Introducing How to date when, a new series from Beth McColl which, full of personal anecdotes and practical advice, is here to help readers navigate the jungle that is the modern dating scene.

As an anxious and depressed person who is also a lifelong romantic, I’ve had many notions over the years of how I believed I could best be loved. As a teenager approaching early adulthood, I imagined a love so intense that it matched my own turmoil. Maybe if someone would rather die than be without me, then I’d stop wanting to die all by myself. Could happen!

In my early twenties my desires changed. I wanted instead to date someone who knew all the answers and would therefore fix me by association. What followed was a string of frustrating relationships with self-styled guru types who told me to cast away my antidepressants and simply think myself better. Unsurprisingly, my optimism about these guys didn’t last long. They were quick to become frustrated by my low days or any sign of anxiety because they believed this was evidence that I wasn’t trying hard enough, that I wasn’t allowing positivity in, that I was choosing not to recover.

I went on to date all sorts of men with varying effects on my often rocky mental health. Some of these men attempted to be understanding and empathetic about the difficulties I had, and some genuinely managed it. Many didn’t even try, though. I dated men who romanticised and even encouraged my lowest moments, who thought of us as a beautifully doomed pairing. I dated men who saw me as a project, a thing to be optimised and experimented with. I dated men who vanished at the onset of a depressive episode and reappeared when I was feeling better.

It’s only now, aged 31, that I have any kind of real understanding of what I need in love as a person who experiences depression and anxiety and probably always will. A relationship cannot, as I once believed, erase my mental illness and all memory of it.

So here is my advice for anyone who is dating someone like me: someone who experiences depression and anxiety and mental health struggles, too. Someone who might take medication or might not. Someone who might have regular ‘rough patches’ or have bad days scattered around the month like terrible confetti.

“You should be one part of their support system, but never the entire thing”

Firstly, it’s important you have at least a basic working knowledge about their mental illness and mental health in general. You don’t need to know the DSM-5 inside out, but if you don’t already have someone close to you who speaks openly about their mental illness, you’d ideally have a few books, audiobooks or podcasts under your belt. Learn what can trigger it, how it can feel and how other sufferers best feel supported.

When dating someone who struggles, make it clear that you’re down to talk it through and learn all they want to tell you, but that there’s no rush. There’s nothing like a looming Difficult Conversation deadline to either make a person clam up tight or spill their guts way too soon. Just be ready to hear it when they’re ready to say it. And when they talk, just listen and believe. Thank them for trusting you and validate their feelings, but don’t worry about delivering sage wisdom or a promise greater than you can fulfil.

Though support may be welcome, tread carefully when bringing them solutions that haven’t been specifically requested. Hours looking at vitamin regimes, psychedelic microdosing and potential therapists might seem like time lovingly spent, but to someone who is likely already an expert in their own Brain Stuff, it can feel frustrating or even pushy to be presented with new suggestions. Instead, ask. Ask what they need and what might be helpful, how much input they’d be open to, and then do as much as you are able.

Remember, too, that you should be one part of their support system, but never the entire thing. It’s not romantic to be the only person your partner has to talk to or rely on. It’s isolating for them, it’s overwhelming for you, and doesn’t end well for anyone.

Above all, don’t neglect or deprioritise your own wellbeing or emotional safety. If it’s wearing on you or hurting you or causing you a distress greater than you can handle, then it’s time to reach out to your own circle for support.

No relationship can always be amazing, always be easy, always be bigger than bad days. You can’t fix someone, but you can reassure them that the worst moments will pass. You can bring them tea on bad mornings and make them laugh at every opportunity. When they are lying prone on the sofa you can sit beside them, take their socked feet into your lap and squeeze. You can remind them to take their medication or call the doctor back. You can read what they ask you to read about the way it feels for them. But you cannot, literally never and not for one second, save them entirely. Even if it was possible, it’s not your job. Your job is the job of any partner – to love them, like them and do what you can to make them happy. That’s it – and that’s plenty.