I’m Not Mad - It’s Official

I’ve been around for a long time; some 50 years. The transition from 50 to 51 has certainly given me some chance for reflection. 

Most of all, it gave me a chance to stand back and assess what actually goes on in society, rather than becoming swept up in the daily chaos of everything coming at one, how we see ourselves and how others see us. 

I had to ask myself what my personal values were. This has required a great deal of standing firm on my part and doing the things which are right for me, because if they aren’t, then the energy will always be “off” or “wrong”. 

Others can always think they know what is right for us, and be themselves seduced by the accepted propaganda: we “should” do this, or that. No, we shouldn’t, necessarily. This can set us up for massive disappointment, either with other people, or our work. 

One of the things I have no time for nowadays is “mental health labels”, and if I never had to hear the phrases “mental health” or “mental illness” again, I would not miss them. 

Other people’s view of us begins in childhood, and people are labelled very early on. Usually this begins with the parents, and their view of the child spreads like a fungus throughout society, growing continuously outwards. It’s a chicken-and-egg situation, so that if the child, rightly baffled by the way in which they are treated by people, questions this state of affairs or becomes upset, more animosity from society is the result. A child can be labelled a problem for whatever reason. They don’t even need to be a problem; they just need to exist. 

I was a quiet, introverted child, rarely given to socializing, who was content to be in my own little world of plants, creatures, nature, art and the outdoors. I could quite happily have bypassed formal education and a number of jobs, and would not have been any the worse off. 

This kind of character confuses many people, as they are socially needy and have to be filled up with attention of whatever sort, so attempt to goad the introvert using any reason. These reasons can include but aren’t limited to, the fact that the introvert a) has something the aggressor doesn’t, usually self-containment; b) isn’t “doing what was asked of them”; c) is “disappointing” in some other way, which can be an entirely arbitrary and subjective thing on the part of the accuser. 

The introvert may be provoked into a reaction of sorts, whereby the provoker will immediately go to someone else - usually someone in authority - and complain about the introvert. This is where the wellspring of labelling starts. People are so competitive that they will do anything and everything to make others look stupid, in order to bring them down to their level. One is labelled a loony, mad, bonkers, bipolar, and it ends up getting to a person so much that in the back of their minds, they begin to wonder whether there really is something wrong with them, particularly if it “runs in the family” and families have their own narratives, and boxes in which they attempt to put people.

One ends up feeling one can do nothing right and ultimately, sets out to be as bombastic as possible, as it is apparently pointless attempting to please others. As a menopausal woman, you feel that everyone is taking the mick, and has always been taking the mick, and so you take the mick back, in spades.  

Family, school and hormones were my chief energy snatchers over the last 50 years. I finished up a 10-year menopause at the age of 49, and estimate that it is only now that my hormones have started to settle. I have experienced depression, which is considered normal for a postmenopausal woman and is a condition which can prevent one firing on all cylinders, so to speak. However, I would define it as a condition; not a mental illness.  

I lost 4 family members in 5 years: my mother in 2019; my cousin (allegedly schizophrenic, and another casualty of our family) in 2021; my aunt in 2022; and my father in 2023. 

I have mused on the fact that the main protagonists in keeping the pattern of labelling our family’s children are no longer with us. These relationships no longer exist, and therefore are something I no longer need to worry about. I do not have connections to less immediate relations, and frankly I like it that way. 

In recent years I was formally psychologically assessed, over a reasonable period of time. Much of the assessment is based on what a patient thinks is wrong with them; so that if one doesn’t think of oneself as ill, this can colour the final diagnosis quite remarkably. I was asked about autism and ADHD, and given several multiple choice tests to do. The official outcome was that I had “a little bit of everything, but nothing very major”. 

Despite this formal diagnosis which was agreed on by a number of professionals, there were those non-professional members of the public who persisted in insisting that I was “mentally ill”, and that if I didn’t recognize myself as being such and take medication, then they would not speak to me again. For myself, I wasn’t worried, as this was something I could do well without. 

There are those people who enjoy living vicariously through people. They enjoy seeing people crash and burn, and have ways of setting people up to look stupid, especially if they perceive the other person as being a threat, or more talented in some way. 

Nowhere is this portrayed more effectively than in the novels *The Fountainhead” and “The Bell Jar”, where Roark deals with constant objections to his work as it’s like nothing anyone’s ever seen before, and Esther sighs as she is mentored by “weird old women” who all seem to want to mould her into younger versions of themselves.  

So, it pays to observe people’s motivations carefully. At the same time, I’m looking neither right nor left, as far as moving forward with my life is concerned. I’m not concerned about keeping up or down with the Joneses, having Trump be a major topic of conversation, or who did what to whom. At 50, I have however much time I’ve got left on this planet, and following my own path has never been more important. 

Refinding the child I was at age 5, a cheerful, vital but very sensitive little soul, has been crucial to reclaiming my spirit. I am very selective, and now, only go for these things which align with my values, and make sense to me, such as art, writing and nature. 

I have done a fair bit of roaming around, in my quest to find an environment which suits my energy. Invariably Art is an automatic release for me. I find that the moment I start drawing and painting, especially in the outdoors, that any depression I might have had melts away, and it does more for me than any pill ever could. People stop by and admire the work I'm doing Because I'm obviously happy and giving off good energy, they are happy in return, and seem to be glad to see me and that I actually exist. This is an experience I've had less often than I'd like, so I've been rather pleasantly surprised. 

I've built a new website, Christina Brodie's Art. This will feature work of mine that has never been in the public domain, such as my early botanical, fashion and childhood work, as well as my more recent drawings of landscapes and buildings which are taking me in a new direction. A taster is below.

Now, do you think that's the work of a madwoman?

I believe in moving forward, and there’s no time like the present! 

Christina Brodie 

May 2025 

Recent work from 2025