Lara’s story: A journey through grief and mental health

On 5 September 2020 at 9.20am, my dad died of an aggressive form of bowel cancer in the care of St Barnabas Hospice in Worthing. Six months before that, at the start of the first COVID lockdown, he told my siblings and I that the doctors had given him a terminal prognosis.

One moment, in my head, my dad was fine. The next, I was faced with the reality of losing him. That was the year my life changed forever and my ongoing mental health struggles were put to the test.

Loss and my mental health

My mental health journey started long before the loss of my dad. At the age of 13, my identical twin sister got diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and spent the next eight years or so in and out of psychiatric units around the country.

During this time, my world was turned upside down. The pain of ‘losing’ my sister – and my best friend – led to me struggle with disordered eating, extreme social anxiety and periods of chronic loneliness throughout my teens and early twenties. This cocktail of mental health struggles affected my ability to make friends and form deep connections with others.

Like one third of people who are directly affected by a major loss, my mental health struggles intensified after my dad died. Faced with a global pandemic, ‘normal’ 22-year-olds were worrying about splitting up from their partners or figuring out how to still socialise whilst working from home. I, on the other hand, was spending every minute of my time trying to come to terms with the reality of my dad not being at my wedding or meeting his grandkids one day.

Trying to adapt to my new ‘normal’

After he died, I had no choice but to adapt to a new normal in a world which didn’t seem to cater to the grief I was facing. This made me feel numb, out of place and misunderstood in whatever social group, workplace or relationship I found myself in. To cope with the complicated feelings, I spent a lot of the time alone, withdrawing from opportunities to put myself out there or meet new people.

Soon enough, I had quit my job and broken up with my boyfriend, spiralling into a hole of depression.

This led to me being prescribed a high dose of anti-depressants, which I’ve since taken routinely to help me manage my mental health over the past four years.

Post-traumatic growth and seeking purpose

During the six months my dad was ill, we kept a notebook together where we shared thoughts, memories and poems. I also wrote list headings, so that he could record all of his ‘favourite things’, recorded conversations we had on the voice memo app of my phone, and took hundreds of photos and videos of this finite time together.

One sleepless night, a couple of weeks after I started taking the meds, a thought popped into my mind: “What if I turned the notebook I kept with dad into a physical keepsake for others facing a terminal prognosis?”

All of a sudden, I was faced with the harsh reality that my circumstances were not going to change. It felt almost like a voice in my head telling me that I had to start living my life – if not for myself, then for him. Around this time, I remember reading the quote by Victor Franklin: “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves”.

Over the following weeks and months, I started bringing my vision of this book to life. A year later, I’d self-published a guided grief journal, called From Prognosis to Peace: Navigating Grief through Gratitude, Discovery and Healing.

Since then, I’ve learnt that my experience after the loss of my dad resonates with the concept of post-traumatic growth – the idea that people can experience positive psychological change after going through a stressful or challenging life event.

Towards a new understanding

I began to experience a new understanding of the world around me and my purpose within it. I tapped into a personal strength I didn’t know I was capable of, alchemising the adversity I’d faced into ways I could help others. Most importantly, I developed a greater appreciation of life, and how precious it really is.

This fresh perspective has allowed me to seek out therapeutic and informal support through organisations like West Sussex Mind – to support me alongside my grief and mental health struggles. It’s also led me to set up fulfilling initiatives following my book, such as The Lonely Club on Instagram – a community I set up to help other young people feel less alone. Furthermore, I’ve recently trained to be a lifestyle journalist, where I specialise in mental health writing to raise awareness and help others.

Healing is possible, no matter what

Everybody’s experience with grief and mental health is unique, and no one’s story is the same. When my dad told me that he had limited time to live, I thought my life was over. I didn’t know how I would wake up the next day, let alone for the following months, years and decades, without him by my side.

Four years on, I’m well aware that my challenges with grief and mental health have not, and will never, go away completely. However, to be where I am today – stronger and more self-aware and humbled by life than ever – is truly a gift. Something I believe to be universally true – that no matter where you are on your grief and mental health journey, healing through grief is possible, just as much for you as it is for me.