Invest In Yourself (you can afford it, trust me)

We all have stories which conjure up feelings of sadness, guilt, regret and possibly even shame. Those memories which you lock away because they are just too painful to relive. Today, I want to share a story with you. A story which I’ve only ever told to my husband (and my therapist). I want to share this with you because by blogging about it I am having to face a lot of feelings which I have suppressed for a very long time. Also, we are constantly comparing our behind the scenes to someone else’s highlight reel. Effortlessly scrolling through your feed can make you feel like everyone else is happy, successful and living their “best life”. But what you see isn’t always the truth – it’s not even close.

Ten years ago, I worked as an Investment Banker in London and then worked in Birmingham. I had never shown any interest in investment banking or the financial world. I mean, I liked spending money but show me a 25-year-old who doesn’t! So, when I left my comfortable marketing job in Birmingham to become an Investment Banker you could imagine my friends and family’s surprise. So why did I apply for the role? Basically, the Money! I know, I know – awful right? I was hypnotized by the pound signs, romanticised by lifestyle and ridiculous extra incentives such as the banker’s bonuses. I had been conditioned to base my self-worth on how others saw me and not how I saw myself. The young Pam believed that money, status, location, friendships, relationships all equated to success. Spoiler alert, I was wrong.

The interview process was really tough and rightly so. It’s a big job which came with big responsibilities. I must have made a good impression as they offered me the job. I was soon to become an FX Trader – Foreign Exchange and Money Market Dealer. The role meant a temporary move to London. The company would pay for me to stay in a hotel for 3 months whilst I started my training and studied for my exams. The plan after that was to then move back to Birmingham and work in the offices there. It didn’t quite happen that way though. I did move to London and the bank did indeed pay for my accommodation, for 12 whole months!! I stayed in a beautiful hotel called the Sunborn Yacht Hotel, which is a superyacht in the Docklands overlooking the river Thames.

Now on paper that all sounds pretty swanky. Living in a beautiful hotel, with amazing views of London, eating gorgeous food and having a spotless room to come home to every night. The reality was that this beautiful yacht quickly felt like a prison. I didn’t really have any friends. Probably because I was very self-conscious and not open enough to make anyone. There were some genuinely lovely people, but I always felt inferior and ‘thick’ compared to them. I was at work from 7am and often didn’t leave until 7pm. I spent my working day with my tail between my legs and steam coming out of my arse. I was suddenly thrown into an environment where I instantly felt like a fraud. I never felt good enough or ambitious enough. I was constantly on edge, (a) because of the stressful and pressurized environment and (b) I feared that they would soon realize that I was not as clever as everyone else. So, what did I do? I worked; I worked my bloody socks off. If I wasn’t working on the trading floor I was studying for exams and if wasn’t studying, then my nose was in the Financial Times. I had a severe case of imposter syndrome and the only way I knew how to deal with that was to work every hour I could. I convinced myself that sleep was for the weak, so I hardly slept. I lived off caffeine, sugar and alcohol - all which I consumed excessively. When my sister and cousins who lived in London would ring to arrange a night out, I would always make my excuses; “I have too much work on”, or “I’m studying for exams” or “I’m sick”. They were excuses but they were also the truth. I developed a high level of anxiety which meant I also spent my weekends in my room. I wouldn’t talk or interact with anyone – I lived in my luxury ‘prison’. An incredibly lonely experience.

There are 45 floors in the HSBC Building. I can’t even remember what floor I was on, but I do remember the speed of the lifts - It’s insane and probably a daredevil’s dream. But for someone like myself who is not a fan of lifts, hates heights and confined spaces – this was a perfect recipe for a panic attack. I had my first panic attack in the lift, during morning rush hour, amongst 20 other businessmen and women. Not one person helped me. Whether they just didn’t realize (which I find it hard to believe as I was sweating like a pig and gasping for air) or they were just too engrossed in their own lives is neither here nor there. What is important is that this was the first time I felt invisible, unworthy and pathetic. I would now suffer between 4 and 5 panic attacks a week and they were getting worse each time. So, what did I do about it? Absolutely nothing. I convinced myself that by telling my manager the truth I would be seen as being weak or not a ‘team player’. If I told my family, they would worry about my mental health and I couldn’t deal with the guilt. If I told my friends back home, they wouldn’t understand especially as many of them were struggling to find work. How could I possibly complain?

Each day I would start and finish the day emotionally exhausted. It got so bad that when I woke up in the morning, I would pray for a natural disaster to occur (of course with no injuries or loss of life) but that bad enough that would not be able to get to work for at least a week. I was miserable, desperate and depressed. But, if anyone should ask me how my job was going without pause, without hesitation I would say ‘Great Thanks’. So not only was I miserable, desperate and depressed I could now add liar to the list.

Everything was a lie, and everything was a struggle.  I felt like a failure and I felt as if I was letting everyone down. My darkest moment was waiting for the tube, looking at the train tracks and thinking ‘I don’t want to live but I don’t want to die either’, I just didn’t want to exist.

My only solace was my 60-minute walk which I use to take in my lunch hour. It was a chance to breathe and a chance to escape. I would take the same walking route every day because If I didn’t my anxiety would convince me that something bad would happen and I just couldn’t take that risk. My route took through the hustle and bustle of Canary Wharf and at first, I noticed nothing but over time I noticed everything. The buskers playing at the station, the smell of the food from the restaurants and outdoor markets even the fumes of the good old red buses. One day I was so distracted, took a different route and found myself outside a fitness studio. This, my friends, is the moment my life changed. I saw this fitness class being taught and I was mesmerised. Every single person in that class looked like they were having the best time ever. Smiling through the sweat whilst pushing themselves to the max.  The instructor looked friendly, confident, happy, full of life and excitement. The music was blasting and although I was on the outside, I felt their energy and it was euphoric.

I must have looked like such a creep but for months every day on my lunch, I would go to this studio and look through the window. The instructor saw my little desperate facing peering through the window and one day she looked at me, smiled, waved and told me to come in. And like some kind of trance-like state, I did. I watched the last 5 minutes of the class and after the instructor asked if I would like to give the class a try. Of course, I made my excuses (because remember I was really good at that) and I wish I could give you this fairy-tale ending where I took the class and regained my self-worth and confidence. Sadly not. But what I will say is that this is a memory I will never forget. It was this simple act of kindness which changed the course of my life. For the first time in forever I felt validated, I felt connected, I felt important and I felt seen. I would have traded (no pun intended) all of my material possessions and money in exchange of 10 minutes of that class. The worst thing about anxiety and depression is the constant battle you have with yourself – you just feel stuck and emotionally drowning. But for the first time in months, I had seen hope. And that is something no amount of money can buy.  

Fast forward a couple of years I was now working in the Birmingham offices. Things were a little better, but I was still struggling. My anxiety and depression were severe and my way of dealing (or not dealing with it) was to mask what was going on internally with a fabricated external lifestyle. I drank too much, self-loathing had become a daily ritual and I made some horrendous lifestyle and relationship choices.

One day I walked into my office, turned my computer on, sat down, turned my computer off, got up and walked out the building. I never returned back to my job as an Investment Banker. We all have our breaking point and that was mine. I can’t tell you where I went or what I did as the rest of the story is a big blur. What I will tell you is that I had barely been surviving for years - now It was time to start living.

I went to see my GP who (shock horror) diagnosed with Anxiety and Depression. He prescribed me medication which I was reluctant and a total snob to take. Let me tell you, there is absolutely nothing wrong with taking prescribed medication to help you and stabilize your moods. If it’s socially acceptable to pop paracetamol for a headache then it’s more than ok to take medication for your mental health. Ditch the embarrassment, ditch the shame, ditch the stigma.

I’m going to wrap this up because I’m conscious it’s been a tad ‘gloomy’ up into this point and I want to get to the happy ending part. To get out the house (as I had now become a bit of a hermit) I started setting myself daily challenges. E.g. Walk for 10 minutes, then 15 minutes, then 30 minutes.  After months of debating what my next step would be all I could think about was about that fitness class, that instructor and that feeling. So, I took my first leap of faith and trained to be a group exercise Instructor. January 2020 will be ten years since I taught my first fitness class. I love teaching and I hope to continue to do so for many more years. Members always ask me where I get my energy from? I get it from knowing how lucky I am to be in a job that I wholeheartedly love. That instructor saved my life and now I’m just paying it forward. I get to laugh in my class, I get to meet people from all walks of life, I get to share experiences and create new memories.

I guess It goes back to that famous quote by Maya Angelou:

“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel’.

I hold that quote so dearly because I want to make people feel as good as that kind instructor made me feel. This whole experience has taught me that life will be tough, mistakes will be made, failures will be plentiful, and feelings of defeat will be common. But when these things happen, do not give in. Do not give up! Stand up for what you believe in – Yourself!  Dust yourself off and keep going. Sometimes those with the worst pasts end up creating the best futures. So, don’t be afraid to share the hardest parts of your story with others. Your journey might end up being the map another person needs to see a way through their struggles. Life is short, so live it. Anger and regret are consuming, so dump it. Fear is awful so face it and face it hard.