Lowering the bar.

Ever since I was old enough to know what a sense of humour was, I’ve always loved making jokes.

Wherever I am, and whatever I’m doing, I’ll do my best to have a laugh and make light of the situation. I do it when I’m happy, when I’m nervous, when I’m angry, when I’m sad, and at all the bits in between. Even when my mood starts spiralling out of control, and I find myself in a deep, dark pit of dispair – which happens more often than I like to admit – I just laugh my way through and hope for the best.

Since being in hospital, I’ve relied on my sense of humour more than ever before. ‘If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry’ as the saying goes, and over the past few months I’ve found that to be absolutely true. I’ve also found that even if you do laugh, you will probably still cry, and sometimes, when things are really, really shit, you’ll do both at the same time. If that’s not a skill, I don’t know what is.

Whenever things are tough, I’ll often joke that the bar is very low. I do this, partly to detract from the gravity of the situation, partly for some light relief, and partly, I think, to give myself a bit of warning for whatever might come next.

This sounds pessimistic – and I agree, it probably is – but I’m sure there’s some logic in there somewhere. Probability suggests that if you set the bar low, you’re much more likely to achieve whatever it is you set out to do – whether that’s getting out of bed and brushing your teeth, getting dressed or eating breakfast. And when you succeed, you’ll be in a better position to tackle the next hurdle than if you’d set your sights too high and placed unrealistic expectations on yourself. Surely?

Recently, I read an article in Happiful magazine called ‘101 Reasons to be Hopeful.’ In it, actor and comedian Joe Tracini talks about his experience of living with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) – or “pound shop bipolar” as he calls it, and offers some hope for anyone else going through something similar. He describes living with suicidal thoughts on a daily basis, which are “always there…some days…just louder than the day before,” and how he knows that he’s done more good things than bad ones in his life, but that try as he might, he often only remembers the bad ones.

Joe said: “Nowadays, when I wake up in the morning, the only goal I set myself is to finish that day the same way I started it – in a bed, knowing I’ll see tomorrow. Even if today isn’t what I needed or wanted or expected, if I can just get through today…I’ll have another chance at tomorrow.”

When I read those words, it felt as though someone had reached out a hand and taken hold of mine. I felt a sense of connection, and for once, things made a bit of sense.

I’ve always struggled to set goals, and until recently, never really understood why. When I’m in a bad place, I find the whole idea of goal setting totally impossible – a bit like trying to paddle through the ocean with one of those tiny ice cream scoops instead of an oar. But when I’m feeling better, it still doesn’t get much easier. I can set goals, but they’re rarely realistic. In an effort to make up for the time I lost feeling hopeless and miserable, I set my sights too high, only to end up pushing myself to breaking point for no reason at all. And then of course, the whole sorry cycle starts again.

Often, when I’m scrolling through Instagram, I’ll come across posts that say things like “baby steps” or “take things day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment” and I’ll find myself rolling my eyes. Of course, I understand that sentiment, but even so, the cynical, over-achieving side of me baulks at the idea of setting such low expectations.

“How will I ever get anywhere if I spend my life patting myself on the back for getting out of bed and brushing my teeth?” I’ve thought to myself on many occasions.

I suppose my cynical side does have a point. I probably won’t get anywhere if all I ever manage to do each day is perform basic personal care. But who’s to say what getting anywhere really means? The older I get, the more I understand that when you think about it in isolation, goal setting is pretty meaningless. You can set – and achieve – all the goals you like, but if you’re still feeling miserable and hopeless at the end of each day, in spite of an ever-growing to-do list or teetering pile of accomplishments, then really, what’s the point?

When I read Joe’s words, it was as if something had shifted in me. I realised – perhaps for the first time in my life – that lowering the bar doesn’t have to be such a terrible thing, and certainly not a source of ridicule.

Like many things in life, lowering the bar isn’t a singular act; something that can never be undone, or that defines who you are. It is flexible and adjustable, and can be lifted higher or lower depending on the situation and context. Some days will be better than others – that, I think is inevitable – and on good days, the bar will be slightly higher, and you will – probably – achieve slightly more. But on days when it’s all you can do to stop the world from swallowing you whole, and your only focus is getting to see another sunrise, the bar will be low. And that is absolutely okay.