So That Was #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek…

Yes, I’m aware the title is fairly obvious. Mental Health Awareness Week 2023 is over. But I’m inclined to wonder how many of the people, organisations, companies etc are still talking about mental health now that the week is over. Maybe this is cynical but I’d guess it isn’t nearly as many as were talking about it during the week. And that is part of why I wanted to post about it this week rather than last week (shout out to my therapist for talking this out with me).


During Mental Health Awareness Week, I was scrolling through the #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek tag on Twitter and found myself just seething at what I was seeing: the majority of posts were either very basic information about mental health (and I mean very basic), vague platitudes (like ‘it’s okay not to be okay’), and pictures of various royals attending various events. The theme of the week was anxiety but I didn’t even know that until I looked at the Mental Health Foundation website afterwards. And looking at all of these posts, I couldn’t help but think, ‘How is any of this helpful in any way?’

I started ranting and the Twitter thread got longer and longer but, before I posted it, I thought that maybe this blog was a better place for those thoughts. The audience is definitely smaller but Twitter is so full of potential pitfalls (we all know how toxic it can be) and it’s so easy to be taken out of context when you have such little space to try and express your thoughts. So I took a breath, didn’t click post, and then copy and pasted all of those thoughts over here.

My first thought when I checked Twitter and realised that it was #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek (I almost always have family stuff during that week, which completely absorbs my focus, and then I’m always more than a bit thrown when I realise) was “Ah yes, another year, another #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek where organisations and corporations pretend to care about mental health and mental illness by posting the most basic information and platitudes before going back to pretending it doesn’t exist. I’m so glad you guys can take the rest of the year off now because those of us struggling sure as hell can’t.” Again, that’s a very cynical view – I know that there are many people who do care and we don’t need to post about things on social media to prove that we are passionate about them – but I find it so deeply frustrating to watch people (and worse, an organisation or company) act as though they care deeply just because it’s the annual awareness week and it makes them look good to post about it. Because, as I said, many of us – myself included – don’t have the luxury of not caring about mental health and mental illness because we are struggling with it every day. Every week is Mental Health Awareness Week. I have personally spent over ten years living and struggling with the symptoms of several mental health problems, being traumatised by systems that are supposed to be helping, supporting, and protecting me (including the current government – HA); I do not trust them to care for me or even about me – I doubt I ever will – and that is NOT OKAY. That is not how healthcare and mental health support are supposed to work. I am very privileged – and feel extremely grateful – to be able to find care independently, but so many people are not in this position, resulting in many, many people not receiving the care and support that they need, something that is, again, NOT OKAY.

But back to social media and awareness days (as much as I could talk about it, this is not a post about how the systems in place aren’t supporting those of us struggling with mental health problems). It can be very upsetting to see massive, impersonal corporations tweet about ‘reaching out’ or ‘[listing] things to be grateful for’ and it feels very out of touch and performative and just pretty offensive. This is not what Mental Health Awareness Week is about, what it is for. At least it shouldn’t be. Personally I don’t think awareness days and awareness weeks are particularly helpful and, at worst, potentially problematic (for example, it gives people an excuse not to engage with these issues because they feel like they’ve done their bit during the one awareness day or week a year) but, if we’re going to have them, they should be an opportunity to share resources (ones that are actually helpful, not ones with advice we’ve all heard a thousand times), to have real discussions about the perceptions we have about the relevant issue and how said issue is handled by the associated systems (or not handled), to elevate and celebrate the activists trying to raise awareness, and so on. They should not be an opportunity for brands to seem socially engaged or for shops to make money from barely relevant and often obnoxious merchandise. These days could be so much more (this is a really interesting article on raising awareness, why certain campaigns fail, and how we can make them more effective); we could make them so much more.

As I think we’ve established, I am pretty cynical about all of this and do believe that many people will completely forget about mental health as a topic now that the week is over. But while I do think that there are many people who talked or posted about it just because it was trending on social media, I also know with absolute certainty that there will have been many people who didn’t comment and don’t comment for completely valid reasons: we all have our own battles to fight and we, as human beings, can’t fully commit ourselves to every cause (compassion fatigue is a very real thing). And then, of course, there are the awesome people who continue to share their stories, to speak out, to try and push the world towards change – doing everything from making art about it to campaigning for better systems to creating more representation in the media to supporting individuals with mental health problems, etc – regardless of what week it is. I have great respect for everyone doing this (and for all of these important causes but I’m trying really hard not to get derailed within this pretty specific blog post) and I’m so inspired to keep being loud about my experiences with mental health and doing everything I can to make a better, safer world for us.


As I said, I often forget that Mental Health Awareness Week is happening – the 16th May is the anniversary of my Dad’s death and it just takes up a lot of time and energy and emotion, as you can probably imagine – and I have a lot of big, tangled up thoughts about awareness days and weeks in general. The point that I guess I’m trying to make here is that I don’t like the (almost) performative activism it accidentally encourages and rarely helps the people that it’s actually supposed to. And I think we can do them better. I know we can. It’s just a case of figuring out how and making it happen, which I do appreciate is far easier said than done. But then, what isn’t? (Other than silence and we really don’t want that either.)

Disconnected From My Name

This is a post I’ve been thinking about for a long time and an issue I’ve been struggling with for even longer: my name and how I feel about it. A simple and yet deeply complicated thing.


I’ve always wrestled with my sense of identity. It’s always felt like something unstable, something permanently unsettled that I can’t get a grip on. And one specific thing I’ve always struggled with is my name.

I don’t think it helps that my name – the most straightforward form of my identity – has changed multiple times over my life… Growing up, I was Alex: that’s what my family and friends called me. But, given that it was legally (and therefore from an administrative point of view) my middle name, I was constantly getting called the wrong name by teachers and doctors and so on; it was very frustrating to continually correct people. So, when I moved up to secondary school, I started using Lauren. I was about to have more than ten different teachers a week for five years and meet potentially hundreds of new people; I really, really didn’t want to be correcting that many people. And I wonder whether it was a manifestation of struggling with my name even then, even if I wasn’t fully cognisant of it then. So, from that point on, I was Lauren. It took a while to get used to – and coming back from the summer holidays was always a bit of a culture shock – but it wasn’t long before it didn’t even register anymore. I was Alex at home and Lauren everywhere else. I’m not sure it was a decision I should’ve been making at eleven but the change in school forced it and after all this time, it is what it is. The decision was made and, honestly, I think I’d probably do it again, if only for practical reasons (although I do still get confused about who I am to who and which name to sign on Christmas cards and so on).

Having said that, I’ve never felt particularly attached to either name; they’ve always felt weird to me and have done my whole life. Each name could just be another word; they don’t mean anything to me, don’t have any sentimental value. They just feel like prompts to respond to or indicators for action. Being called by either is a bit like wearing clothes that aren’t quite the right shape or trying to use a flathead screwdriver when you really need a Phillips head screwdriver – it does the job but it doesn’t feel like the right fit.

I’m hardly the first or the only person to feel this way. Sometimes our names don’t match our personalities (whether that’s down to stereotypes or literal descriptive words that get used as names, such as ‘Patience’ or ‘Faith’); sometimes they remind us of things we’d rather not think about; sometimes we simply don’t like the way they sound. There are even studies that show that your name can have a pretty dramatic impact on who you grow up to be and how you interact with the world, a phenomenon known as nominative determinism (x). Having a name that doesn’t feel like yours, that doesn’t feel like it fits you, can create a feeling of almost cognitive dissonance: our image and understanding of ourselves doesn’t match up with how the world views us, how the world identifies us, how we interact with the world and the people around us.

My relationship with my name has changed a little since I started releasing music under my full name, Lauren Alex Hooper, maybe because the name is now being associated with something I’ve created, something I’m proud of. That’s when I most feel like Lauren Alex Hooper. But I still don’t feel particularly connected to it. It could still be any random word but there’s some warmth that wasn’t there before.


When I was younger, I thought a lot about changing my name, about choosing a new one for myself but, in the end, I never did it. And then I started releasing music and, given how hard it is to carve out a career as an independent artist and songwriter, changing my name now would only make my life harder (and, quite honestly, it’s hard enough already – I don’t need to add to the pile). Plus, I’m not sure changing my name would actually change the feeling. I wonder if it’s more a case of not feeling comfortable as a person; maybe if I felt more comfortable in myself, my name wouldn’t feel the way it does. Or maybe it would and it’s just one of those things, one of those feelings that I just need to learn to make space for.

House on Fire (Lyric Video) – Out Now!

And the lyric video for ‘House on Fire‘ is out and available to watch on YouTube!

My best friend and frequent creative partner, Richard Marc when he’s making music and Richard Sanderson Photography when he’s working visually – photography, videography, and so on – made this video and it’s cooler than I could’ve ever imagined. I love the simplicity of it, the movement of the flame, and the way the lyrics burn like the dying embers of a fire. I love it and I think he’s done a fantastic job.

I’m gonna put together a behind-the-scenes of filming all of the visuals for this song because it’s been a weird, fun process, with some strange shenanigans that I never would’ve experienced had I not been making stuff for this song. But then I really should’ve known what I was in for when I decided to release a song called ‘House on Fire.’