Luka

Post Natal Anxiety: Time to Talk

I posted recently about finally stepping into the GP’s office and walking away with a label around my neck. Post Natal Depression. It hasn’t sat well. It’s off centre, like a pendant too heavy on a delicate chain. Swinging, useless, lopsided and ugly. The wrong label. A little bit off. I couldn’t really explain it, but my heart was saying no. And then I remembered that I’d been there before. In the early days after my son was born, and they told me I had PND and I argued, and they told me over and over again that I was wrong. Back then I stuck to my guns, and those around me who knew me best agreed. Not depression, something else. Something far too complicated to deal with maybe. And so this time, too, the label doesn’t quite fit, and I’m not the only one to believe it.

With my first Think Positive counselling session behind me, I am more assured and more confident that I have not lost all sight of myself. I don’t know why a professional opinion on the state of my mental health means more than my own, but it does. We’re in agreement: post natal depression doesn’t sit right because it’s not right. I’m not depressed. I’m not.

post natal anxiety 1Post Natal Anxiety is my label now, and its of no great surprise at all. And so I am learning to talk about the things that make me anxious, and the reasons why they do. The hope is that I learn to deal with them in a different way, and re-learn how to think positively and with a clearer, more rational response.

I am at the beginning.
I cannot see the end of this tunnel.

No light, not yet. (more…)

8 Comments

My Journey Has Only Just Begun

I didn't complain~ #birthtrauma :ghostwritermummy.co.uk

I’ve fallen down before, many times. And each time I’ve risen again. Maybe not quite dusted myself off, but risen none the less. Maybe on shaky legs and tentative toes, but risen none the less. Maybe slowly, but surely none the less. And as I sit here tonight, thinking over the way today has gone, I’m starting to realise that this has been here all along. It’s no surprise, not really. It’s been lurking for months, years even. It’s been waiting for me to notice it. It’s been peeping around door frames and hiding under beds, waiting. Holding its breath, biding it’s time. Waiting, just waiting, for me to accept its prescience. And now that I have? I must get up.

I must go on. I am a mother and I must go on.

But first, a rest if I may.

I was feeling so cross with myself! I was sure, so sure, that my journey was almost complete. I didn’t know it was only just beginning. That my decisions had been holding me aback, preventing me from travelling further. Instead, I’ve been going around and around and around in circles. Chasing my tail like a faithful dog, so determined to show the world how strong I am and how far I’ve come. In reality though, I’m no different from every other mum who sits with her head in her hands as she admits, at last, that she’s a little bit broken.

Post natal anxiety.

Depression.

Exhaustion.

All of those things are ME. Me, the mum who decided three weeks was long enough to take for maternity leave, before getting back to the business of proving how strong and how capable she is. Me, who refused to seek help, insisting instead that writing was her therapy and she’ll sort her own way out of it all thank you very much. Me, who truly truly believed that she was actually ok.

It seems two pregnancies in a short space of time following a traumatic birth actually is enough to tip you over. A stressful pregnancy is enough. Months and months and months of broken and disturbed sleep. A child with health issues. A busy house. All the stuff that comes with being mum.

I want to be me, too. But I don’t know who that is right now. All I know is that my journey really is only just beginning.

17 Comments

Wait

It’s 3am. The house is still, quiet, sleeping. The clock in the hallway downstairs ticks softly: one two, one two, one… two. Outside, a cat mewls softly and a bottle falls onto hard ground, tinkling faintly in the distance. Between us is a door. Solid, yet thin enough to hear his breathing. Rasping and uneven. Faltering. Fragile. Underneath me the carpet starts to sag and I shift my legs slightly, trying to conserve warmth but failing miserably. It’s hours until the heating will kick in and anyway, nobody else is up so why heat the house?

And I wait.

Wait_ Ghostwritermummy.co.ukHe’ll wake soon. And it will all begin again. And I’ll sob quietly into the darkness because I know that this night will be exactly like every other night. Except that this night might be the night that breaks me. Finally I will fall, shattered. A million tiny pieces of useless motherhood splintering onto the ground. Swept away with the rubbish. Gone. Forgotten? Probably. Hopefully. (more…)

14 Comments

Like a Girl

Recently I overheard an extremely harassed mother complain that her son was doing a particular task ‘like a girl’ and of course I had to see what he was doing so brilliantly. I mean, as we all know, girls are so amazing and wonderful that whatever he was doing was bound to be of such great talent, strength and skill that it surely warranted a nosey. Right? Wrong. The poor lad was trying unsuccessfully to work the costume dryer machine in the changing rooms after his swimming lesson. He wasn’t pressing down on the lid hard enough so it wasn’t kicking in. And this was making his mother furious. Not just because a queue was building up behind him and this was clearly upsetting him. Not just because she was in a rush, and hot and needed to get home to make dinner. Not just because a wet costume in a gym bag is really annoying and likely to make everything else wet too. Oh no. Because he was doing it ‘like a girl’. With no strength. No ability. No common sense. Like a girl?!

image

I have there girls, and crucially I also have a son who I would like to grow up with respect for girls. It starts at home. Whatever he can do, they can do too. However strong he is, they are equally so. Whatever chores they have, he has them too. In our house, ‘like a girl’ is in no way an insult. It’s praise. It’s observation of a job well done. It’s… something we never say. But if we did, it would be a compliment. So I have to wonder when exactly did it become such an insult? (more…)

21 Comments

1 2 3 4 11

Close
Please support the site
By clicking any of these buttons you help our site to get better
Social PopUP by SumoMe