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.

Mass Observation Day 2023 (A Day in My Life)

So yesterday was the 12th of May, also known in the UK as Mass Observation Day! Every year, the Mass Observation Archive asks people to keep a diary for the day in order to record the everyday lives of the UK population. I’ve been keeping diaries for most of my life and I think that the idea of pulling together all of these accounts in order to get a picture of an ordinary day in the life, whatever that might look like, for a big group of people is really, really cool so I always try to participate. Here is my contribution for this year.

Some important things to know before reading: I’m neurodivergent, autistic and ADHD, and struggle with multiple mental health issues (Depression, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder) and physical health problems (Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome). Having spent eighteen months in the worst depressive episode of my life, I’m recently back on medication and trying to get my feet under me again, working hard at both therapy and hydrotherapy. I’ve also recently released my latest single as a singersongwriter, ‘House on Fire,’ and am working towards several other projects.


I slept through two alarms, completely exhausted. I’d had a really late night in London seeing Ingrid Andress in concert (supported by Nick Wilson), which was absolutely amazing but between the energy expended and how late I got home, I was beyond tired.

When I finally managed to force myself awake around eleven, I lay in bed for a little while: I did a quick check in with social media (I’m trying really hard to find a healthy balance around time on my phone), did some Duolingo practice, and read a little bit of my book (both of these things are habits that I’m trying to practice daily). Then I got up and got ready for the rest of the day.

At one, I had a Zoom date with one of my best friends. We had a good catch up about what’s being going on for each of us, with many a tangent on kind of bizarre topics like alternate universes or the different sounds that insects make. And then we continued watching the TV series we’ve been watching together for the last few months, a series we both enjoyed when we were younger; we love it but we also love making fun of it so we always have a blast. We managed to watch two episodes and had a great time before I had to go. I didn’t have long before my therapy appointment so I got my bag ready and then fiddled around on my guitar until I had to leave (I haven’t been able to play for long stretches of time recently since I hurt a couple of my fingers so I’m trying to build it up again).

I was so tired and really sleepy (one of the ongoing symptoms of my health struggles and quite likely a side effect of my medication), plus my chronic pain was pretty bad (my shoulder and knee have been particularly painful for several days now), but I tried my best to push through and engage the best I could with therapy. In some ways, it was a fairly chilled session (as they go): my therapist had asked me to send her the poetry I’ve been working on over the last month or so, which I did. But it was also hard and I felt really vulnerable because most of the poems are so honest and so revealing. There were some that I said, before we even started, that I couldn’t talk about; just writing about those topics and sharing them (my anxiety about them was so high that I was really tempted to leave them out) was a big step forward. Obviously I want my therapist to know about these struggles but talking about them is beyond difficult (just the thought of it makes me want to scream or run or both); this is the best I can do for now. So we went through the poems, talking about what inspired them and my feelings about those people or experiences or struggles, which inevitably turned into bigger discussions. That meant that we didn’t get through all of them but we did cover some important stuff. I’ve been back at therapy for a while now – several months – but my new therapist is still getting to know me and I’m still getting comfortable with her; there are many things that I can talk about but there are still things that I can’t, things that I’ve never been able to. It’s a process, as I often have to remind myself.

Back home, I talked with my Mum about some of the stuff that had come up in the session but I’m always completely exhausted after therapy – I have been known to fall asleep on the sofa afterwards, hence the late afternoon appointments – so I checked in with the cats, put on The Good Place (my current rewatch), and lay on the sofa for a bit. I called one of my parents for a catch up, had some dinner, and then spent the rest of the evening working on some different things for this blog.

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What should’ve been a fairly pleasant evening was complicated a bit by how bad my hair pulling has gotten. That restless, anxious energy that drives me to keep doing it is so hard to resist, especially when I’m tired, and the longer I do it, the more it hurts: my scalp, my neck, my shoulder, my elbow, my hand. But I can’t stop. There have been periods of time where different coping mechanisms have at least reduced the amount of hair pulling but I don’t have one that’s working right now. It’s frustrating and it’s exhausting and painful but I just can’t stop, regardless of how much I want to. I did look into Hypnotherapy briefly a long time ago but didn’t get very far with that endeavour, maybe because it always felt like there were bigger things going on, but maybe I’ll try again because it’s been ten years and it would be really nice not to do this anymore.

Given how tired I was, I tried to go to bed earlier – I’ve been going to bed far too late – and while I did go to bed a bit earlier, I still ended up staying up too late, catching up with my diary. I had multiple cats curled up with me, which was very sweet, so it could’ve been worse and, after all of my problems with sleep, I did at least go to sleep quickly and easily; I’m always grateful for that now, having struggled so much over the last couple of years.

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So it wasn’t the most fascinating day of my life but it’s pretty accurate to my life right now and I guess that’s the point of the exercise. It’s a normal day in my life and this is what normal looks like right now, for the most part.

If you keep a diary or want to note down some thoughts about what your 12th of May looked like, the website is here, where you can learn more about this project (and their other work) and submit your entry if you would like to.