Hello all,
A different blog post today, not your usual, ‘look how good Steven is’ instead I wanted to share a little something from my life. This morning on BBC Breakfast there was an article about the Samaritans. It was about people talking to each other, if you spot someone in distress, speak to them, ask them if they’re okay, ask them how they’re doing. It certainly struck a chord with me.
Today, I trained a group of absolutely lovely learners from Birmingham City Council. One of them, Cath was not only superb, she has also spent some time (ten years if I recall) in my home town. Cath remarked on how much she loved living near the market town. “Blimey,” I said, “You wouldn’t recognise it now.” Newcastle under Lyme, the market town that Cath spoke of has changed markedly over the last ten years. A once thriving market, rows of shops, bustling with busy folks and people interacting. All gone. So, what has any of this got to do with WH Smith and more importantly Karen?
As some of you are aware, I live with a mental health condition - bipolar affective disorder. Working has been a Godsend to me, especially as I thrive when researching, creating and delivering training. I’ve hardly had a day off sick due to my mental health. Each of my employers have been wonderfully supportive. Some, more so than others. People like Gill Brown at Brighter Futures completely understood my mindset. It was Gill who pointed at to me that maybe it was the bipolar that had made me SO creative and to be aware of when that creativity is running me ragged. “Sleep Steven, have a rest.” Matt Davis and Fiona Burton at Stoke on Trent City Council would remark on how good my work was, and they’d also insist that I took a break, had a holiday, had a laugh! Matt was amazing when my Mum died and understood that losing my Mum had always been my worst fear and now here it was made manifest.
For many, many years I have shopped at WH Smith. In fact it has become something of a joke with some of the folks in my ‘inner circle.’ After all, it’s not everyone who on encountering a new city, immediately searches out the nearest WH Smith. To this day friends like Zoe, will say, “I’ll meet you in town, yea? Outside WH Smith?” Why do I do it? I think a huge part of it is the fact that WH Smith was where I first found my beloved Doctor Who books. My Doctor Who Monthly Magazine and of course American comic books. It brought me immense joy. Comfort. Security. Routine. It brought me Star Trek Voyager on video and Marvel graphic novels. It brought me a cavalcade of optimism and enjoyment. My local WH Smith in Newcastle under Lyme was originally a John Menzies, remember them? It has been in town for as long as I can remember and now it is shutting the doors for the final time.
High streets up and down the length and breadth of the United Kingdom are struggling. More and more online shopping, the lockdown, lack of investment, apathy… The list goes on. When I was tipped off that there was an article in the local newspaper about the closure of my beloved WH Smith I thought, ‘nah, surely that can’t be right.’ My dear chum was rather afraid to tell me. Alas, it was indeed correct. It actually made me teary eyed at the idea of it no longer being on the high street. No longer a place for me to go and peruse the books and magazines and maybe have a chat with a perfect stranger about the latest issue of something or other. The end of an era.
I’ve already mentioned my Mum dying in 2016, previous to that appalling level of grief I had experienced bouts of depression. There were times when I would contemplate taking my own life. I found everything bleak, I felt that I was a failure and nothing anyone said or did could make me think otherwise. Even my beautiful, wonderful, hysterically funny Mum would sometimes shake her weary head and say, “I don’t know what to do our Steven.” I’d walk into WH Smith, desperate to feel something other than depression and anxiety. And then I’d invariably see a member of staff and they’d say, “hello” and “how are you?” And “your magazines in.” My mood would go up. My brain chemicals reacted to simple kindness from people who didn’t need to be nice to more. But they were. Each and every time. Especially Karen.
I’ve always enjoyed walking, you can see from my myriad post that I love a yomp around the countrywide and not only is it great for me physically, it also helps me balance things both mentally and emotionally. There are times however, when walking can feel like a wander in the wilderness and I need some company. Guess what? I’d head for WH Smith and there she’d be, lovely Karen. The member of staff who many years has listened to me and endured my diatribes. I know there have been times when I have been noticeably unwell. And on those occasions, Karen, a woman who is probably busy and has a lot to do would walk over to me and ask, “So, what do you think of the new Doctor Who then?” A couple of days after Mum died, I found myself in town, Karen saw my face and asked me if everything was all right and of course, everything was not all right. I told her and she remained quiet and just put her arm around me and said, “I’m so sorry Steven.” And it meant everything that not only did she get how upset I was, but she called me by my name, she knew who I was. I wasn’t just that daft Doctor Who fan who keeps banging on about science fiction. I was actually someone she had empathy with. I told her that I thought I wouldn’t be able to carry on without my Mum and Karen said, “Steven, your Mum would want you to carry on, she’d want that more than anything.”
I’ve never told Karen this, but she saved me that day. She really did. That lovely woman from WH Smith cut through all the madness in my head and told me what I needed to hear. I thanked her, bought my Doctor Who magazine, went home and rang my brother.
I realise for some folks, my writing this will lead them to think, ‘why on earth is be banging on about this?’ And ‘who the bloody hell cares?’ Some people think us professionals shouldn’t ever disclose our innermost 'frailties.' I think, ‘bugger that’ being the man I am has informed my practice, having lived experience has made me a better training consultant. All I can write to the naysayers is this; this morning when I was watching BBC Breakfast and the Samaritans were talking about random acts of kindness. Think about that, especially the next time you see someone who is distressed, or unusually quiet and withdrawn. Karen isn’t someone who is clinically trained, she isn’t a therapist. She’s a human being who understands loss and is compassionate. She’s also someone who has lost her job, her own place of comfort and routine. That’s why, after reading the news of the closure I went to see her and I bought her a little something to say, ‘thank you,’ because she did, she really did, save my life.
Cheerio WH Smith, you brought me a great deal of happiness in unhappy times. So, here’s to you Karen, I’ve no idea if you’ll ever read this, but I hope you realise that you are one, very special, glorious human being.