DWP - The hand that feeds you - or oppresses you.....

It’s been a while since I have blogged.  It has taken me about 3 weeks to complete this blog.  For those of you who know me, you will understand how bloody frustrating this is for me.  Writing/blogging is one of the things that I can usually do without giving it a second thought.  But sadly my mind hasn’t quite been my own for the last 10 months, as I have been visited again by my old friend depression – who this time has a sidekick, namely crippling anxiety.

Yip – in December 2015 I fell, and I fell hard.  I fell so hard that I felt as though I had shattered into lots of pieces.  I’m still in the process of picking up the pieces and trying to get back together – albeit a different version of me.  A healthier, wiser version! 

For those of you who don’t know me, let me give you a short background.  I have worked in the mental-health field for the last 10 years.  I have worked in a variety of roles and settings, and most recently I founded and developed the amazing charity Hope Cafe Lanarkshire.  I have received awards at Parliament for my work in promoting positive mental health and self-management.  I have worked since I was 15 years old, and reckon that up until this episode I have probably had a maximum of 10 weeks off work in my whole working life (6 of those being after I had major surgery). 

Why am I telling you this?  Because recently I have had to apply for benefits.  I have applied for – and successfully been awarded – both PIP and ESA.  I had a good idea of how difficult a process it is to claim these benefits for mental illness from the previous work that I was involved in, but nothing prepared me for the actual reality of it.  Let’s just say that it was one of the most humiliating and upsetting experiences I have ever had to encounter.  The benefits system is so focused on what is wrong with you.  I was advised right from the outset that everything had to be based upon my worst day: though to be honest, for the first 8-9 months of my illness, 6 out of 7 days were like this.

So fast-forward: it’s been approximately 2 months since I was awarded ESA and placed in the “support” group.  This was a massive relief to me, as at this stage of my recovery I know that I could not cope with enforced work-related activity.  However, I 100% plan to return to work when I am ready.  I look forward to the day that I can return to doing what I love, and I know that I will – when the time is right.   But for now I am very aware that I need to invest time in my recovery.  

Two of my biggest stumbling blocks have been lack of structure to my day, and social anxiety.  Discussions with my circle of support, which include my GP and Psychologist, helped me to identify that volunteering might be a good move to get me some structure back.  I am more than aware of the benefits of volunteering to aid recovery, so with my family we looked at what I could possibly do.  On a rare day out, we stumbled across a Guide Dogs For The Blind stall and heard they were looking for people to foster puppies.  The more we looked into it, the more we realised that it would be a really good way for me gently to start to re-engage with day-to-day life.

So here I am, actively trying to further my recovery.  Pushing myself out of my current uncomfortable-yet-comfortable zone.  But – and it’s a BIG but – the benefits system tells me it wants me to get better … but will “punish” me for doing so.  I know from the experience of many of my peers that the minute you are seen to be able to move forward in your recovery – i.e. advise the DWP that you are volunteering – the likelihood is that your benefits will be re-assessed and reduced or stopped.  I cannot begin to think about having to go through the assessment process again – so my only option is to stay ill.  They don’t seem to understand that you cannot go from unwell to well without the process of recovery in the middle.  This process, especially for people living with mental illness, means slowly starting to re-engage with life again. For me this means re-connecting with the world; engaging in simple day-to-day activities like shopping and socialising.  But by doing so I am terrified that the benefits that I have had to fight so hard to get will be stopped, because I will be seen as no longer ill enough.  This is utter madness.

So here I am, afraid to tell the DWP that I am volunteering.  This needs to change.  I am not up to launching a full-blown campaign here, but I am writing this blog in the hope that someone who has some power realises how absurd our current benefits system is.  It does not support recovery – it hinders it.  

Some may say “don’t bite the hand that feeds you”. However, this hand may be feeding me but it is not nourishing me.  It is holding me back, keeping me down.  Surely this is madness?

I want to get well. I want to get back to work. But this process of recovery will take me time and effort, and I need to feel supported by the system to enable me to do so.  Right now I don’t.  I feel anxious and afraid of recovering, for fear that I will lose my benefits.