The Paul I Used to Be

On losing identity, wrestling with mental health, and noticing small joys

Me and the dogs that keep me company during the day., Maisie & Hank.

I have now had Long Covid for over three years, but the impact of it upon my mental health has only recently become obvious to me. It is not surprising, on reflection, as the illness itself is an endless battle with fatigue that involves juggling every single day. As I have already written about, it also requires battles with mental health professionals who dismiss our symptoms. It is little wonder that it therefore leads to depression.

I believe one of the biggest causes of depression, though, is the loss of identity that chronic illness brings. I was once the Vicar of three busy parishes, but that was just my day job. The role was perfect for me because ever since I left school, I have relentlessly pushed myself forward to both improve my life and the lives of others.

Having left school at 16 and being told that I would never amount to much, I felt like I had to prove to myself that I could make a successful career and life without exam results and validation from teachers who disliked me. I became an intensely driven person and viewed every day as an opportunity to get stuff done.

I was also impulsive. Having seemingly boundless energy, I would wake up in the morning and announce to my poor family that we should go on an expedition. They would go along for the ride because it was fun. We did some amazing things as a family that we will never forget, and that bonded us together.

This translated into my work as well. As a Vicar, I was always thinking up new community projects or schemes that I thought would benefit the church and wider community around us. I hope I inspired others to get involved and do the same, and I am proud of the results.

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All that changed in December 2021. After thirty-three years of being a driven, motivated leader, I crashed so hard that I never had the energy to be like that again.

This is a common story. I do not have any scientific evidence to back this up (mostly because very little science has been performed on Long Covid), but a large number of people I have come into contact with had all been very active people. Some had caring professions, others were very fit and active in sports. The one thing they all had in common was that they were very active before the virus hit them.

Like me, many thought that after the infection had left their body, they could just shrug it off and get on with their busy lives. I tried to do that for around eighteen months before I realised that my body was not going to get back to ‘normal’ anytime soon. It took me even longer to mentally accept this.

Before that moment, I changed posts and became a Vicar in a different part of the country. I gave up extra responsibilities. I became part-time, giving up even more of the role that I loved. Even in this vastly reduced role, I could not cope with the demands of a job and Post-Covid syndrome (as it was called then). I had to convince my employer that I was no longer fit for work with an illness that many medical professionals do not believe exists. That was an incredibly stressful time.

When I finally convinced them, and had to leave our home and the small salary we survived on, it made me realise one thing:

My old life was gone forever.

I was devastated. Not just with having to give up my vocation, but that I could no longer be the person I was. Gone was the driven, energetic and spontaneous Paul. Welcome to Paul who hardly had the energy to walk up the stairs or refill his water bottle. Daily wins for me these days are when I manage to put a load of washing on the line or play with our dogs.

This dramatic shift left me feeling like my identity had been robbed. I spent a long time lamenting the old me, dreaming I could eventually go back to that way of life. That in turn meant that my mental health spiralled downwards. Who was I? What was I going to do with the rest of my life?

I still lament that person now. I sometimes look for, and even apply for, jobs before the devastating realisation hits that I am not able to cope with that kind of work any longer. I still make plans with my family and friends and later realise that I cannot cope with them and that it was wishful thinking. I go through a constant cycle of anticipation and disappointment.

But it is not all negative. Slowly but surely, a new Paul has begun to emerge. I may rely on mobility aids and constant naps, but I still care about the same things, and I am starting to notice the smaller things in life that I overlooked in my busyness. Precious minutes with my older children, a cuddle with the dogs on the sofa or a conversation with my wife are all things I previously took for granted but now take an immense amount of pleasure in.

When everything stops, you are forced to re-evaluate on what is important in life. I have come to appreciate that the people who care for me, and those whom I care for, are the most important things to hang onto. I can now spot little encouragements throughout the day that I would not normally have given any thought to.

As I write this one of my dogs has just brought me his toy, his big solemn eyes looking at me as if to say “time to play”. The difference between now and then? I will finish this article, stop enjoy every moment of it.

Let me know how you are doing in the comments or in chat. I love to hear from you.

Paul

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I produce a new podcast every Friday. Listen wherever you usually get your podcasts, including Apple and Spotify. My book, Life with Long Covid, is available from Amazon here. Please consider subscribing to receive all my written and audio content, and if you feel able to, donate towards the cost of my work.