When I look back, it’s ironic that a phone call about something wonderful showed me how much my life needed to change.
It was my agent on the other end of the line. ‘Great news,’ she announced. A major publisher was offering a generous five-figure sum for a history book I’d always wanted to write.
I could hear myself making all the right noises – ‘Great. Brilliant. Fantastic’ – but they were coming from some disembodied version of myself. Instead of reacting with joy, I felt nothing at all.
This didn’t make sense. I was a get-up-and-go career woman, with a lovely husband, nice home and two happy, healthy children.
The fact I couldn’t enjoy this major career win defied logic. All I could think was: ‘Tanith, what the hell is wrong with you?’
A major publisher was offering a generous five-figure sum for a history book I’d always wanted to write, but instead of feeling joy, I felt nothing at all
After that day, I started being aware of this strange disconnect more and more. I felt indifferent at parties and social events. When everyone around me looked like they were having fun, I had to put on a mask. My emotions — both happy and sad — were flatlining.
I never mentioned it, though. After all, what right did I have to moan when, every day, my social media and news feeds were filled with people dealing with mental health difficulties, tragedy, war and loss? Shouldn’t I just count my blessings and stop being such a miserable cow?
Despite telling myself to get a grip, the question still niggled. Until late one night, in bed, I went in search of an explanation.
With my oblivious husband, Anthony, asleep next to me, it seemed like the ultimate whinge to be Googling ‘Why aren’t I enjoying my life?’
In 0.63 seconds, the offer of 6,770,000,000 results flashed up on my screen. One of the first headlines that jumped out was: ‘Don’t enjoy anything any more? There’s a name for that.’
The piece was by a psychologist who called this state of existence ‘anhedonia’. So, there was a name for this state of ‘blah’.
From the Greek for ‘without pleasure’, anhedonia is defined as ‘losing the ability to get pleasure from things you used to enjoy’
Gripped, I kept reading. From the Greek for ‘without pleasure’, anhedonia is defined as ‘losing the ability to get pleasure from things you used to enjoy’.
Furthermore, I discovered that anhedonia is known to doctors and researchers as a symptom of depressive disorders.
But you don’t need to be depressed to experience it. You could be ticking along, getting on with life, appearing just fine to everyone else, with everything you need . . . except the mental bandwidth to enjoy it.
My immediate question was: ‘Why have I never heard this word before?’ After all, we hear so much about depression at one end of the mental-health spectrum and happiness at the other. Why is there nothing about the grey space in between, even though it’s where many of us live our lives?
Over the next year, while researching my book on ‘blah’, I interviewed some of the world’s leading neuroscientists.
As well as discovering how joy is made in the brain, I heard there are a surprising number of things in modern life that can interrupt our ability to experience joy.
Stress, burn-out, hormonal shifts (in both women and men), diet, difficult childhoods and illnesses that can trigger inflammation in the brain (like Covid and diabetes) can all stand in the way of joyful feelings being formed in the mesolimbic reward pathway — the primary reward circuit in the brain.
Stress, burn-out, hormonal shifts (in both women and men), diet, difficult childhoods and illnesses that can trigger inflammation in the brain
Midlife women, like me, are hit particularly hard by anhedonia. As I approached 50, I hadn’t realised the very tangible effects falling levels of the female sex hormone oestrogen were having on my enjoyment of life. In the past, I’d always prided myself on being confident and capable. Now, the smallest stressor — like motorway driving or a missed postal delivery — inexplicably made me anxious.
It became clear why when I discovered that oestrogen buffers the effect of the stress hormone cortisol. When levels drop off, as they do in menopause, we feel more vulnerable, making it harder to experience happy emotions.
Oestrogen is also key for the synthesis of feel-good brain chemicals like dopamine and serotonin. Declining levels impact, too, on the bonding hormone oxytocin, which contributes to pleasure. Usually production is triggered by touch, so it means the hugs and sexual intimacy you once enjoyed may no longer feel as good — and orgasms are often less intense.
So I decided to go on HRT to replace the oestrogen that I’d lost — and within weeks my anxiety levels subsided.
What I learned from my journey out of anhedonia is that no woman should ever feel so ground down by life that joy becomes a luxury
I also looked at my diet in a new way. Ninety-five per cent of serotonin is made in the gut, so I ate fewer processed and sugary foods that deplete the types of microbiota that live there and help produce serotonin, and instead ate a range of fibrous, plant-based foods to support them.
But if I was going to enjoy life again, I also needed to look at the bigger picture of my life.
Stress is the greatest enemy of joy there is: cortisol dampens the action of dopamine in our brain’s reward circuit, and hangs around in our bodies far longer. And while there was nothing dramatic, the reality of my lifestyle meant I was constantly under pressure.
Trying to keep up with relentless deadlines as a newspaper writer while raising two children, without family support, I had ‘leaned in’ so much, I’d ended up falling flat on my face.
In my numbed state, any time off had come to feel like the ultimate luxury. A trip to the GP seemed as indulgent as a trip to the spa.
But now I knew the reason for ‘blah’, and was thinking more clearly, I could address it.
I recognised that to have a more enjoyable life, I needed to ask my husband to join me in making some changes. I realised that setting out to have more fun together would be the ultimate investment in our relationship.
After seeing my brows furrowed for so long and getting used to me being almost permanently chained to a computer, he was delighted by my change of priorities.
Rather than submit to the always-on work culture, I started to make time for pleasures with my husband and my daughters, Lily, now 21, and Clio, 18, using my out-of-office reply to ring-fence my time.
Now I know that dopamine levels are raised by anticipation, each week we put an activity in our diaries that we can look forward to, whether it’s a walk or gallery visit.
After all, what example am I setting my children by never really enjoying my life?
By deliberately feeding my brain more positive experiences, the small changes I’ve made have started to add up. Now I limit social media only to accounts that delight or inform me positively. If I see something that I love, whether it’s a tree in blossom in a suburban garden or a cat sunbathing on a wall, then I stop and savour it.
As I’ve worked my way out of anhedonia, over the past 18 months or so I’ve once again experienced the world in colour, not a palette of muted greys.
The chills have returned when I hear my favourite music, and when I hear myself laughing — really laughing — it’s no longer a shock.
Of course, modern life will always have its challenges and stresses.
But what I learned from my journey out of anhedonia is that no woman should ever feel so ground down by life that joy becomes a luxury.
- Feeling ‘Blah’? Why Anhedonia Has Left You Joyless And How To Recapture Life’s Highs by Tanith Carey (£16.99, Welbeck).
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