Why am I feeling like this? Why didn’t I do it differently? I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I should be able to cope with this. I’m a bad employee. A bad colleague. A bad dad. A bad person.

In my lowest moments I felt like the world was against me. The tiniest setback could knock me off my feet (sometimes literally) and my perception of the world was rooted in pessimistic thoughts. It felt so easy for life to spiral out of control whereby a difficulty I was facing in one area of my life would cascade such that my negative mindset would impact all parts of my life. As a result I’d retreat into my shell having convinced myself that life wasn’t fair and there was nothing I could do about it.

I began to catastrophise all personal interactions. I lost the confidence to have one-on-ones with my reports at work. I told myself that my long term friends probably didn’t want to hear from me anymore. The racing thoughts took over and I became paralysed by overanalysing anything and everything. This resulted in what felt like an eternity of agonising indecisiveness. I wouldn’t know what to have for breakfast even though I have the same thing every day. I’d stare into my wardrobe wondering what to wear when I could just pick the top t-shirt off the pile. I’d sit down at my desk and not know what to do. Every day was exhausting.

At the end of the day I’d reflect on what I’d got done and criticise myself for being unproductive. You shouldn’t have wasted so much time in the morning, Michael. You didn’t have time to go for a run as a result, Michael. You’re setting a bad example for your children, Michael. You’re being a crap husband, Michael.

I internalised the belief that I wasn’t good enough. At anything.

It’s not surprising that I regularly cried at home given how I was talking to myself. My boys started to notice. Initially I felt even more broken. I told myself that they couldn’t see me like this, and I worried whether I was negatively effecting their mental health. More self criticism.

Slowly, with the help of regular counselling and writing things down, I started to open up. With myself, with my wife and with my children.

“Are you sad, daddy? Why are you crying, daddy?”

“I’m crying because I’m finding things a bit tough at the moment.”

“It’s ok, daddy. I love you. You’re the best dad ever. Do you want a cuddle?”

Zero judgement. Zero criticism. Just compassion. Empathy. Comfort. Love.

This was such an important lesson for me. I could choose to speak to myself in the same compassionate voice my son used with me.

I procrastinated a bit this morning and didn’t get as much stuff done as I’d have liked to. Never mind, let’s make a to-do list and do my best to get through those items tomorrow. I didn’t get any exercise in today. Cool, let’s get an early night so I can squeeze some in tomorrow morning before work. I didn’t spend any time with the boys yesterday evening. Ok, let’s put the phone away and make sure I’m fully present for dinner, their bedtime story and for fun times over the weekend. Action, forgiveness and kindness over rumination, criticism and self-doubt.

For every bit of evidence I used to convince myself that I wasn’t good enough there were so many things I couldn’t see and wasn’t giving myself credit for. I started to acknowledge the little things. Playing football in the garden with the boys. Snuggling up on the sofa with them to watch a film. Cheering them on at junior parkrun. Making them laugh in the bath. Play fighting before bed. Asking a colleague how their weekend was. Helping someone out when they got stuck. Voluntering for some task that nobody wanted to do. I am a good dad. I am a good colleague. I’m not perfect, but nobody is. I’m enough.

My negative thoughts and feelings were just that. Thoughts and feelings. I experienced them. I didn’t enjoy them. My anxieties weren’t wrong. I had them, and I’ll have them in the future. But they’re not me. They don’t define me.

Children truly can be our greatest teachers.

Check out Part 1 if you missed it.