last year found that seeing or hearing birds is associated with an improvement in mental wellbeing that can last up to eight hours. Other research in 1984 found that having a view of green from your hospital room speeded recovery. Twenty-three surgical patients assigned to rooms with windows looking out on a natural scene had shorter postoperative hospital stays and took fewer painkillers. Image source Unsplash We instinctively know that going green can help beat the blues. Gardening reminds us that ‘this too shall pass’, because nowhere is this idea more evident than in a garden - a living monument to the healing passage of time. Believe it or not, there is also bacterium in soil that has been found to boost levels of serotonin, the hormone responsible for regulating mood. Humankind has long known the value of gardening. Court physicians in ancient Egypt prescribed garden walks for the mentally unwell; the Roman satirist Juvenal exhorted us to ‘live as a lover of the hoe and master of the vegetable patch’; and more recently gardening has been used as therapy for war veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder. All well and good, but what if you are stuck in an office? Or have little access to green spaces? May I suggest that poetry can help us reconnect with nature in our imaginations, even if we are not there in reality? If I wish to escape from the dust and grime of the city, but can’t, I turn to William Butler Yeats’s ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’. His poem helps me create an imaginary haven to which I can retreat. "I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart’s core. " The lines thrum with the sounds of animals and colours of plants flourishing in the sun. Yeats chronicles the delights of a full day spent in this beautifully evoked ‘bee-loud’ glade, from misty sunrise to a midnight ‘all a glimmer’ with stars in a cloudless sky. He describes a vibrant oasis with song-like sounds, movement, and mystery to which the speaker returns in his mind when standing ‘on the pavements grey’. It is his little island of imagined tranquillity in the midst of a bustling town, it is also mine and can be yours too. Image source Unsplash Poems can invite nature’s powers to heal us by giving us the words for all the wonder we can see but cannot express. They give us the images which mean that a tree or a flower can enter our consciousness in new and powerful ways, seared into our thoughts thanks to the alchemy of the poet’s language. When we read a poem like cummings’s ‘i thank You God for most this amazing’, a tree is no longer just a tree. It comes alive as if it were a dancing creature – ‘Leaping spirits greenly’. And it comes alive in our minds too, expanding in significance and power through images which grab our attention with their vividness and truth to life. Thus is our experience of the natural world enrichened and deepened. Poets also offer us a philosophical wisdom, about our place in the greater scheme of things. Take Wordsworth. His identification with nature is so profound, he feels he is a part of something bigger in his ‘Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey.’ His euphoric realisation is that he is, and we are all part of nature. "And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts: a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man – A motion and a spirit that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things." The poet feels a mystical presence that imbues nature and the mind of man. Wordsworth conveys this notion of connectivity so powerfully that it becomes believable, to the point where we can find it a consoling concept. We can follow his logic and experience the same connectivity, the feeling that we are part of something bigger. The poet evokes the transcending purity and magic of this presence, which dwells in the ‘light’ of setting suns: the plural ‘suns’ is strange and compelling, as is the ‘round ocean’ and ‘living’ air. The kinship which ‘rolls through all things’ is also evoked by the repetition of ‘and’– ‘And the round ocean, and the living air’. Wordsworth manages to describe something as evanescent and philosophical as this relatedness with nature in such a way that it feels ‘like an anchor’. Our spiritual voyage has been as real and grounded as Wordsworth’s actual revisiting of Tintern Abbey. Other writers make the point that we can recall moments of natural beauty even when we are not in the countryside. Our conscious minds do not need to distinguish between real and imagined experience. We can always close our eyes and dream we are elsewhere, the sun smiling our gloom away. These authors offer a peaceful reprieve from a sometimes oppressive present even if we can’t escape to a Japanese garden. Rachel Kelly’s new book You’ll Never Walk Alone: Poems for Life’s Ups and Downs is published by Yellow Kite at £16.99. https://uk.bookshop.org/books/you-ll-never-walk-alone-poems-for-life-s-ups-and-downs/9781529395341