Motherhood, Madness, God and Me

Tomorrow is a new day, Full of new promises, When you rush through the day, Tomorrow is always there to say, Don't worry tomorrow it can be done, Tomorrow we can try again. Tomorrow's exciting promise, Every morning when you wake. A bit more time to finish today. More time to play They say Don't leave till tomorrow, Why you can do today. Sometimes tomorrow seems the same. Tomorrow is so different from today. No joy before you settle down, Tomorrow you'll still feel like you'll drown. What if tomorrow never came? What if today was the end. Would you regret the things you put off? Would you ponder if that phonecall, That text, that knock on the door, Shouldn't have been tomorrow's chore? Would you beg for another tomorrow? Would you mourn your yesterday. Today someone needs you. That phone call can't wait. A chat, a cuddle, a hand to hold, Responding may mean more than gold. So don't put it off, don't delay. Someone...

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...

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...

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 ...

Would you walk by the tearful man on the bridge? Would you run past the girl crying at the train station? Would you drop a line to somebody sounding down on social media? Would you tell yourself when you saw their smile beaming from the newspaper after their death that there was nothing you could have done? Let me tell you. You could save a life. The Samaritans #smalltalksaveslives campaign highlights this. A small kindness, even an acknowledgement. A small effort, could give strength for one more day. A dog walker saw me. I had a rope round my neck but wasn't yet hanging. It was dark. I held my breath but his dog came to sniff me. He shone a torch towards me and called the dog away. He walked on by. I have asked for support for a client who wants to end her life to be told she doesn't mean it. Leaving me no choice but to leave her and wait anxiously to see the news the following day. I have been sent home alone in a taxi in the middle of the night after a suicide attemp...

How do you get better? How do you recover? Do you suddenly wake with hope? Do you feel differently? Do you just notice after it has happened? What is recovery? Is recovery real?  How long does recovery take? Is it even possible? How will I know what recovery looks like? Why does it take so long? So long I gave up hope. What do I need to do now? To end this nightmare forever. I don't know how much longer I can bear this. How can I continue? To face another day. It feels like this will never end. They say it happens slowly. That recovery is possible for me. Do they really know that? Can it really be true? Is recovery possible? Is there a flicker of hope? Or is it just a fairy tale that's not truth? Each day that passes by, Hope slips further away. I feel this is life forever. The tunnel light seems dimmer. No hope, no light, just darkness forever more. I cannot see past this. The pain overwhelms me. I'm deep in a pit of despair. Recovery is a ...

This is important... Check out @Rethink_’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/Rethink_/status/981969730243309569?s=09

I wasn't prepared to feel this way. I wasn't prepared to feel close to tears when my child came home from your care. I wasn't prepared to pretend to smile at his work and songs and joy whilst burying the physical ache in my chest. I wasn't expecting to feel this exhausted and this alone. I wasn't expecting that yet another professional questioning your judgements and decision making to make me feel more conflicted then ever. I wasn't expecting to still feel so heartbroken after all this time. To miss the you. To miss the hard work. To miss me. I wasn't expecting this to happen at all though. So I guess it shouldn't be a surprise. I don't know what happens now.

I saw a meme on Facebook today. It said "you need to love me a little louder today" Sometimes, when you hate yourself. When you cannot think of any nice thing about you. When you cannot find a single lovable thing about you. You need to be told. Of course, others love isn't going to fix your self esteem in the long term. Good therapy will eventually, slowly, restore faith in yourself, or give it for the first time. That is very important. Long term change and improvement will come from knowing yourself and being comfortable with who you are and that you have an intrinsic worth not based on other's opinion. However, this doesn't happen overnight. It takes months, years even. A little "loud" love might just be enough of a plaster to stop somebody bleeding out. To do this work, the person needs to be alive and have enough hope that love is possible. If someone breaks a leg, for a while they need driving around. It's not forever. Time, treatment in ...

Sometimes getting out of bed is so hard. Like really, really hard. The thought of facing people and pretending you are full of Easter joy when inside your heart is certainly not focused on the gift of the resurrection but instead on how much people hurt you. How continued rejection and lack of encouragement overwhelm you and you fall foul of your sinful heart again and again and again. Please pray for me. I don't need likes or replies, I need prayer. I need to stop hoping in people. Even Christians. I need to empty my heart of the illusion I should matter to anyone else. I need to be satisfied with the love of God only. I need an Easter miracle. Or to remember I've already had one. Please pray for me.

I won't name. I wish I could but I shouldn't. I visited my GP today. I was expecting the usual sympathetic and kind but fairly unproductive 10 minute appointment. My appointments always start the same. Dr: So, how are you? Me: Fine Dr: You are still stuck.       You poor, poor thing.       This is so bloody awful and unfair.                Should we try a week of this?       You are a worry.       I am going to get you help today. His manner is sweet and often desperate. He's a prisoner of bureaucracy. Of funding cuts. I never feel seeing him is a waste of my time, even if nothing new comes out of it. I do worry it is a waste of his and feel guilty every time he books a repeat appointment. He has chased second opinions, questioned diagnoses, supported my husband, stayed late. He's made me tea several times. ...

I know I am loved. I often can't see why. I know my children love me. I don't think they could quantify why though, I perhaps wonder if it's just that they have been trained to love me, it's expected that small children love their mothers. I know my husband loves me. I wonder if it's still the love for a wife, or it's that he is my best friend, or it's a dutiful love. He married me and now he's stuck here. There are others I know care. I know I have friends who care. Again I wonder if it's a duty thing again. It's been implied that church members love me sacrificially. They are required to love me. Although some obviously do that more than others. I have some wonderful professionals looking after me, as well as some who, well, are not so great.  Again, some you can see do care. They care how I have cared and had fondness for some of my clients. They care, but they are paid to. Today was a bit of an eye opener. I said that I didn't want t...

I am a should person. A should person is generally quite miserable. A should person is also loyal, honest, hard working and usually quite productive. A should person has a good sense of morals. They know how people should behave. They know the rules and they follow them. They set themselves rules and boundaries too and follow them meticulously. You know a job will be done well with a should person. A should person is their own biggest critic. They believe that they should and can manage anything. They do not do failure well. A should person will always be sorry for letting someone down. Should people are generally in demand because they feel they should help others. They are often very servant hearted. A should person also has rules she believes others should keep too. These can be rules that diminish someone else's responsibility. That others shouldn't be expected to do as much work, shouldn't be expected to manage alone, shouldn't be sad, shouldn't miss out....

I can't say the words out loud. I can usually type them, and if the right question is asked they tumble out of my mouth quickly once I've started. I can't just say "help me" or "I'm scared". Even when asked it is difficult to get started. The past few days I have been texting the samaritans. It's quicker than emailing but easier for me than phoning and also more private for me too. It takes around an hour for a reply, sometimes less. This is useful for me as my most helpful strategy is delaying action. The straight forward question threw me last night. Even by text I had not actually used the words. I had explained how I had planned. How pointless and hopeless I was feeling. A few hours in I received a simple reply. Do you want to end your life? Not "have you had thoughts of harming yourself?" or "do you have a plan to harm yourself?  I'm not sure that it was that plainly asked ever before. I struggled to answer. The ques...

So ....your GP informs you he has spoken to a lovely, sensible lady who wants to come up with a decent plan to support you. They will phone you to discuss. Midnight arrives and you hear a hammering at your door as 2 people turn up unannounced and don't listen to anything you say. They've read your notes and assume your children are on a child protection plan and that you are having group therapy. Neither are true and are judgements based on documentation that is disputed by other professionals. They do not seem to believe that nothing recently has triggered this and seem to think it's some whim and you've now changed your mind. There is nothing they can offer. Phone if you need to. They repeat the same over and over. Go into therapy with an open mind. Call us and we will help you. Followed by that  there is nothing they can do to help you. You tell them you have missed your opportunity for now. You are tired. You are fed up of being judged and belittled. You agree t...

I am so sick of being cast as the Bad guy around here. I'm trying so hard to fight against having the view that I am an awful person who is unworthy of love, recognition or kindness. It sucks when your automatic view is to blame yourself and convince yourself of responsibility for all the sadness in the world. Some people just can't help piling on more evidence that these beliefs are in fact true. I didn't always feel I was bad. I used to think I had to be good and I had to be kind and do what I was told, and put in 100% and never fail. I had high standards but although I felt I always could do more I felt that most the time I was almost there, that at least I tried to do the right thing and generally was a good intentioned person. I am very much the bad guy at the moment. My family expect me to carry things for them, if I can't, or I disagree, I am publicly berated on Facebook, or abusive or passive aggressive messages are sent to me. I am the bad guy in my friends...

I love call the midwife. It joins together call my loves babies, motherhood, nursing, faith and history. I love it. I've just caught up on last nights episode. A couple of series ago they dealt with a Ruth and Naomi relationship. An older and younger friend. Drawn together by situation (working together) but a deeper fondness occurring over time until you realise they are inseparable. They are true, if unlikely friends, Last week Phyllis offered to nurse a flu stricken Barbara to give Barbara's sweet husband a break. It wasn't flu. Barbara had meningitis and septicaemia. This week it looked like Barbara may pull through, although there was grief as she realised her lifelong dream of being a midwife, her career and vocation would be ripped away from her due to loosing feeling in her fingers. Yeah, a little close to home. My circulation in my fingers remains in tact but the scars left from the past year are almost certainly going to have an impact on the only career ...

Pretty much exactly 5 months after my last church attendance I returned today. Since my last time I had only seen 3 people from the congregation face to face. People who live in my town. Who I've seen at least twice a week for years, I'd seen so few of them. Children had grown. Newborn babies now starting to move. Barely bumps now earth side. There were a few new faces too. We decided to go today because we had been invited for Sunday lunch by a couple from church. The sweet, kind hearted, godly doctor who was on duty the weekend I was first taken to hospital. I didn't give myself a choice this morning. I'd set up an excuse not to go for lunch already. Our car was broken. It was true, it was, but I knew it would be fixed in time to go. So I got up and we went. I'd spoken with my counsellor about not feeling it was my home any longer. That I wasn't part of the fellowship anymore. That physically I didn't know where to sit. Our usual seats, middle,front, with ...

They say when the going gets tough you find out who your friends are. I accepted that. I knew that some people. Some friends, acquaintances, colleagues, family members would not be supportive. I had confidence though that some people would certainly stay put. No doubt. Even if I had a little wobble, I would be quickly reassured that they loved me and weren't going anywhere. Anyone who has read the blog will know that this didn't last. That people who I was certain would get me through, for whatever reason, didn't. Most days it hurts my heart. However there are others. Others who if I was asked a year ago wouldn't have crossed my mind as those to be holding me. My cousin. My totally mental, loud, foul mouthed cousin. We were so different growing up. You were cleverer but I was more conscientious. I was angelic, you were full of trouble! I was polite. You were cheeky. I through myself into study, you took a different path. We grew up together until our early teens w...