Having started cooking at a young age with my parents, my love for both making and eating food seemed clear, especially when my father started nick naming me “Piggy”. I did the two year cooking course at Leith’s Food and Wine, and then I was on my way. The real passion, however, came when I was 23 years old. Having been diagnosed with depression and anxiety at the age of 16, my late teens were tricky. To top things off, my mother contracted Cerebral Malaria back in July 2014 and was in a coma for 6 weeks. We were told she wasn’t going to make it and had to say goodbye. For the following weeks, I went through the stages of grief and began accepting that I wasn’t going to spend another happy breakfast with her, putting our worlds to right. However being the fighter my mother is, after a long two months she pulled through and, by December, Mumma was walking and talking. It was a miracle. She was left with a tiny bit of brain damage that has affected her short term memory and balance, but if you’re not asking her to stand on one leg and remember a shopping list, she’s pretty much perfect!

The process of saying goodbye and going through the grief took its toll and left me closed up, in a terrified state. My anxiety escalated, every day got tougher and more terrifying. Tubes, work, nights out, seeing friends and even family all became a struggle. It was in May 2015 that I reached boiling point. Being in teaching, I went home to Hertfordshire for half term to spend some time at home, as life had got a bit too hard. I walked through the door on the Friday night and I didn’t go back out for another 6 weeks. Everything then became too much and I decided anti depressants were the only way forward. Going on them was horrible for me. There I was thinking it was going to be my quick fix, but if you have ever been put on them, you too will know, that often it gets worse before it gets better (especially if they are prescribed more for anxiety than anything else). However, it was the best decision I could have made. It was only after these 6 horrific weeks I started rebuilding my life.

My stepmother was amazing, and started me off by taking short trips to the local village shop to buy milk. Then the following week I went to work in her office a couple of hours a day, and by the start of school in September (4 months later) I was back at work. I spent my weeks doing CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy), which sometimes I loved and sometimes I hated. I tried everything, my dog Islay and I were attached at the hip, I read books, I meditated, I went to the gym more, I sang to myself, I went on numerous crazy diets…some things helped and some just made me feel more bonkers than I already was. The one thing though, that really worked for me, was cooking! And this is when I started building up some recipes and working on new and exciting things.

A year later I was back to doing my usual day to day life, seeing friends and going out was normal again and a year to the day I went on my pills, I weened myself off them. I was proud as punch! Setting myself the one year goal, I had finally fulfilled! I almost wanted to throw myself an “I’m not crazy” party, but thought this may terrify people and I would find myself with less friends than I already had. Looking back on it though, I should have.

Alas, four years later back in January 2019, my world once more started falling away from me. It was Christmas 2018, and I had been put on prednisolone steroids to help me with some reaction I kept getting on my face. I don’t know if it was these pills that triggered it totally or if I was a cauldron waiting to overspill, but something happened that Christmas. I hated the happiness, the carols, the endless need to look and be happy for everyone else’s sake, I even hated the Christmas canapés. My mind started spiralling and I found myself the most unhappy I had ever been. I doubted every aspect of my life. My friends, my family, my relationships, my work, my living situation…everything, This time it wasn’t so much the panic attacks that destroyed me, it was rumination and worry. The constant feeling something was about to go wrong. That there was something seriously not right in my head, that maybe I needed to be sent away for some time to get it all sorted. The constant thinking of the thought that isn’t real, and the more you think about it, the more it appears and the more real it becomes.

On the 5th January, I collapsed at work, it was the day everything stopped. I was luckily found and taken to my emergency doctor, who quickly admitted me to Pinero House to have a full assessment. I talked everything through and for the first time I was so desperate to feel normal again, I was honest and held nothing back. I was diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Depression. To name a few. After this, I started seeing a therapist on a very regular basis. She honestly has changed my life. I could not have found someone better suited to me and we still see each other on a weekly basis, no matter what my mood that week, I come out of her office that little bit more certain of who I am and what I want from life.

I would love to say I did the whole thing without going back on medication, but that would be a lie. It is also something I am not ashamed of. When you have a broken arm, you get a cast. When you have a chest infection, you are put on antibiotics. There is absolutely no shame to have the help of antidepressants to make the process of healing that much easier. I know now In would not have been able to do it without them. And consider myself incredibly fortunate to live in a world with doctors who know what to do and that I even have that option.

Since January, many things have changed in my life, and adapting to new situations has been challenging. For example my dear stepfather David had a fall back in June and has since then been in hospital with paralysis from the neck down. Our family, in particular my mother and his three daughters, have gone through hell and back. However, it has only made me realise how important family are to me and how incredibly special the bond between us all is. We will get through it and we will make whatever the outcome work for all of us. David has shown determination and strength from the start, and has managed to keep smiling throughout. This is something I will forever admire, and I could not be more proud.

The idea of mental health being this horrendous stigma that us proud Brits have created, means that anyone that has to go through all this, feels they have to do it alone – you don’t! You are not alone. The stats of mental health in the UK are horrendous. 1 in 3 people suffer with a mental health condition, and 1 in 10 people, like myself. are diagnosed. I just pray that people read this and don’t think…”Wow, Mimi is a little nuts and has a lot of baggage”. I hope people read this and think “Wow, Mimi’s got this!”, and that hopefully by me sharing their story people might ask for help and share their stories too. Please remember…

“Asking for help isn’t giving up, it’s refusing to give up.” Charlie Mackesy

My cooking however still remains my release. If ever I feel the creeping up of the oh so familiar uneasy feelings and my fingers starting to fizz…I pull out the pans and all the ingredients of my fridge and start throwing things together. My kitchen is my happy place, and I am incredibly excited to share both my story and my recipes with you.

I hope you enjoy.

Miss Mimi x