Last week, watching footage of Kanye West on his recent US tour, my daughter and I had a bit of a verbal scrap after I remarked that he didn't seem mentally well. This was a proverbial red rag to my youngest: “He's not unwell, Mum. He's just being himself. That's why I like him. He just says what he thinks and feels, and doesn't care what folk think. Why is that so strange?...”

As it turned out, West was admitted into psychiatric care two days later, following a psychotic episode (reportedly as a result of sleep deprivation, dehydration and the anniversary of his mother’s death). He was discharged this week after a short hospital stay and is recovering at home, supported by his psychiatrist and his wife, Kim Kardashian.

What struck me about this episode were the unusually hallowed and meagre social media responses made by friends and family of West (in particular by the Kardashian crew). Their prevailing message was, “We are all praying for him.” It was as if he had some life-threatening, terminal illness that dare not speak its name. It was as if they felt embarrassed by him. More likely, I imagine, is that they felt helpless, out of their depth, and maybe a bit scared of the acutely strange shift in West’s mental state.

He seemed to be in a world of his own, fragmenting mentally and emotionally – literally above his audience on a floating stage – for all the world to witness. I feel for him. There is no lonelier place than the terrifying land of psychosis because it takes you to an interior that is uncharted, confusing and threatening. Thoughts become disordered, fantasy becomes reality, people and places lose their reassuring familiarity.

Worst of all, the ‘reality’ a person experiences during a psychotic episode is not the shared reality of the world around them. It is traumatic and deeply disturbing for sufferers and those close to them. Recovery can take time and requires specialist support and treatment to regain mental wellness.

Most of us probably won't ever experience a psychotic episode, but many of us will, at some time or another, feel mentally unwell. Feeling mentally unwell is not the same as being mentally ill, but they both lie on the same spectrum.

Going about our daily business, we take our state of mind and our mental health for granted. Like the sky above us and ground below, we make a basic assumption that how we think and how we cope with feelings (the two pillars of mental health) will conform to a familiar, predictable and manageable pattern.

We assume that we are in control of our own minds. It is only when we start to buckle under the pressure of stressful life events such as bereavement, divorce, loneliness or impossibly heavy workloads that we are forced to take stock. It's a bit like driving a car that is making strange, grinding noises but, rather than getting out to check under the bonnet or driving to a garage to find out what's going on, we just keep on trucking until the big end falls out and we're stopped dead in our tracks.

Better and smarter to form a working alliance with the idea that our mental health matters. That means taking time to gauge how we respond to and cope with life and what it throws at us. Ask yourself some pertinent questions about how resilient you are (do you bounce back from a sucker punch to your self-esteem before getting timed out?). And do your emotional scars heal well enough to allow you to get in the ring again with a sense of hopefulness (or do you retreat into the shadows to lick your wounds for evermore)?

When it comes to expressing feelings, how extensive is your repertoire? Are you able to feel a range of emotions such as joy, sadness and anger, or do you tend to repress feelings, preferring instead to inhabit a monotone world where you try not to feel very much at all? Giving yourself the permission to express and acknowledge what you're feeling is a key ingredient of mental wellness.

Self-belief is another benchmark of good mental health. Do you believe enough in yourself to set your mind on achieving something and trusting that you can fulfill your potential? (Or do you get to the starting line and give up before you start because you just don't believe that you are good enough)? And when it comes to your inner voice, is it self-soothing and affirming? Or is it a corrosive, hyper-critical narrative where you tell yourself that nothing you do is right, that you're stupid/fat/ugly/boring? If so, it’s time to ask yourself some difficult questions about how you conduct your relationship with your own self. It’s the most important relationship that you'll ever have.