I am Majendi Jarrett, a marketing graduate from University of Bedfordshire with a career spanning across the Paper and Appliance industries. I am an author, an advocate for mental health wellbeing and a speaker at schools, churches and corporate events. I lost my youngest son to suicide in 2020 and my focus is to help others especially the parents and carers of young people with mental health issues through this blog, Majendi's Mental Moments.
This blog will focus on practical tips once a month for parents and carers with loved ones suffering with anxiety or other mental health issues.
Understanding your young person’s Mental Health: 5 Tips
Seek professional help if you notice these 5 things about your child’s behaviour
As a mother who has been blindsided by my son’s suicide, I would like to share 5 things which at the time were red flags which I was not aware of at the time.
1. Complaining about lack of friends
Your teenager or pre-teens child regularly complains about lack of friends and someone to connect with at school or social circle.
2. Withdrawing from social events
Your teenager or pre-teens child does not want to attend social events and this could range from one or two family members visiting to attending family wedding.
3. Making “mountains from molehills”
Every little disagreement becomes a “biggie” Something as minor as leaving the tissue box empty becomes a big argument.
4. Body consciousness
Any comment about their body knocks their self-esteem, being tall, being skinny, having a small gap in their teeth, the way they speak, all of these to name a few become an issue.
5. Constant Rumination
Finally, my last tip is your child continuously brings up the same topic of discussion previously exhausted 2 days ago and wants to rehash it all over again.
HEY! WHOSE PARK IS THIS?: A Guide to Off Leash Dog Behavior at the Dog Park
I have learnt it is a very good idea, if you know you have a high-energy dog, to first take him for a long walk so he can be more relaxed in the park.
He will not be so prone to causing trouble and racing around like a lunatic which will generally incite the other dogs and ultimately cause chaos.
When I first started taking Buster to the park, I realized after removing his leash, he just couldn't contain himself and would immediately gravitate to any dog and even more so if they happened to have a toy in their mouth which, if he got lucky, they would drop or he could play tug-of-war.
At some point, he would grab it and start a chase or else find a quiet corner to trash it.
I have had owners shout at me: “Control your dog,” “Tell your dog to drop it,” “That's my dog's favorite ball, it belongs to me” etc. etc.
…In hindsight, the comments are funny but at the time, things can get pretty unpleasant with everyone shouting and then the dogs start reacting to the raised voices and everything escalates.
Naturally, the culprit would just look at me and wonder what we are all carrying on about.
Have you ever visited a psychic? Would you like to gaze into a crystal ball during these uncertain pandemic days and be reassured that yes, everything is going to be all right? If so, you’re not alone.
I recently read an article in The New York Times about how the pandemic has led many suffering from anxiety and fear to seek spiritual guidance via online psychic readings. Fortune tellers are seeing a big increase in business, as stress about the future has turned their customers to the supernatural for clues or answers. Most want to know when the pandemic will end; others seek guidance in finding romance when social distancing is the new normal. Those who suddenly lost their jobs are eager to make a career switch but don’t know where to begin.
Although I’ve been hit by pangs of frustration and despair over the past year, I’ve not consulted a psychic. Nor do I plan to. However, I can understand and relate to people who are overwhelmed and can’t see a way forward, as I was in a similar situation when I was forty-one. A supernatural session with Angelica turned my life around.
On my forty-first birthday, I’d fully expected Hank, my boyfriend of seven years, to propose. We’d been living together for three years, and the next logical step seemed to be marriage and maybe motherhood. (I say “maybe” because of my age.) He and I loved one another, got along better than most couples we knew, and existed in a happy day-to-day bubble. We both had satisfying careers, close friends, a comfy apartment with a grand piano, and shared many of the same values, except when it came to visualizing our future as a couple.
Even though Hank had been upfront about not wanting to settle down and raise a family due to his “advanced age of 51 years,” a year earlier, he’d given me an antique rose gold “friendship” ring that hinted at a change of heart. I truly believed it was only a matter of time before he would board the family bandwagon. When no engagement ring materialized on my birthday the following year, I realized I had a big decision to make. I once again broached the long-term commitment issue with Hank, who hadn’t budged yet insisted there was room to compromise. How do you compromise on having a kid? I wanted to know. He had no answer.
Although I was devastated by this final impasse, I knew that continuing with Hank’s non-plans meant sacrificing my own. It was only a matter of time before I’d become bitter and our love turn sour. On the other hand, as long as I didn’t dwell in the future, I was content with our status quo. Did I really want to go through the upheaval of another failed love relationship and re-enter the dating scene in my early 40s? Perish the thought!
Thankfully, my best friend Jenni saw the situation more clearly than I did. “If Hank can’t commit after seven years, ten or fifteen might not be enough either,” she warned. Ouch. Unless I was willing to “hang in there for the long haul,” it was high time to “settle down, not settle for.” She had a point.
Jenni confided that she had been stuck in a similar predicament years earlier and had visited a fortune teller, Angelica, as a last resort. The session had helped put her future into perspective, and over time, she emerged more at peace with herself and her choices.
“Desperation pretty much sums up how I’m feeling,” I told my friend.
“Then let me see if Angelica is still in business,” Jenni said, “and if so, I’ll schedule a session for you as a birthday present.”
At first, I dismissed the psychic realm as a bunch of hocus-pocus until I remembered that my mother had visited a fortune teller at age twenty, also after a failed romance. “Lady Olga” had read my mother’s tea leaves and predicted that she and her current beau would soon be parting ways. Her future husband, a man with the initial “J,” would soon enter her life, and they’d wed six months later. Soon after, my mother met “Joseph,” whom she married right on schedule. If my parents’ destined love and long, happy marriage was a testimony to the power of the tea leaves, I couldn’t just dismiss it as nonsense. I told Jenni I was open to meeting Angelica.
As I approached Angelica’s home one week later, I worried about her predictions. What if she told me that Hank and I were finished? Even though it was a distinct possibility, I wasn’t sure I was ready to have a stranger sound the death knell of our love. I rang the doorbell, my heart leaping around my chest.
Angelica’s sing-song voice and ethereal presence set me at ease, as did the cloister-like interior of her home: a statue of Mother Mary greeted me in the living room; religious icons and paintings of angels hung from the walls. After introducing ourselves, Angelica asked me to sit without crossing my arms or legs so she could “tune in” properly. I obeyed. She closed her eyes and asked my “Higher Guides” to envelop us in a “golden circle of healing light and protection.”
After a long silence, she began to tell me things about myself that even Jenni didn’t know, such as falling out of a tree as a child, a long-ago pet who “still hovers around you.” My body language eased up as I realized that Angelica was more Glinda of Oz than the Wicked Witch of the West. Could she wave her magic wand and change Hank’s aversion to marriage and motherhood? The answer became clear as she uttered her first prediction.
“Soon you’ll be living in Eastern Europe,” she said in a voice brimming with excitement.
I jolted. “What on earth would I be doing there?” Although I longed to explore more of Europe, a long-distance move was not a consideration. My career, friends, parents, and Hank were all in Massachusetts.
“I see you standing in front of a room of students,” she continued. “It seems you’re teaching English.” I squirmed in my seat. “Tell me, Linda, is this something you’ve been thinking of?”
“Absolutely not!” I almost blurted out. I’d been working as a development director at a local nonprofit and had started interviewing with other organizations that would take my career to the next level. Without wanting to divulge too much, I politely told Angelica that no, teaching overseas was not even a remote possibility.
As she went on to describe scenes from my “Odyssey” abroad—singing and playing piano, traveling to exotic locales, and meeting attractive men—I had to stop her, as her sixth sense obviously needed some fine-tuning.
“Um, Angelica,” I said timidly, “can you back up a bit. I’m still involved in a relationship here that I’m hoping will work out.” Without revealing too much detail, I told her about the proposal that didn’t happen and the ring Hank had given me the year before. “Even though we have diverging views on marriage and parenthood, all this time I’ve felt that Hank was my soul mate,” I continued.
Angelica dropped her dreamy eyelids again and sat in silence for a long while. When she finally looked at me, I sensed at once that I was the one who was off-track. “I’m sorry, Linda, if this isn’t what you want to hear, but your relationship with Hank isn’t working because he’s not your destined love.” I burst into tears; she reached over and handed me a box of tissues. “What I’m getting at is that your true love isn’t here in the U.S.”
“He’s not?” I glanced around the room.
“No, your future spouse is waiting for you in Europe.”
Europe? My eyes widened. “Can you tell me what he looks like?”
Angelica squinted and moments later said, “I see a tall man with glasses.” That certainly narrows the field down to a few million. His image was “fuzzy,” which meant he wasn’t coming into my life for a while. It seemed that my “Higher Guides” didn’t want me to know more details. “But don’t worry, Linda,” Angelica added. “The spirit of your Russian grandmotherer is watching over you. She’ll lead you to the right place.”
“Would that be Russia?”
“Not necessarily.” She tossed aside a few shimmery strands of silver-gray hair. “But I believe a Russian icon will lead you to your future husband.” That seemed highly doubtful, as I hadn’t seen a Russian icon up close in years.
Angelica ended the session by sharing scenes from the Odyssey that awaited me if I had the courage to embrace it. I thanked her and left, feeling conflicted and confused. She hadn’t offered any affirmation about Hank; on the contrary, he was a barrier to fulfilling my personal goals. Yet, it was exhilarating to think the future could be so alluring. I longed to see more of the world, but for the past seven years, I’d deferred to Hank’s preference to stay within a five-mile radius of home. Now that I thought about it, why had I put my travel plans on hold? I was also eager to reconnect with my passion for classical music, another Odyssey selling point.
Over the next few weeks, I pondered Angelica’s words, which had unearthed some of my deeply buried frustrations with Hank. I discussed the pros and cons of leaving him and moving overseas with Jenni and my parents. I even researched opportunities for English teachers abroad and lusted after photos of the Franz Liszt Music Academy in Budapest, where I envisioned walking in my musical idol’s footsteps.
I am not a writer, and I never thought I would be the author of a book. The idea for the memoir entered my brain decades ago. The thought was simple- write about my experiences with depression and suicide and hopefully help others who were struggling like me. At the time, I thought that the idea was stupid because I did not believe I could write a book, and I was sure that no one would be interested in my ramblings. So, I put the idea somewhere in the darkest recesses of my mind.
I also knew that I did not have enough in my thoughts to inspire others which I desperately wanted. The idea kept coming back to me, and each time it grew stronger and stronger. I still thought that I did not have enough to write the story I wanted to tell, so starting the memoir was as close as Mars.
It just happened that the rest of my life was full of tragedy, shock, pain and the experiences my book needed. It wasn’t nice to live through, but it gave me the book I always wanted. I had the book in my head, but I did not start writing it. I did not have the confidence or self-belief even to sort out the big pile of notes I had kept for years.
The book grew in my mind until it took over my thoughts anytime I was not concentrating on something else. It grew to be a colossal millstone around my neck that was dragging me and my mood down. It wanted to explode out of my brain, and I could feel it trying to escape. Eventually, I had no choice but to start releasing my story and getting it down on paper. I did it because I had to. I had to find a way to take all that pressure out of my mind. I did it to help ease my depression and to try to help someone else.
So, I wrote In Two Minds, a kind of memoir to help myself and hopefully others too. It was incredibly difficult for me, but I am happy that it is finished and published now. It took over three years but is a kind of a legacy for me, which is why I was as honest as I could be. I am pleased that those who have read the book have only good things to say about it. My Dad finished reading it yesterday, and he was full of praise, and I was delighted. I was not too sure how he and Mam would react, but Dad was thrilled with it. I cannot ask for anymore.
In the silence, I wonder what life would have been if my husband lived. I wonder how many more smile lines I would have from laughing…I wish for him and never let anyone know how much I, at times, pray to die just to see him, touch him, and hear his voice.
Some days seem so slow the hours pass like centuries and I know I have so much to do, yet I feel stuck in the waiting, the waiting of what my life is and will be without him…the waiting for and wishing for him even though I know he will never come…
I wonder, should I look for another? I want to take a ballroom dancing class…but I have no partner…
I fell in love with my husband for so many reasons: his beautiful nature and spirit, his outer beauty, his unwavering love for me, yet…I wonder if part of why I fell in love was because he possessed the ability to be free of thought…he was able to flow with a day and not think. I was always amazed at this feat. I rarely if ever can do this, maybe more now than when he was alive…
I wonder about those always alone…aloneness is something, something I am drawn to since my husband died…the ability not to know what it is like to lose so much? Always alone never having a ‘love of one’s life.’ I marvel at what it may feel like not to know the pain I am in…not to be so wholly heartbroken my lungs cannot fill with air.
Then I think…
I had so much and have so much of my husband with me still. I have so much in my loneliness that others do not
I am anguished alone…and would rather be anguished alone than not.
I stood at the edge of the window in my family’s fifth-floor apartment and wondered if I could fly. Just a few hours earlier, after enjoying yet another dream with my beloved and beautiful brown eagle, I made up my mind that today would be the day. Today I would finally be brave. Today I was going to fly away.
Most of the time, I considered Sundays to be my favorite day of the week. I would spend them alone watching over my baby brother which I felt was a wonderful way to spend a weekend. I always cherished Sundays the most because unlike the rest of the week, we were left alone and we were able to do the fun things that we weren’t allowed to do on any other day.
Even though this was the fifteenth day in a row and I hadn’t been allowed to go outside, I still felt strangely happy and joyful from the moment I woke up that morning. In fact, I somehow knew that this day was going to be different and unique even though I hadn’t yet figured out what it was that made me feel that way. After all, I was only a little over eight-years-old, and I did not understand everything in this world so easily. Despite my predicament, and despite the distractions of my one-year-old baby brother who was needy and quite a handful, my mind was still so full of hope. I yearned for brighter days.
It was now 11 a.m. and my regular morning routine was finished. It usually took about three hours to complete my chores, but on Sundays, they always took longer because I would pause to play with the baby and have fun. It felt better to be doing things around the house at my own speed without the pressure of adults watching over my shoulder. And now even my baby brother was happy, sporting a set of fresh, clean clothes and a rounded belly full of food.
I looked down from the window and could see my friends and classmates playing outside as they usually did on the weekend. I, on the other hand, couldn’t go outside. It wasn’t just be-cause my parents had forbidden it, but it was also because I didn’t want to leave my brother alone. So all I could do was watch everyone from my balcony window and enjoy the bright summer sunbeams as they shone through the glass and warmed my face.
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I lost my youngest son to suicide in 2020 and my focus is to help others especially the parents and carers of young people with mental health issues through this blog, Majendi's Mental Moments.
