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      The book It’s All in Your Head by Suzanne O’Sullivan explores this in the most sensitive and empathetic way I’ve ever read.[14] O’Sullivan is a consultant neurologist, and treated many patients – some of whom were not actually physically ill.[15] She had patients who went blind, lost the use of their limbs, had seizures and who were convinced they had terrible illnesses that were going to be fatal. As O’Sullivan says, ‘In 2011, three GP practices in London identified 227 patients with the severest form of psychosomatic symptom disorder. These 227 constituted just 1 per cent of those practice populations – but estimates suggest up to 30 per cent of GP encounters every day are with patients who have a less severe form of the illness. If psychosomatic symptoms are so ubiquitous, why are we so ill equipped to deal with them?’

      O’Sullivan treated these patients as seriously as she did those with more tangible illnesses. But many people, upon being told that they had a psychosomatic illness, were affronted, dismayed, in denial, and unwilling to believe it. They felt as though they were being accused of faking a problem, which is not the case at all. Their problems were as real as those of other patients. But the root cause was different.

      I’ve felt like that, to a lesser extent. Affronted when GPs haven’t taken my low blood sugar seriously. Confused when migraines were put down to anxiety and not a brain tumour as I was convinced. My low energy was tested, and my insomnia discussed, but suggestions that I might be feeling things that weren’t ‘real’ was very upsetting. Why? Why would a mental-health issue feel less valid to many of us than a broken leg, say? Partly it’s the stigma, isn’t it? That a broken leg feels serious, totally genuine, more worthy of sympathy – a mental illness might be weak, or seen as our fault, or dismissed as attention-seeking.

      Well balls to that. We need to start being comfortable with mental illness being just as worthy of help and attention as anything else. But in order to do that, we need to understand how deeply our minds can affect our bodies. As I’ve said, the first time people have a panic attack, they often don’t know what on earth is going on and think they’re dying. This is a common example, but it’s far from the only time that anxiety will show itself physically, and it can be really terrifying.

      Aside from the host of ways anxiety has messed with my mind, it’s also done a number on my body. This is not a comprehensive list BY ANY MEANS, but here’s a list off the top of my head:

      • Made my eyelid droop and flicker (I thought it was a stroke).

      • Given me rashes, psoriasis and weird red blotches all over my body.

      • Made my hair thin.

      • Given me tension migraines that lasted for days.

      • Made me vomit.

      • Made my whole body shake so wildly I thought I was going to die.

      • Given me stabbing pains in my chest.

      • Made my back ache so much that moving was difficult.

      • Made me feel as though my limbs were detached from me (that one is weird).

      • Made my vision blurry.

      • Made me so tired I found it hard to move.

      • Made me lose my memory. Seriously – anxiety can mess with MEMORY.

      These things were all very real to me. Not made-up, not fake, not attention-seeking. That’s how strong the mind is. There’s a list floating around the internet that I stumbled upon a few years back called something like ‘100 anxiety symptoms’ and I ticked ALL of them off. It was such a relief to realise that these physical issues could be explained – and a relief to know that I wasn’t alone in dealing with them.

      I’m not suggesting that you chalk up all physical ailments to anxiety and never get medical help (norovirus is not all in your head). I am saying that we should all stop and think when we feel a niggle, a pain, a tingle and ask ourselves how our anxiety level is. That isn’t about minimising the physical discomfort or pain we’re in, it’s about taking our mental health seriously and connecting the dots. So here are two little exercises to help unite the mind and body a little more.

      Write down all the physical symptoms of anxiety that you’ve experienced, heard about or googled (you know you’ve googled symptoms, don’t lie to this journal). Can be big or small. I’ll start with a common one.

      OK, keep that list to hand, add to it when you experience a new symptom – get familiar with the way anxiety manifests itself in your body.

      Now make a note of a situation when you felt ill, ‘off’, wrong or rundown. Think about what was going on that day – were you worried about work? Were you having anxiety attacks a lot in that period? No need to be Sherlock Holmes – just jot down anything that comes to mind.

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