In the quiet morning of East Sussex, Joe Marler surveys the kitchen he destroyed in a fit of despair 18 months ago. Marler, one of rugby's most charismatic figures, found himself engulfed by darkness in March 2019, just months before he played in the World Cup final under the influence of antidepressants. Even his wife, Daisy, was unaware of the depth of Marler's depression, which often left him in tears while driving to Harlequins training.
For two hours, Marler has been warm and engaging, whether mimicking my South African accent flawlessly or recounting hilarious stories from the rugby locker room. Now, as we delve deeper into his story, it becomes evident that his kitchen breakdown was the turning point that led to the psychiatric care that changed his life. Daisy, with their youngest child, Felix, on her hip, drifts in and out of the kitchen as we talk. The easy camaraderie between her and Marler underscores that a minor argument was not the cause of the kitchen's destruction 18 months ago. Daisy was upset that Marler didn't swerve to avoid a squirrel after dropping their children off at school.
The squirrel survived, but Marler recalls, "I snapped. We got home and I spiraled out of control. I overturned the kitchen, punched a door, then got in my truck and drove off. I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing. But it was a pivotal moment because I felt more ashamed than ever. I didn't recognize myself anymore. After 30 minutes, I returned because I couldn't abandon everything good in my life."
Marler tugs at his beard as he relives the distressing memory. "Daisy was crying, and I was worried she was scared," he recalls. "But we've talked about it since. She says, 'I was never scared of you. I was just upset, wondering who you were and what you were doing.' She had no idea, even during those times when she'd ask, 'Any chance you could be present when you're here?' I wasn't engaging because I was lost in a fog. I didn't feel I could tell her or anyone because I was in complete denial that anything was wrong with me. We didn't speak that night."
The next day, Marler had to play for Harlequins against Saracens. "My hand was in agony, so I texted the doctor. When he saw me, he asked, 'How did you do this?' I said, 'Oh, I dropped a weight on it in the garage.' There was silence, then he asked, 'Are Daisy and the kids all right?' I said, 'Yeah, why?' He replied, 'You didn't drop a weight on this.' I broke down and said, 'I don't know what's going on, mate. I feel awful. I'm a bad person.' He said, 'Let's sort your hand out. We can use a jab to get you through the game. Then let's get you some help. We'll keep it confidential and get someone independent who doesn't know you.' I managed to get through the game."
How did he play? "I was average, and after the game, I cried. The team sat in the changing room, unsure what to do. It goes back to that tough guy facade I'd built up. They were scared to approach me, but my closer mates—Danny Care, Mike Brown, Chris Robshaw—eventually asked, 'What's up, mate?' I said, 'I'm fine. I'm fine.'" Marler was far from fine. He felt worse than he had in 2016 when, after another game against Saracens, he walked off the pitch, through the car park, and into his truck still in his boots and sweat-soaked kit, crying all the way home.
Last year, he found the courage to talk to his wife. "I'd been worried about burdening Daisy because she has enough on her plate. Daisy said, 'As if it's a burden! That's what we're together for—to support each other.'" Humor is also essential in life. "Fucking hell, we'd be crying 24/7," Marler says dryly. "You'd get nothing done. Some friends said, 'You've written this book, put in some funny rugby anecdotes, and then you've mentioned depression. Isn't that the wrong tone?' But why can't you laugh about depression? Why can't you use laughter as a tool to cope?"
Initially, he was skeptical about seeing a psychiatrist. "Before meeting him, I thought I'd lie on a leopard-print bed with a German in glasses." Marler slips into a German accent, sounding vaguely French. "He was half-French, half-German," he quips. "But it was just a nice room, and the psychiatrist was named Humphrey. We sat in chairs and chatted. He said, 'You're suffering from severe depression, so we'll treat you accordingly.' I thought, 'Brilliant. We've got a plan.' Not knowing is the tough part."
He recommended antidepressants. "I said, 'Humphrey, I don't need that. I want to fight this with my brain.' He said, 'Joe, when you're ill, do you take antibiotics?' I said, 'Yeah.' So he said, 'Antibiotics help fight the infection, and then your body beats it. That's how you should look at antidepressants. They're there to help you while you learn these techniques and understand more.' He explained Escitalopram, the drug I was on, and said, 'It's a cleaner drug with a smaller chance of side effects.' I thought, 'OK, we'll see how it goes.' I really was fine."
Marler fondly recalls his World Cup experience in Japan and how the team decided to confront the New Zealand haka. Using a Cornish accent, he gently ribs the reserve hooker, Luke Cowan-Dickie, who was more concerned with his precise spot in the V formation than the World Cup semi-final itself. More seriously, he describes Eddie Jones as the most supportive coach he has known despite his abrasive reputation. He also captures Jones' blunt way of transforming England in 2016. "Eddie said, 'You are all fucking cowards, mate. You're too scared, too fucking nice. You're almost too English, afraid to offend anyone, including your teammates.' If you're not prepared to turn around in training and tell Jamie George, 'Mate, that throw wasn't good enough,' you'll never make progress. He shook the niceties out of us and showed us you can still be a tight-knit group and unbelievable friends but also have the ability to give and receive feedback that improves you and the team."
Marler still laments England's loss in the final, when their scrum was overpowered by the Springboks. In the warm-up, Marler felt the mood dip inexplicably. "But there have been many warm-ups for club and country that have been terrible, and we've gone on to play unbelievably. It's so hard to pinpoint, but we didn't lose the World Cup final because, as Clive Woodward mentioned, me and Dan Cole had a laugh in a press conference before it. He said it was the wrong tone. But we had that tone when we beat New Zealand. That was how we worked as a team and enjoyed ourselves."
Was the early loss of a concussed Kyle Sinckler from the England front row a factor? "Kyle was in great form, but Matt Proudfoot thinks differently." Proudfoot was the Springbok scrum coach whom Jones has now enticed to work for England. Marler slips into a South African accent again. "He was like, 'Honestly mate, it wouldn't have mattered if Sinckler stayed on. We had this plan with the Beast [the Springbok prop Tendai Mtawaria] against Sinckler. The look the Beast had in his eyes that day, no one could've stopped him.' I still resent and dislike Matt intensely." Marler laughs. "No, we get on really well. But I text him twice a week saying I'll never forgive you. I came on in the second half and was up against Vincent Koch as they brought on their bomb squad, their more disruptive scrummagers. At my first scrum, we shoved them backwards, and the referee penalized us. The damage was done because our scrum had conceded five penalties, and perception was everything. Our energy was sapped."
If I were just a fan, I would've been surprised that the scrum could have such an impact. For years, people have said to get rid of the scrum. But that's why rugby is so unique. You can win a World Cup on the back of having the best scrum in the world."
The 30-year-old, who has 66 Test caps, has his leg in a brace. "I've got an injury called Morel-Lavallée. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? But it's weird—a muscle floods the kneecap with fluid. Last Saturday, they drained it, shoved in loads of glue, and stitched it. I asked where they got the glue, and they said, 'It's not your local B&Q, mate.' They say it could take five weeks, but I'll be fit when I'm fit. I'm long enough in the tooth for Eddie to know what I can and can't do. If you need me, you need me. If you don't, you don't. I'm at peace with that."
Marler also seems serene about his mental health. "I came back from the World Cup and said, 'I'm fixed! Hallelujah!' So I stopped taking the tablets and nosedived straightaway. After two weeks of spinning out, hitting a low again, I saw Humphrey. I went back on the antidepressants and, lo and behold, started to improve. It's been helpful to accept you can still do your job on antidepressants."
Does he worry about slipping back into depression? "There's always that danger, but I'm far more equipped to deal with it. I'm far more educated from both a biological and emotional point of view. I'm no mental health expert, but I feel a lot better talking about it. Let's just talk about it more and, please, take the piss out of me more. That will help me move forward."
Marler is already moving forward as, in-between phoning a local garage to help replace my car's flat tyre, he describes reading his book for the audio version. "I did all the accents," he says before offering a detailed impression of each one. The kitchen rocks with laughter.
"It's a happy place again," Marler says, looking around the room he wrecked. "And you know, mate, I've enjoyed today because I like engaging with people. I like talking and I like laughing."
Source link: https://www.theguardian.com
