Finding my inner voice

So here I am the morning of the compassion conference in Cashel and I hear my colleague say we need someone to step up, a small voice from somewhere within me speaks up and to my own astonishment I volunteer. The speaker was to talk about compassion from a personal perspective that left with little room to manoeuvre, again to my internal surprise I found myself saying I would talk about my depression and the impact it has had on my life. If I even tried to explain why I felt this was a good idea I could not, for years I have kept this part of my life confined to those I love and trust, it is only in the last few months that I have voiced it in small circles beyond this, and yet here I was going to stand in front of over 100 people and tell them my life history. I had very little time to think about it all so maybe that was why the spur of the moment decision was not making me ill, in fact in honesty I felt little prior to my name being called.

When I stood at the podium the fear gripped me. For a moment I felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights I could not see the people, the room seemed like a blur and I thought I was somewhere else. I tried to think fast I had nothing prepared, how do you begin your life story? Where do you start? What’s the first thing you say? All this flashed through my head and to be honest I don’t remember what I said to start, I remember flashes but not everything. My eyes scanned the audience to try to gauge if I was boring them, rambling or if they thought I was just plain mad. My eyes fell upon several of my friends who strengthened my resolve particularly when I could hear the cry in my own voice and I begged myself not to destroy me in front of all these people. The love and encouragement I received from the audience and my friends fuelled me to continue, I only dealt with the beginning of my depression diagnosis and the way that compassion was shown to me over the years. The kindness of a nurse in my local GP who recognised my pain and took me in. The cups of tea shared with my friends, breakfast at Dunnes, Sunday dinner provided courtesy of my friend every second Sunday who made sure my children were fed. I will never forget their kindness nor will its importance ever diminish in my eyes, they saved me from myself and they continue to do so as each day presents new struggles. The early years were hard and these years are just different and different people are caring for me and that’s for another day.