MY YEAR OF LEARNING

In 2019, broadcaster and presenter Anita Rani realised that if you bottle up your feelings, they will escape somehow. That’s why she’s chosen to share a very personal experience…

Anita Rani shares a personal experience

Ilove Christmas. It’s the most precious holiday of the year to me, as time becomes irrelevant and set mealtimes a distant memory. I adore how the nights get longer and the nail varnish I choose becomes darker; how everyone wraps up in cuddly knits and we have the excuse to be a bit glam and sparkly every day. I still get excited about what movies to watch on terrestrial TV, even though they’re all available all of the time on all of the channels (my favourite is any Agatha Christie). Christmas is also the only time I’m able to take two weeks off. I spend the rest of the year working and living at 100mph, as I have done for as long as I can remember. I moved to London in August 2001 and hit the ground running. And why wouldn’t you? I came to the capital to live life to the fullest and carve a career in an industry that traditionally didn’t employ people like me. That took hard work and perseverance; I couldn’t afford to give myself a break. Plus, we never took yearly holidays as a family; it wasn’t part of my life. So come the end of December, I’m always ready to switch into Christmas mode. But this time last year, I had a Christmas like no other. One that had the power to completely shift my perspective on life and how I was living it.

I was working at my usual crazy pace, except

I was also having a miscarriage (it feels strange just writing this down). I was filming War On Plastics and Countryfile around the country, hosting events and preparing for the Strictly Christmas special, while my body was going through something very real. It was an incredibly sad time for me and my husband, but because there was so much going on at work, I didn’t slow down, and decided to process it properly at Christmas, instead.

The truth is, I didn’t process it over Christmas. I ignored it, dusted it off and emerged back as my old self. But something didn’t feel right. At first, my tactic was to hit the pub, which I can tell you is certainly not the answer, as fun as it is. Then I’d try to occupy my time with stuff to do. My to-do list was immense, and yet I seemed to get little done. In February, while halfway up Kilimanjaro, which I was climbing for Comic Relief, I suffered with altitude sickness, which brought on what I can now see was a full-on panic attack.

I was sleeping more than ever, which I hated, and I was convinced I had an illness, so had loads of blood tests, but there was nothing wrong with my health.

All year I felt anxiety and insecurity like never before. What made those feelings worse was the terror of not knowing or understanding what I was going through. I didn’t recognise myself.

It’s only now, after a year of reflection and paying attention, that I fully understand what the problem was: I was sad. Deeply, truly and cripplingly sad.

How did I not realise this? Well, because I’m cursed with both the British stiff upper lip and the Asian conditioning of not sharing anything, lest you bring shame on yourself, your parents, family, friends, total strangers, anyone! It’s this double-whammy of suppression that turned me into a master of ignoring anything that involves introspection and feelings. I’m one of those very practical types; I get on with life. I’ve essentially lived like a rock and really, honestly, I thought I was doing great.

It’s strange, because my job is to get people to share their stories with me. I listen and empathise and am deeply moved by the life experiences people have been through. I know the power of humanising people who are demonised; the strength of connection and empathy. And yet, when it comes to talking about my own true feelings or something seismic I have been through,

I just can’t seem to find my voice. I couldn’t even admit my feelings to myself, let alone anyone else.

But I’ve done a lot of reflecting and observing this year. I’ve looked with curiosity at people who seemed to have unburdened themselves, and wondered what it must feel like to open up and speak about your truth; to relieve yourself of the darkness in the pit of your belly.

It took me a long time (an entire year) to recognise and accept my sadness. For the first time in my life, I gave myself permission to not be okay, and to be okay with that.

All year I had been trying to fight this unknown person, but then I realised it was just me the whole time, the real me, needing to be heard, craving a cuddle.

I love to feel like a superwoman who’s on top of everything all the time, and I do believe all women are superwomen – I’ve travelled all around the world and am constantly amazed by the women I meet. Yet as I sit here thinking about the year gone by, I see that to truly be a powerful human, we have to acknowledge our frailties and insecurities, and allow ourselves to feel everything. If you bottle up your sadness, it will escape somehow.

As a storyteller, I know the power stories can have. That’s why I share this with you now: I had a miscarriage. I was pregnant and I lost the baby. My body and soul experienced something I’ll never forget, and I’m not going to do what I did initially and act as though it was nothing, as though I’d just had a graze. Because it was something. It was – and is – incredibly sad, and that’s okay to say. There’s no getting around it: life is hard. Perhaps it’s not meant to be easy, and to truly know the feeling of pure joy we must have some of the shit dealt our way, too.

This Christmas, my husband and I will be finding the joy on a three-week holiday to India, a country connected to my soul. Two of our best friends are joining us, and they’re making me spend seven days on the beach. The holiday mission to just relax is a first for me. I’ll be surrounded by love and delicious curry. I will spend time with my thoughts and allow myself to feel whatever emotions come my way, and then I’ll eat more curry. In 2020, I will probably still continue to work at my own crazy pace but, this year, I’ll be trying to live a whole life; a life of understanding, kindness and consideration to myself.

My hope is that if you have had your own ups and downs in 2019, you too might feel it’s okay to be vulnerable, to sit with and accept your feelings, maybe even to share them. Because although it is a little scary, it feels good to share mine with you. Happy New Year.

‘TO TRULY BE A POWERFUL HUMAN, WE HAVE TO ACKNOWLEDGE OUR FRAILTIES’