How low can you go?

Earlier today, a friend of mine sent me a text. He had noticed that today would have been the fifty second birthday of my beloved sister Sonia, who took her own life 13 years ago. 

“Hi Rich – RIP… and happy birthday, Sonia (with an I, not a J). I hope you’re OK.”

I was touched to receive the message because, for those who don’t know, when people asked Sonia her name, she would often point out it was spelt with an I, not a J. In fact, I had playfully spelt it wrong with a note shortly before she left this world. 

“Nice touch,” I replied, but then I added, “Truth? I’ve never felt so low as I do now.”

That’s how I felt as I texted, so it was honest, except that when I reflected, it wasn’t true. 

When my mother was taken from me and “went to heaven” at the hands of Peter Sutcliffe, I felt very low, and that was even before I knew how she had passed. Numerous times when my self-esteem was shot to pieces, when I couldn’t talk to anyone about my feelings, when I felt worthless, I felt very low.

When I joined the army, and it all went wrong, when what had happened to my mother caught up with me, and all the rest of my troop knew she hadn’t been killed in a “car accident”, I felt so low that I had a complete breakdown, which saw me discharged on medical grounds.

And the first night I spent in Armley prison (HMP Leeds)—an imposing enough sight from the outside—after I had been convicted of a drug offence, I felt so low that I wondered if I was ever going to find a way out of the hole I had dug myself into. 

In 1997, when I came out of prison, life seemed so hopeless that I entered into a suicide pact with Sonia. She was going through a rough time of her own, facing attempted murder charges for standing up against her violent and abusive boyfriend. Those charges were later dropped, but it was a horrendous time for her. 

I didn’t carry out my side of the bargain but sadly, Sonia did. That was the lowest day of my life. But I am still here, right? And I have had some amazing experiences since. We always bounce back from our low days, no matter how deep, dark, and hopeless, those holes seem to be.

Since then, my career has gone from strength to strength, and I have met the most wonderful people from around the world along the way. I have written another book, Just a Man, and helped thousands of people to believe in themselves and gain the confidence to speak publicly on stages, in the boardroom, and on social media. Having developed the resilience to get through countless challenges and what sometimes felt like a continuous bombardment of adversity, I researched and put together the iCan Be Resilient course to show others how to tap into their inner strength and how to reframe how they process events to enable them to bounce back time and again.

And yet, despite the hardships that I have been through, and the triumphs, this year—a dreadful year for many—brought me to my knees, albeit momentarily, to a point where I found myself saying, “I’ve never felt so low.” 

There are so many reasons for people to feel stressed at the moment—isolation, uncertainty about the future, loss of employment, loss of business, loss of livelihood, loss of loved ones, and loss of a way of life that seems so distant as to have belonged to a different life. In terms of personal hardships, I had got through the initial shock to the system—anyone involved in events-related work or other professions that required them to be in the physical presence of others saw their activities brought to a halt overnight—managed to stay active and positive during the worst of the national lockdown, and like many others, I innovated. 

As the lockdown eased, “Stay safe” transitioned to “Stay alert”, and gradually we were encouraged to “Eat out to help out” and keep Britain moving, I felt a sense of optimism. The boat had narrowly missed the iceberg, the hull was intact, and she was on her way to finding an even keel. Sure, the ship’s restaurant was a mess, with tables, chairs, plates, cutlery, and glasses strewn all over the place as though there had been a riot. The crew was facing a major clean-up operation. But everyone had come through, and given time, the cruise would go on, and this disaster would be another memory that we’d tell our grandchildren. Then what happened?

It wasn’t over. We were hitting a major storm, and there would be no partying for another six months. The rule of six and a stack of new restrictions meant I was back to square one, and that was how it was going to stay for half-a-year at least. I think that was a major blow, and I have to confess that it hit me hard. Since that announcement was made, I felt the wind had been kicked out of me, or in Titanic terms, I had been told it was going to sink.

Sonia meant the world to me. She was my soulmate, my best friend, and someone who made me feel I was where I belonged. We’d been through so much together. Maybe any other time but now, I would have been able to remember her birthday, remember the good times, and deal with the loss philosophically and perhaps imagine her watching over me with Mum by her side. I have often felt their presence spiritually, even though they have left this world physically. But with everything else that has been going on, and given the nature of how Sonia passed away, it was all too much. 

Once any of us get that sinking feeling, it is difficult to turn things around, particularly when the challenges we face are real. But we have to. What’s the alternative? Why get through so many other things only to lose it when it feels as though the last straw has broken the camel’s back? The biggest mistake I made, that we all make, that you might make, is to ever think that just because we have come out of one tough situation, that it’s all fine and dandy, and we will never endure a moment of hardship again. That’s delusion, and it’s a hiding to nothing. 

My life has shown me, as yours will have shown you, that life repeatedly demands more from us, and kicks us in the teeth, but shows us great rewards when we learn from experience and bounce back. And those rewards might not come today, tomorrow, or even next week. Life might decide it’s going to put us on our backsides another couple of times before we feel close to finding our feet, but when we accept that—when we accept the reality of this life, that it owes us nothing, and we are responsible for making things better—we find the stillness, the patience, the resilience, and the persistence to carry on.

And perhaps this is the lesson I have to learn from how I have felt today. Yes, I feel low, but I am sure others are going through a harder time than me. Other people have lost loved ones. Other people are struggling mentally, financially, and emotionally, with the current state of affairs. Isn’t that why I do what I do? For others? That’s my purpose, and it is that sense of purpose that has driven me forward through anything that life could throw at me, through thick and thin. I can’t speak to you in person right now, and I can’t set up an event where you can find your voice, express your truth, and share your experiences with others. But I hope this open, brutally honest account of Richard McCann’s struggle will show you that you are not alone, no matter what you are going through.

This Richard McCann, the one sat here today, has felt as low as he does now, and he has felt lower. I believe he just took a few moments to feel sorry for himself, and that’s fine. If you are not feeling great, you are entitled to acknowledge it. You can cry if you want to. But then you have to brush yourself down, reconnect with your purpose, and if you can’t follow that in the way you usually would, for whatever reason, find another vehicle. Take another route. I am a speaker and speaker coach, not a writer—despite being a Times Bestselling author, which I put down to the power of my story rather than my literary skills—but if writing’s the way for me to touch hearts, uplift spirits, and deliver impact today, then that’s what I will do.

Whatever you are going through today, stay strong, have faith, and keep going. We will all get through this. I promise you that, but I can’t promise there won’t be bumps along the way.

Happy birthday, Sonia. Thanks for showing me the way. x