Perhaps Ordinary Is Enough

On therapy, finding connection, and discovering that not everything needs to be extraordinary to be worthwhile.

This weeks therapy session was something of a mixed bag, ranging from my titanium hips and their remarkable ability to predict cold weather to the challenges of finding community, being vulnerable and learning not to treat every experience as a potential failure. There were the usual entertaining digressions, but we eventually returned to something that’s becoming an increasingly important part of my recovery: learning to approach life with curiosity rather than fear.

Last weekend, I attended the first meeting of a new LGBTQIA+ inclusive social group here in Grantham. For someone who has spent much of this year struggling with anxiety, depression and isolation, walking into a room full of strangers was quite an achievement. Naturally, my anxiety was having a wonderful time beforehand, inventing all sorts of reasons why it might be a terrible idea. But I’d committed to going, so I went.

The gathering itself was rather ordinary. The facilitators were lovely but could have provided more structure and a warmer welcome for newcomers. Some of the activities were, frankly, a bit boring. Nevertheless, I met some interesting people, including Rachel, a trans woman, and Coal, a young trans man with an impressive talent for drawing dragons. I found myself being my usual outgoing self, chatting and encouraging others, although much of that confidence was masking the anxiety bubbling away underneath.

I didn’t leave feeling particularly happy or energised, but neither was I disappointed. I was cold, tired and pleased that I’d made the effort. I’d spent an afternoon in a queer space, met some people and done something different. In a town where opportunities like that are limited, it felt worthwhile. I’ll probably go again, and perhaps next time there’ll be a few familiar faces.

Exploration, Not Failure

One of the more interesting things we discussed in therapy was my tendency to approach unfamiliar experiences as potential failures. If something doesn’t work out, I can be remarkably quick to interpret it as evidence that I’ve done something wrong. My therapist has been encouraging me to think about these experiences as exploration rather than risk. Instead of asking whether something will succeed, perhaps I should simply be curious about what might happen.

We even discussed the apparently revolutionary concept that I’m allowed to leave an event if I’m not enjoying myself. Interestingly, just talking about that possibility made me feel breathless. Something about leaving, giving up or potentially missing an opportunity clearly carries more emotional weight than I’d realised. It’s something worth exploring further, particularly given how strongly my body reacted to what should be a perfectly reasonable decision.

There was also the familiar issue of self-compassion. I can be wonderfully understanding of other people’s awkwardness, vulnerabilities and difficulties, yet remain extraordinarily critical of my own. I worried that I’d appeared too confident or outgoing at the gathering, despite knowing that much of that behaviour was simply how I managed my anxiety. Apparently, I still haven’t entirely accepted that I’m allowed to be myself without conducting a detailed performance review afterwards.

Perhaps I don’t need to get everything right. Perhaps trying something, discovering it isn’t wonderful, and deciding whether to try again is perfectly acceptable. Not everything has to be a success or failure. Sometimes it’s simply an experience.

Finding My Place

We also talked about how much importance I attach to opportunities for connection. After a long period of isolation, it’s tempting to hope that every new social opportunity might finally provide the friendships and sense of belonging I’ve been missing. That’s an enormous amount of pressure to place on an afternoon at the local museum.

I do want meaningful friendships, shared experiences and a sense of community. I’ve done much of the difficult work of recovery alone, with the support of my therapist, and while I’m becoming proud of what I’ve achieved, that doesn’t mean I want to continue doing everything by myself. But relationships take time, and perhaps the first step isn’t finding wonderful new friends. Perhaps it’s simply becoming a familiar face somewhere.

There are practical considerations too. Travelling long distances on crowded trains, particularly when it’s cold and my hips are complaining, can make socialising feel like an endurance event. Having a car again will make a considerable difference, giving me the freedom to explore without having to plan everything around public transport.

For now, work remains my priority, and I’m trying not to take on too much at once. I’d like to make a couple more social excursions before Christmas and hopefully broaden my horizons next year.

A Little Financial Breathing Room

There was also some welcome news this morning. My pay came through, and having looked at the figures, I think I’m probably going to be okay financially this month. After the uncertainty surrounding my reduced income during sickness absence, that’s a considerable relief. I’m not suddenly rolling in money, and I’ll still need to be sensible, but things are looking a little less precarious than I’d feared.

Importantly, it also means I should be able to afford to travel into the London office a few times. That’s something I’m genuinely pleased about. Working from home has been essential during my phased return, but spending time in the office, seeing colleagues and feeling part of the working world again will be good for me. It’s another opportunity to reconnect with something that had become difficult and frightening earlier this year.

There’s something rather encouraging about that. A few months ago, getting through an ordinary working day could feel overwhelming. Now I’m actually looking forward to going into the office occasionally. Not necessarily the trains, obviously. I’m recovering from depression, not suffering from a complete loss of judgment.

Perhaps Ordinary Is Enough

Looking back, I think something is gradually changing. Anxiety hasn’t disappeared, and I still have difficult days, but I’m beginning to approach experiences differently. I’m learning that discomfort doesn’t automatically mean danger, that an imperfect experience isn’t necessarily a failure, and that I don’t have to know how something will turn out before giving it a go.

The LGBTQ+ gathering wasn’t extraordinary. My therapy session didn’t produce some enormous revelation. And my finances haven’t suddenly transformed overnight. But I went somewhere unfamiliar, met some people, continued learning about myself, and discovered that I might have a little more freedom to participate in life than I’d feared.

None of these things is particularly dramatic, but perhaps that’s what makes them important. After a year in which simply getting through the day sometimes felt like an achievement, ordinary experiences are beginning to feel possible again.

I’m not expecting everything to be wonderful. I’m not even expecting everything to be enjoyable. But I’m increasingly willing to find out.

Perhaps life doesn’t have to be extraordinary to be worthwhile. Perhaps ordinary is enough.