Lately, I have been feeling sad. I can’t say why – because there is no one reason. Just repeated disappointments that are a feature of living, in the same way repeatedly bashing my shins would be a feature of me attempting a hurdle race.

I admit I tend towards melancholy. I feel feelings deeply and sadness seeps in easily, sometimes undetected until it becomes a tricky thing to manage, like rising damp at the back of your cupboard.

Which is strange because I know myself to be a generally optimistic, joyful person. I throw myself into life, with a genuine love of laughing and sunshine and music and dancing. But sometimes I have to try really hard to do those things – and lately I’ve struggled to find the reserves.

Which made it feel like I wasn’t really functioning. I mean I was; I still fed the family and worked and made conversation with the coffee shop guy. But I also forgot appointments, stopped exercising and yelled a lot. And inside I felt a constant sense of gripping and slipping at the same time. Strangling the moment and falling through space all at once.

I was my own worst company. I started to think of nothing else, which is very boring for the person doing the thinking. Why am I sad? Do I deserve to be sad? And how can I stop feeling so heavy and defeated?

I have a labrador: lovely Daisy, whose sartorial choices extend only to walking around the house with our socks in her mouth.

JO STANLEY

I feel blessed that I have spent 25 years growing my mental-health practice because on my own – without meditation, journaling, therapy and reading great thinkers, and a commitment to just getting outside for a good walk – I may have fallen into a deep hole.

And then out on one of those walks, on a very grey, rainy day, I saw something that sparked a shift – or at least a curiosity, which sparked a shift, as curiosity often does. It was a labrador in a yellow raincoat. Adorable!

I have a labrador: lovely Daisy, whose sartorial choices extend only to walking around the house with our socks in her mouth. Until now – a dog yellow raincoat is on order as I write.

But you don’t have to know a lab to love a lab in a yellow raincoat. You only have to notice she’s there, give that random moment the pause it deserves and let it make you smile.

Which I did because I truly love that about life. When our day intersects with a stranger’s, and we’re gifted a split-second moment of joy or silliness or the happiness that comes from the simple practicalities of trying to keep your lab dry. Those moments when the universe gently says, “Even though you are sad, here to lift your spirits is a sweet dog enjoying the rain and looking fabulous while she’s at it.”

Cue my curiosity about how it is that we can feel two things at once. Because I did. I do. We all do. We all feel many things at once – because many things can be true at once. We can feel worried about paying the mortgage and also be grateful for how fortunate we are. We can feel dread at going to work but also have no desire to quit. We can want to see our friends but also hope they cancel so we can watch Nobody Wants This in bed. We contain multitudes.

As I followed my curiosity, I started building a habit of exploring my feelings beyond the big one in the foreground screaming for attention. If we can feel many things at once, why not focus for a moment on other sensations I’m experiencing? Love for my daughter, the simple joy of wearing new socks in a comfy trainer, lasagne (which is a feeling in its own right.)

I widened the frame on my inner camera and the lens now sees so much more. And in the process the sadness feels less significant, and I can detach from the emotion, reminding myself that all human experiences are impermanent. Even as I finish writing this column, I feel different from when I started it. So I know I’ll be OK – if not today, probably tomorrow.

I was a bit scared to share all this because I didn’t want people to be awkward or weird or constantly checking in. I’m spending summer in a T-shirt that says, “I’m totally fine. Let’s dance.”

But I figured if I’ve felt this way, then many others have, too. And if the function of fear is to protect us, then the function of sadness must be to connect us with others: for comfort, counsel or cake.

So I’ll be out there, in stormy weather, with my labrador in her yellow raincoat. Feel free to walk with me awhile.

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