#kay-redfield-jamison

#kay-redfield-jamison

Connell moves easily between philosophy, farming and writing, checking the oven and returning to a conversation that veers from cattle to climate change.

There is a unique kind of pain in losing your mind, not just once, but over and over. Losing your perception of reality, of your emotions, of your closest relationships-both across months and multiple times a day. Knowing deep down that something is wrong but being unable to stop it.

Both are "idealists," he writes, "deranged by hope, in awe of reassurance, impressed by their pleasures." The book criticizes monogamy as "a way of getting the versions of ourselves down to a minimum," but it doesn't exactly defend infidelity. Phillips's real target may be monotony, the offspring of rote rule-following.

The doctors didn't say anything that was much more intelligent than what you would read in the women's magazines, like Redbook. They said, 'It's just baby blues, you'll get over it.' With time and medication, she did, returning to the advocacy efforts that had been central to her life for years.

Judith L. Rapoport, the head of child psychiatry at the National Institute of Mental Health, published 'The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Washing,' a best-selling book that helped bring wide attention to OCD.

Now, listening in late 2025, I no longer felt heroic. Instead, what I felt most strongly was tenderness. Tenderness for that young man who believed he could outwork any obstacle, who thought the American dream was just a matter of refusing to quit. He had no idea what was coming-the failures, the losses, the ways life would refuse his tidy narrative.

Sara Bennett announced her death the way she did everything else: thoughtfully, plainly and on her own terms. "I am not in pain, or tired," she wrote. "I can laugh, talk, and I can move." Looking back on the last few months of her life, Bennett said she was grateful she had not gone suddenly - even with the suffering - because the time allowed her to finish her legacy work.

The first books I became obsessed with were Enid Blyton's boarding school stories Malory Towers and St Clare's. When I was eight, I'd hide them under my pillow and read by the hallway light when I was supposed to be asleep. My favourite book growing up Roald Dahl's Matilda. I felt woefully misunderstood by the world and longed to be adopted by a very pretty teacher with only cardboard for furniture. I spent a lot of time trying to make a pen move by concentration alone. Sometimes I still try.

Depression is insidious. For people suffering from depression, joy is elusive. Depression is not only a general feeling of sadness or being down and out. It is a serious condition and needs attention. People suffering from depression cannot just get over it and move on. They need support, healing, and to discover the epicenter of their pain.

Acceptance in that context means an active process of being open to feeling what you feel, deeply engaging with it, and learning from it. Acceptance looked at that way is not some kind of passive resignation or tolerance—as if discrimination is somehow OK and we should accept it—nor is it perseverating on how awful it is and how bad it feels. It means my feelings are valid; they are worth my attention.

A child was struggling to breathe after surgery. Monitors beeped erratically, staff spoke in rushed fragments, and fear hung in the air so thick it felt like fog. The mother stood frozen in shock. A nurse-one of those rare people who radiates groundedness-walked in. She didn't speak at first. She simply approached the mother, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and breathed slowly, visibly, intentionally.

It is the afternoon of the fawn. Everywhere you turn, in workplaces and households alike, yearlings with saucer eyes, brown felt noses, and stilt-like legs are wondering if you're mad at them. The fawn response, as it's known in some precincts of social media, bundles various forms of ingratiating, people-pleasing behavior. It can manifest in threatening situations, where expressing authentic emotion could elicit a powerful person's wrath or cruelty,

They arrive on time, think clearly, and care about their clients. Outwardly, everything seems fine. In private, though, things can feel very different. A clinician's depression may not show up as clear despair. More often, it feels like emotional numbness, quietly withdrawing, or slowly losing interest in things that once mattered. Pleasure fades, curiosity lessens, and the work goes on, but it feels heavier and less alive.

That question may sound provocative, but it has fascinated scientists for decades. Despite the billions of dollars spent each year on antidepressant drugs, a striking body of research suggests that much, and possibly all, of their benefit may come not from chemistry, but from expectation: the simple belief that the pill will help. 1,2 That phenomenon has a name: the placebo effect.

Chronic illness changes everything. At the beginning of many people's chronic illness journey, they may feel as if illness is an annoying detour that will be forgotten as soon as they can heal and get back to business as usual. As it sinks in that illness has changed them irrevocably, they realize that their pre-illness self is gone forever. This painful reckoning with pain, fragility, mortality and identity leads to an existential crisis. In addressing this crisis, existential therapy can be extremely helpful.

You've just had a crummy day, and you wish you hadn't. Your first instinct is to pick up the phone, call your best friend, and complain. But you also know deep down that you want to be more positive. You know that complaining emphasizes the negative in your life, and you'd like to create a shift for yourself. You recall that you started a gratitude journal, and when you use it, you find you really enjoy noticing the good things more than the bad.

On the night of Boxing Day 2021, my dad's body was found near a Cardiff hostel. His death, at 55, was as sudden as it was not. For years, alcoholism had been changing the shape of his heart. He died less than a mile from his old office; top law firm, equity partner. Four miles from our once tight-knit home in a leafy neighbourhood.