Kirsty’s journey, finding hope through care and support

My life before

I was diagnosed with anorexia at 11 and Attention Deficit Disorder at a very young age. Through my teenage years, I battled depression and self-harm and was admitted for an eating disorder. I didn’t engage much with the counselling offered because I thought I was fine.

In my early twenties, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. My life was chaotic, filled with toxic relationships, self-destructive behaviour, drug and alcohol use, and intense mood swings between euphoria and deep depression. I struggled with my identity and constantly wore masks to fit in. It was exhausting and painful.

Even though I appeared high-functioning, I was hurting people around me. My actions came from a deep place of pain; extreme dieting, over-exercising, self-harm, and suicide attempts were all part of punishing myself.

Admission to the ward

Before I was admitted, I began spiralling. I was spending excessively, crying uncontrollably, and mentally exhausted by my own thoughts. I took a substantial overdose and was found wandering the streets barefoot in the rain. That’s when I was sectioned and admitted to Chartwell Ward.

When I arrived, I was defiant and convinced I didn’t belong there. I thought, “I’m fine, I don’t need this.” That denial was part of my illness.

First impressions

The staff were welcoming and kind, but I couldn’t meet them with the same warmth at first. The environment felt sterile and alien, understandable, given that it was designed for safety. Losing some personal items, like my phone charger, made me feel a loss of autonomy.

However, the staff explained everything clearly. Their patience and communication helped me start to feel more settled and safe. Being allowed to wear my own clothes and personalise my space also helped me feel human again.

Finding safety and support

The structure of ward life made a huge difference. The routine helped me regain stability when everything inside me felt chaotic. Staff explained everything, listened when I was frustrated, and treated me with respect.

I remember one nurse in particular who changed things for me. I had refused to take part in therapy or activities, and she gently said:

 

“You’re here for a reason. If you don’t engage, you’re choosing the outcome.”

 

That simple comment was a turning point. I realised that recovery was my responsibility, too. I had to choose to help myself.

 

Creative expression

Art therapy became unexpectedly important. I’ve always been creative, especially through writing, and the staff encouraged me to use journaling and poetry as an outlet. It gave me space to express myself instead of being trapped in constant, exhausting thoughts.

For anyone who has experienced mental illness, sitting alone with your mind can be the hardest thing. Having a creative outlet helped me focus and start to heal.

 

What helped most

It wasn’t one thing; it was the combination of everything: talking therapy, medication, supportive staff, and being away from the environment that had been making me unwell.

For the first time in years, I was in a space without triggers. That distance allowed me to focus purely on recovery. The staff never gave up on me, even when I said no. The invitation to join in was always there. That gentle persistence helped me trust again.

 

Moments of hope

Recovery isn’t linear. There were setbacks, but small victories gave me hope, sleeping through the night, feeling my thoughts calm down and eating a full meal.

I’ll never forget the first morning I woke up after sleeping properly. My mind felt quiet for the first time in years. It was like finally finding relief after being in pain for so long. My shoulders relaxed, and I felt a sense of clarity I hadn’t felt in ages.

 

Medication and acceptance

I was initially resistant to medication. I’d been prescribed things before and never stuck to them, thinking I didn’t need them. But with the structure and explanation from the staff, I finally understood.

Medication wasn’t about control; it was about care. It’s no different to taking antibiotics for an infection. Accepting that was a breakthrough moment. Once I was consistent with medication, I noticed real improvement.

The staff respected my autonomy but also helped me challenge my beliefs about treatment, which was empowering.

 

Preparing to leave

Staff focused on teaching me how to cope, self-soothing, distraction techniques and how to recognise when I was spiralling. They encouraged me to reach out to family and friends without shame.

They also linked me with the community mental health team for continued support. Leaving felt scary because the ward was safe and structured, but I knew I was better equipped to manage on my own.

 

Life after the environment of safety

Leaving the ward didn’t mean I was cured. I did have later relapses and suicide attempts, but I was out of crisis, and I had tools to keep myself safe.

At the time, I was working in clinical support and took six months off to recover. My manager and occupational health were fantastic. Returning to work and being part of a team again gave me purpose. Seeing patients who needed me was healing; it reminded me that I had value.

Work gave me structure and a reason to get up in the morning. It helped me feel that my illness didn’t define me.

 

Looking back

When I look back now, I can honestly say:

 

“Thank God it happened.”

 

That intervention saved my life. Mental health wards can seem intimidating, but they’re places of safety, compassion, and healing. The care I received was exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it.

Society still carries a stigma about psychiatric wards, but my experience was one of kindness, professionalism, and humanity.

 

What I want others to know

If you’re admitted to a mental health ward, it’s because you need help, and there’s no shame in that. It’s not an admission of failure; it’s an acceptance of help.

Use that time to rest, to heal, and to start focusing on yourself. You may not leave fixed, but you’ll leave safer and stronger.

My community therapist later changed my life by helping me challenge my deepest beliefs about self-worth and trauma. Confronting those things in a safe, supportive space was transformative.

Now, working in the same trust that once helped me, I feel immense gratitude and pride.

 

“I’m living proof that recovery is possible. It’s not easy, and it’s not linear, but with the right care, compassion, and support, you can find your way back.”

 

Kirsty McInnes, Kent and Medway Mental Health NHS Trust