When The Yellow Fades.

This past week, my little girl had a Hello Yellow day at school. A splash of colour to raise awareness of something we cannot always see.

Today, on World Mental Health Day, I want to ask: what have you noticed around you?

Perhaps a school event, a conversation at work, or the many social media posts offering encouragement, sharing experiences and reminding us to check in. Has anything made you pause?

If it has passed you by, there is still time to look. And perhaps to let that looking take you a little closer to home.

What does mental health mean to you? How are you feeling beneath the answer you usually give? What has been weighing on you, and what has helped you feel more like yourself?

Then consider the people around you. The person closest to you. A friend who has gone quiet. Your neighbour, whose life you only glimpse. Could you ask how they are, and make room to listen?

Check in on you. And them.

For me, looking after my peace has meant learning to open up and trust the person closest to me. Cruelty in my past taught me to brace myself. He did not cause that hurt, yet he has shown me patience and loyalty while I learn that being loved can feel safe.

I am still learning to receive it.

And I find myself wondering: if he can offer me that patience, why do I struggle to offer it to myself? Could I allow myself time to grow, without treating every difficult day as a failure?

There is mam-guilt in that learning, too. I sometimes worry that my daughter has known a Mam who was functioning in survival mode, still braced for what might come next. On the days when joining in with her joy felt forced, did she notice? Could she feel how far away part of me was?

I cannot know exactly what she noticed. I am trying to remember the love I kept giving her, even when I was struggling, and to offer that version of myself some gentleness.

She, and the family we have today, are why I protect our peace so fiercely. Some days my prayers feel mightier, carrying everything I long to protect and everything I am still learning to release.

I long to let myself shine in that pure, childlike joy alongside her, while she is still little. To let a lovely moment be lovely, without bracing for what might follow. I am learning to trust that I can be there fully, too.

And perhaps we never grow too old for that. Perhaps there is something healing in allowing ourselves to play, laugh and wonder freely, whatever our age. I want to make more room for those moments.

When did you last let yourself enjoy something that way?

Faith helps me, too. I follow the example of Lord Jesus: his love, his gentleness, and the way he asks me to bring my best to myself and others. When I feel lost, I pray. There is more I might write about that another day. For now, I want to say that if faith helps you, you need not be ashamed of it. You deserve room to explore it freely, guided by love, without pressure or fear.

What helps you may look different. Writing. Walking. Rest. A trusted conversation. Counselling. Something you are only beginning to discover.

What leaves you feeling steadier? What helps you open up? What brings out your goodness?

Give yourself permission to find it, and keep making room for it.

I want the goodness I find to reach beyond me: into my words, my choices, the way I treat a stranger or respond to someone I love. I also want to protect the peace my family and I have fought hard to find. Kindness can include a firm boundary. We can care about someone and still refuse to accept cruelty.

These are things I am learning to carry with me. My armour, perhaps: love, faith, trust, and the courage to protect our peace.

What is yours?

It is a wonderful thing to mark a day like this. My hope is that we carry its care into tomorrow, when the yellow clothes are back in the drawer and our feeds have moved on.

Ask again. Listen again. Make room for yourself, too.

Our mental health deserves that attention every day.