Last Christmas I unwrapped a small round penguin toy. In typical style it became the biggest joy of my Christmas gifts despite my mother later informing me he cost £3 and was picked up on a random trip to ASDA. Proof that you don’t need extravagance to bring joy.
I’m sure you’ll agree that this penguin has a particular look on his silly face. He looks equal parts annoyed and sad at a given moment. Anyway, the penguin sparked joy and started living on the sofa, where he has remained for 11 months now.
I named this penguin Tim because, coincidentally, a character called Tim has a toy penguin in the novel I’ve been working on. It’s probably a good time to point out that Tim, like me, is a grown-up. Or, at least, not young. Grown-up is debatable for both of us. So probably, you think, why on earth do either of you have such an attachment to a toy penguin?
Firstly, obviously, how dare you. Tim the penguin is real, thank you, and does not appreciate such accusations.
However, now that I’ve covered Tim’s ears, it brings joy and comfort. And in the case of Sad Penguin, Tim also gave me a way to talk about the crappier side of life.
Also, when I was singled out by a certain TERF ex-comedy writer and his minions, they made fun of Sad Penguin. So if it’s good enough to annoy the TERFS (though that was the one comment that stayed with me, so in the way of reclaiming the penguin too).
Firstly, being an adult with stuffed toys. I’ve always been a stuffed toy person, to the point I had a huge (and I mean huge) collection as a kid. They were just the thing I liked better than any other toys. I’m not a doll person (creepy); as much as my dad would have liked me to be a car or toy train person, I was not that either. I lack artistic skills and coordination, and willingness for outdoor sporty toys. So stuffed animals it was. I also have always been an animal person (yes, we’re all very much aware of the neurodiverse cliches here, thank you). So anything that resembled the real-life fluffy creatures I loved was a win.
This continued into adulthood. While some folks collect Star Wars Toys, Funkos, or Barbies as a grown-up, I’ve kept the cuddly toys. From my Winnie, the Pooh family to teddy bears from various countries to a slow and steadily growing penguin army. And I like them; they bring me joy. And you know what, in this dark, weird world, so what if I have Winnie the Pooh hanging out in my bedroom (wait, that sounded dodgy) or a penguin on the sofa… why is it considered a bad thing to find joy in something simple like that?
Anyway, back to Sad Penguin…he had an unfortunate encounter with a dog which meant he needed a wash, and afterward, the image of the much-miffed penguin drying out was hilarious.
So I took a picture of him and provided commentary. People seemed to really enjoy the penguin and his various existential crisis…so Sad Penguin Time was born.
In a weird chicken-egg situation, Sad Penguins feature in the novel, which gives Tim-penguin his name as a way for the characters to talk about a bad day. At this point, I’m not sure what came first, but a ‘Sad Penguin Day’ has become shorthand for a bad day or a bad mental health day. And thinking of sadness as a sad chunky penguin really helps. In that story, Peter (penguin) and Bertie (bear) also become ways for the characters to navigate the worst times in their lives with a little comfort…and really, what’s so bad about that? What’s so bad about having someone to talk to, even if it is a little toy penguin? We put too much kudos on growing up and growing out of things, but remember when a teddy bear was the best listener you had too? And the most comfort too. Why lose that if you don’t want to? Of course, I don’t believe my Sad Penguin or teddy bear is real. But you know what? Squishing one of them or laughing at its stupid little face has improved many a bad day this past year.
What helped, too, was talking about that without coming off as just whining about life. If you let the penguin say it, it allows you to say the things that no ok grown-ups can’t always. A Sad Penguin can be…sad without having to justify it. Or maybe say the things you couldn’t say as you.
In real practical terms, the Sad Penguin social media accounts became a space away from ‘normal’ socials to talk about when things were hard. I’ve not got a huge following on any platform by huge-huge standards. But on Twitter, there are over 8,000 people (I mean soon to be none if Elon gets his way) and a few hundred on Instagram. Both of which are spaces for my work stuff too. Meanwhile, Facebook is a place few of us wish to tread unless we want various distant relatives and old colleagues to see what we say…but Sad Penguin could say those things. Sad Penguin instead talks to a hundred-ish people, mostly ones I know. And while yes, I share it on my own accounts, if I don’t, it’s me the penguin, and a handful of friends. Carving out that quieter space also felt nice.
But what was most important really was being able to admit to being a sad penguin. Whether for big things or small. Or for no reason at all other than just being a sad penguin. Some days it was a space to vent, but others a space to encourage others or reassure them. Again as a human, it sounds extraordinarily wanky to tell people it’s ok to be sad, anxious or frustrated. But as a penguin, it sounds ok. Similarly, admitting you’re scared to travel, or at least extremely anxious, gets eye rolls about Millenials or similar. But a penguin? Well, a penguin can be anxious about travel.
But also, Penguin Tim gave me permission to be all these things- anxious about things that seem trivial, stressed about the little things, worried about the future, or just…sad for no reason. Letting the penguin feel all those things meant I could too.
We’re so often told we have no reason to be sad or anxious (even when looking at the world, we have many reasons). Or we feel like we aren’t allowed to complain. Or worse still, we’re told not to. I had a few instances last year of being told to stop whining, be more positive, it wasn’t that bad. I started to feel I wasn’t allowed to be sad. Finding myself more and more isolated, too, losing some friends. Felt like my constant chaos and ongoing sadness were bothering them, pushing away the ones I had…I stopped trying to talk about being sad.
This year has been tough, and there have been dark moments. Darker and tougher actually than me (or the penguin) have let on. The stuff inside our heads is complicated; it’s often difficult to navigate and harder still to share. Even getting a fraction of it out there with the penguin helps. It also gives me a language with friends- there are people I can say ‘sad penguin day’ to, and they know what I mean and gives me a chance to share some of that stuff. But even if it is just between the penguin and me, it helps.
Sad Penguin time, let me talk about it again. Even if it was only into the void. Slowly Sad Penguin Tim let me acknowledge those times I was feeling at my worst. But also the times when it wasn’t quite the worst, helping put it out there, before it got that far. Did it always work? no. But slowly, through talking to (and through) the penguin, I’ve felt able to talk about things as me again. Through thinking about being a sad penguin I’ve started allowing myself to really think about why I am a sad penguin in the bigger sense, and try and take some steps towards helping that. It’s not a fix, it’s not a substitute for therapy (or being able to afford therapy) or friends being there…but you can’t always have all those things at once. So if a Sad Penguin is what you’ve got…work with it.
Some days too it’s about acknowledging the sad penguin in all of us. Times are tough, and the world seems to enjoy pretending otherwise. Like everything is normal and we’re not reeling still from two years of weirdness, scariness and ongoing terrifying times. Some days it’s not even about all the big sad penguin things in our heads, just that collectively we’re all scared, sad penguins a little bit.
Or even it’s about acknowledging it’s ok to be meh, just be sad. And to say so. Without other people shouting how dare we because things are worse for others. Some days are just sad penguin days, and the next day will be better. A stupid-faced penguin reminds me of that too.
Of course, it’s equal parts silly and self-indulgent. But also? People have told me the penguin helps; if some have said that to me, I’ll keep the penguin talking. Because if it helps even one other person on a given day to know they aren’t alone in feeling like a Sad Penguin, then it’s worth a few sniggers. The penguin is tough; he can take it.
Sad Penguin time is about letting everyone know it’s ok to be a Sad Penguin sometimes. It’s about acknowledging, too, that sometimes we all have a Sad Penguin day, with or without a real reason. Sad Penguin Tim will continue to tell people it’s ok to hide in a blanket or want to have a penguin cry.
For me, too, Sad Penguin is there when I need a little penguin hug. He might not be ‘real’ but hey, neither are all the sad penguin thoughts in our heads, but they still affect us. Our lives too can be busy, and isolating in equal measure. So I’ll take a flipper hug from a silly, slightly affronted penguin in a scarf called Tim.
Sad Penguin wanted to add to this he says, ‘It’s ok to be a sad penguin sometimes, it’s ok if you need a teddy bear (as long as they don’t eat penguins). And if a sad penguin can help you find a human to talk to that’s good. Or if you can’t talk to a person and need to talk to a penguin…that’s ok too. Most importantly, you won’t always be a sad penguin.’
Who knows, you might even find a penguin romance…(this is Mark the penguin by the way…)
Tim the Sad penguin can be found on Twitter @sadpenguintime and Instagram @sadpenguintime