Motherhood, Madness, God and Me

Mindfulness is not new to me. When I was in 6th form and was suffering huge family upheaval (3 house moves in years, new baby, new step dad, new siblings, contact issues with birth father, mother with severe postnatal depression and step dad going (successfully) back to rehab) the school nurse was asked to help me with my anxiety levels. She talked me through what I later learned (10 years later) was a mindfulness body scan. I was reminded of this whenever I met an anxious mother and would talk them through this meditation. One day, whilst myself working as a school nurse I came across the nurse who taught me this technique. She didn't remember me, and was now working in mental health. A mother praised how I had helped her with relaxation techniques in a meeting we were both attending. I admitted after the meeting that it was this lady who had taught me when I was 17 and anxious. I revisited relaxation during my first pregnancy. Hideous hyperemesis     consumed me. My mood low a

Today I learned to knit. I knitted and knitted. I taught my children. They enjoyed it. It was something I asked my husband to teach them in one of my letters, because I promised my son I would help him knit a scarf. We went out this morning. We cuddled. I was left exhausted. My mind was more settled. The knitting, and achieving my promise helped. Then, at bedtime, the pain in my chest returned. Heavy, crushing. I try to fill my calender with plans, promises, to delay myself, to make me wait. Each thing I write I wonder if I will be around to make it. I am reading a lot of scripture. Trying to change my thoughts. I now have my photo of 8 year old me. I look at her and tell her the things she needs to know. She looks older than 8. She looks cheerful. Was I already hiding then? Was that before or after? Was I already good at masking? I can't remember. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard. I read today that God never tempts us more than we can deal with and will always send us a

It was said kindly and it's true. Nobody can make me feel differently, except me. It lays heavy on my heart and has done all afternoon. I can't do it. I have tried. I have tried 'health visitor-ing' myself. I repeat scriptures over and over. I say to myself and my inner child that I am loved, lovable, precious and good enough. I have prayed for strength. I have prayed for peace. I've waited. I've tried my hardest to leave my pain, my shame, my failings at the foot of the cross. I listen to other Christians who repeat over and over I must trust God. That this will be OK, no brilliant, in the end. I say it over and over. Yet my heart is heavy. Not metaphorically either. It feels like a stone crushing my chest, restricting my breathing sometimes. It hurts. I know that none of you can pick me up and make this go away, even if you wanted to. Listening to me, holding me, it helps. It doesn't fix it though. I can't change my attitude towards myself. I do

I know I will come in in an hour and say I am fine. You will either say that I'm not, write a prescription and send me away assuring me that I will be OK. One day. Or you may believe me if I'm convincing. Or maybe today you will finally give up and accept defeat. We both know that it's a dance we do every week, fortnight or month. I remain immensely grateful that you are kind and that you do fight for me. I can't find the words though. Not really. Sometimes if you ask the right questions you might get an insight. I don't know how to make the words come out. That I am totally out of control and can't stop myself and I'm terrified and terribly ashamed. I don't know how to say that it has been incredibly difficult this morning not to neck all my pills and take myself off somewhere to sleep. That Susanna and I have talked how I am able to step away and make a choice, that I did yesterday and have, so far, done this morning. This is why I am so very ash

In my meeting today, still looking for any positive, Susanna reassured me that I am still the good person I used to be. The good mother. We spoke about how I have everything I wanted. My dream of having children. How I loved them being babies. How I enjoyed them. How now I don't. I can't. We spoke about how I have written to my children. How I want them to remember me as a good, kind person and not who I am now. What I put in my letters, I said, was because I never want them to feel how I do. I spoke about how I try to "counsel" myself and say I am good enough, and good enough is fine, and my kids are fine and will grow up fine. I am sick and I can't do what I used to and that's OK. It's OK not to enjoy parenting. It's hard and kids are annoying at times. That's OK. But I don't believe it. It doesn't sound truth for me. Fake it till you make it. Parent yourself how you parented your babies. Say to yourself all those things you write

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. (James 2:14 to 17) We know that we are saved by grace alone but sometimes our prayers are not enough. Our works are how God shows His love through us as Christians. I'm drawn to the parable of the Good Samaritan. I cannot fathom how mature, educated and usually servant hearted Christians can excuse physically turning away from a suffering church member. I am truly trying to understand how this action can be seen as loving, biblical or even humane. Removing previous support and care in a time of great trial and need. It is not God I am questioning. It is that this decision is accepted by the el