A couple of weekends ago was my birthday and I was indulged by my husband with an overnight stay in a hotel room. The best bit about all of it was, I got to go alone! It was so good for my mental health to get that time away in the height of PMDD turmoil. To entertain myself, I switched on the 50” plasma TV and signed into BBC iPlayer (yes I have a TV license) to watch the much anticipated Rain Dogs.
You may or may not already know that I am a big Daisy May Cooper fan! I know This Countrywas what javelined her into the spotlight, however it was reading her autobiography Don’t Laugh, It’ll Only Encourage Her which really cemented my fandom. Swiftly followed by her exquisite script and performance in Am I Being Unreasonable?Co written and also starring actress Selin Hizli.
“Would you ever lie to me?” ~ Iris
“Yeah, course I would, I love ya” ~ Costello
Rain Dogs
Episode 1 sees Costello (Cooper) and Iris (Fleur Tashjian) fleeing their flat while bailiffs bang the door down. In the same episode they jump a black cab without paying in order to get Iris to school on time. It’s non stop action from the get go and the relationship played between mother and daughter is phenomenal.
Filmed across locations in Bristol, Somerset and London, Rain Dogs takes you on a journey of parenting, traumatic pasts and circumstance.
Costello is a troubled stripper, aspiring writer and recovering alcoholic. Iris is ten years old and fiercely defensive of her mother, but quite clearly also tired and embarrassed of Costello’s lifestyle. Quickly introduced to the show is Selby (played by Jack Farthing) is a posh, rich, and depicted as mentally unstable, family friend fresh out of prison. Together they make a remarkable trio.
The relationship between Costello and Selby is both toxic and fascinating. Both characters are swimming against a tide of childhood trauma, poor life choices and failing systems, but they are united in their adoration of Iris. Playing at being grownups and essentially doing their best at it, neither of them have support networks capable to offer them love and care so they try to heal each other. It’s obvious from the first scenes together that they have clung to each other in an attempt to fill emotional voids, with Iris flailing around between them.
While negative reviews are flooding IMDb harping on about how the show’s portrayal of parenting leaves a lot to be desired, I personally found the performance of motherhood, poverty, and mental health, to be stunningly relatable.
In later episodes you see Costello and Iris move to country with Selby. This in a desperate attempt to live as stable a life as possible for the sake of Iris. Some might argue with this but up until this point I found it quite unclear whether or not Selby is Iris’s father. What is glaringly obvious though, is both Costello and Selby each love her with ferocity and each have their own demons to admonish. Sadly, their effort at play-acting coparents turns sour extremely quickly.
Though the relationship between the two is unconventional at best and toxic at worst, it is also gut wrenchingly heart warming.
An eclectic group of characters join the cast on a wildly eye opening and at times laugh-out-loud funny, ride!
It’s perfectly normal to hate the people you love ~ Selby
Rain Dogs
I found Rain Dogs relatable and heartbreaking, funny and raw, honest and crass! Everything I love in a good book displayed on screen. I’m gutted this isn’t a novel adaptation to be honest as I’d be downloading the kindle edition to read quick smart.
The sensory disruption caused a visceral reaction in me and the tears fell. I tried to hide them from my daughter, my eldest, the one who sees all – but I knew she’d noticed.
TW⚠️ PMDD.
Cycle: day 17📆
Chemical Menopause: day 23💉
Mood: Hopeless. Ashamed. Overwhelmed.🥺🔄😭
I knew I was ‘on the turn’ I woke up from a nap last evening anxious and with a montage of intrusive thoughts running through my head.
I tried to shrug it off. I was exhausted from being awake the night before with stabbing pains in my right ovary. I did an ovulation test, mostly just to prove to myself, I know my body as well as I think I do. I am still ovulating. Logic told me, if I knew it was coming perhaps I could get on top of it?
No. This morning (18.03.23) might have gone differently if I’d had Shaun home, but he had to work and I was alone with both kids.
I told myself we needed to get outside. I called my mum to see if she wanted to come. She was busy but I told her not to worry about me. I was going to be fine.
I wasn’t fine.
I got both kids dressed ready to go out. On our way out of the door I realised I didn’t have my car keys, only to then notice the car wasn’t in the driveway. I’d forgotten that Shaun had it because his is in the garage.
No bother, we’d walk to the park. I got the kid’s coats and shoes on, put K in the buggy then opened the front door to a thundery downpour.
Tears pricked my eyes and I could tell C was upset we weren’t going to the park after all. I got K back out of the buggy, he started screaming. The sensory disruption caused a visceral reaction in me and the tears fell. I tried to hide them from my daughter, my eldest, the one who sees all – but I knew she’d noticed. I wanted to explain why I was crying, but doing so just made me cry more.
I don’t want to be this person, desperate to hold it together, but I am her. I’ve spent a lifetime acting impulsively. Acting on my emotions is normal for me. Just because I’m aware of it now, doesn’t make emotional regulation easier.
I needed help. I called Shaun to come home, but in doing that I felt an overwhelming sense of shame. Why can’t I cope? I was fine yesterday. Why am I such a useless mother? They deserve better than this. Why can’t I stop feeling like a crazy person? I should be able to control this by now.
Thus the shame cycle continues.
“Being told we can do anything we put our minds to, when in fact we feel utterly incapable when in crisis, perpetuates stigma”
I know it’s going to take time, not just to shut down my ovaries, but to learn new ways to channel the feelings I’m so used to acting on. Self awareness is crucial, but it isn’t a cure all solution. It doesn’t automatically give you a surefire way to break decades of habitual behaviours.
Asking for help, admitting that you don’t feel capable or able to function, parent, be rational, isn’t easy. In fact it can be an excruciatingly painful process and one of the reasons many people don’t reach out. Saying ‘I can’t’ is something we’ve been told for generations is just an excuse.
I remember as a kid hearing words like: ‘There’s no such thing as can’t’
‘You could if you wanted to’
Being told we can do anything we put our minds to, when in fact we feel utterly incapable when in crisis, perpetuates stigma. We’ve heard about toxic positivity right? I won’t dwell here, but I’m sure you get where I’m coming from when I say, I want to and I’m trying but somedays I really can’t…. Giving myself permission to admit this and trying to free myself from a cycle of shame is not instantaneous.
My solution, I’m realising, is an evolving journey of small changes, with setbacks, determination, and a whole lot of hope.
I believe in hope, because I know without it I probably wouldn’t be here.
I read an article this week written for Stylist. and it boiled my blood a little. I’m hormonal (cycle day 26) and so this may have been a slight overreaction on my part…. But let me explain.
The article which first caught my attention via a quote on instagram, was displayed with the words….
“So many times I’ve wanted to say, stop sending me unsolicited pictures of your children. I’m sick of being cancelled on at the last minute.”
@Stylistmagazine
Now we all know media pulls quotes for attention, writers – including myself – do too! The reason this got me going wasn’t because it’s written by someone who doesn’t have children and therefore they cannot comprehend the incessant need as a parent, to snap cute pictures of your kids during all stages, at all times… Instead, it was the ‘I’m sick of being cancelled at the last minute’ comment that got my knickers in a knot. This, because sure, it’s shit being cancelled on, but if the excuse is the kids, then someone whom doesn’t have children (especially small ones) can’t relate to the magnitude of their needs, and the ever present fear as a mother, that you might indeed need to cancel plans at the very last minute because your child has yet another temperature that’s just a modicum too high for your liking. A snotty nose that needs constant wiping, or God-forbid they randomly vomited up the dinner you cooked them just hours ago, before you dressed to go out.
Secondary to the above, I saw a tweet referencing parents which read….
‘Remote working = even more excuses for parents to claim ‘sick’ kids for their lack of productivity.’
Misogynistic Corporate Type – Twitter
I mean, WHAT THE ACTUAL?? Last I checked, we were about to enter 2023 but here I found myself trawling the dark ages of Twitter.
Not only does the tweet make little sense, given that remote working has proven parents in particular to have increased levels of productivity, it was written by a man whom also doesn’t have children.
The generalisation that all parents, though let’s be honest – we’re talking predominantly mothers here – use any excuse to a) bail on their friends at the last minute and 2) skive off work all day, is perhaps not surprising but alarming nonetheless. It suggests that we (mothers) are literally at the bottom of everybody’s reliability list. Which is ridiculous if you consider how committed the majority of us are when it comes to parenting our children.
What maybe bothered me the most, is the realisation that I used to be one of these presumptuous, and unashamedly judgemental, people. Eye rolling at every new upload of somebody’s kid eating their first broccoli. NGL I still eye-roll at this on occasion but in my defence, the eye-roll is inward and I’m far less frivolous with my judgement. To think I may have been somebody whom put parents in a specific and wrongly undervalued category, now makes me cringe!!
My best friend had birthed three children before I’d had any and I’m ashamed to admit that I used to be a person who assumed her absence from events was down to fabricated childhood illness. Now, as a mother of two and someone that has more health issues than Katie Hopkins has haters, I’ve had to make peace with becoming the unreliable and often-absent, friend.
However, I’d like to be clear, my excuses for bailing on my mates at the last minute, aren’t in fact excuses at all. They are instead justifiable reasons. As would be one of my child-free friends cancelling because their cat was on its’ last paws. If anything, rather than giving me an endless list of get-out-of-jail-free excuses, it was actually motherhood that opened my eyes to all possible eventualities. And it was both that and disability which provided me with the eye-opening, and painfully stark dose of reality, that life can and does change at the drop of the proverbial hat.
It would seem our unreliability as parents, through no fault of our own, has black-listed us to our own unique and increasingly lonely, club.
If your friends are sending you ‘unsolicited’ pics of their children, for fuck’s sake, have a conversation with them. I know myself, as a mother and a friend, I would hate for my pals to be in receipt of pictures from me which they felt strongly enough to complain about. Whether those pictures are of unfunny memes, plates of food I have no desire to recreate, or even cute (or not cute) kids doing boring shit. If my friend was constantly filling my WhatsApp feed with photos that left me feeling drained, or gave me the ick, I can assure you – I’d be ribbing her about it. Thankfully, I can say with confidence that the pictures I get from my mates are usually hilarious, cute or relevant. Even if they’re none of those things though, I can still appreciate the joy such a picture may have brought to the sender and go about my day without feeling personally affronted by it. Unless, for obvious reasons, it’s an unsolicited dick pic from a man… in which case… friend or no friend = B L O C K E D.
To my friends, the parents and the pet parents and the single, and the child-free, you’re good! Keep uploading those pics of your cute kids and your dinner to Instagram. I promise the ones I’m uninterested in I’ll just mind my business and scroll past. And whatever you do, don’t feel guilty for needing to rearrange your working day because one of your kids is sick. Being a working parent is stressful enough without adding in an extra dose of guilt. Your kids may not yet appreciate your sacrifice, but believe once they enter adulthood themselves they’ll be grateful for the days you changed sick bowls and soiled sheets instead of answering phone calls.
Yes you read that right – it’s not a recipe passed down via generations of familial cooks. It’s not a recipe for the perfect ‘loaf’ though I did try to implement my copywriting skills and include ‘loaf’ in the title, as you can see, it didn’t work!
So what do you add when you’re trying to drive yourself over the proverbial edge?
First, let’s add some flavour and really get this course of self destruction cooking on gas.
Starter – Fuck This Shit
To start I like to include a heavy dose of listening to the kids scream from the minute they wake. The youngest starts by demanding milk, the biggest already irritated before her eyes are fully open at the sound of his shrillness.
Forget whether or not your took your medication already.
Then to ensure full discord is achieved before 8am, add in a few shakes of them both refusing to get dressed or eat their breakfast. Not a morsel passes tightly pressed lips.
The starter is almost ready but don’t forget to find PE kit, £1 coin for Christmas jumper day, the Christmas jumper that was dirty last night – sniff test says it’s musty but passable.
Drive to the end of the street and realise you’ve forgotten lunch boxes or gloves – insert other casual but necessary items here (such as waterproofs coat) to season.
Go home and retrieve forgotten property and return it to school before you’ve even sipped a cup of tea. Remember to order your online shop to stir things up a bit.
Shopping makes you hungry so eat a handful of biscuits and fuck the diet right out the window.
Finally, to serve garnish with a text message from school telling you PE is tomorrow.
Main course – Straw, Camel and a Broken Back.
For the main course, start by going to the park. Then watch one hundred and fifty episodes of Paddington Bear.
Yawn for a full thirty minutes because you’re exhausted. Take some painkillers and fight like hell with your toddler to take a nap.
Continue fight until you can no longer tolerate the sound of their objections.
Stand on a musical toy on your way out of the room to really amp up the frustration.
Add a dash of washing, a sprinkle of life admin and a few sneezes. The latter is as a result of tries and tested germ passing between members of your household. A cough to the eyes, a sneeze to the face, etc etc.
Squeeze a juice of ‘I have only one hour to get four hours worth of work done’ and stir.
Add in your mum popping in with some bits for you and ever so slightly wincing at the state of your house.
Then add a cup of the baby getting woken up by the dog barking at the sound of your mum at the door.
Finally, to garnish, try for another hour to get the baby back to sleep. Take some painkillers, make another cup of tea you won’t get to drink and pay every single bill and fill out the calendar with forest school dates for the next term. Delicious!
Dessert – Brain Fog, Chronic Pain and Tears.
You’ve been looking forward to this all day. It’s your favourite dish. It’s super easy to make. You just hand both of your kids to your husband as he walks through the door at 5.30pm and enjoy.
Haha just kidding, first you must do homework with child number 1 whilst child number 2 screams in the background.
You’re in pain. You’re exhausted and your husband tuts around you wiping down surfaces and complaining the house is a mess.
Pour in a bath, for them, not you, and don’t even think about relaxing because you still haven’t tidied up the toys that are about to boil over and saturate the last of available space in your overcrowded two bedroom terrace.
Read three stories, complain about how much more exhausted you are than your husband. Ignore your messages whilst scrolling instagram.
Add a kiss goodnight and thirty-five cups of ‘Wake the fuck up’ before morning.
Chef’s tips – for full flavour!
Don’t ask for help, it’s unlikely you’ll get it even though at least five people have said ‘Let me know if you need anything’ they don’t mean it, they aren’t really listening.
Make sure you run out of your medicines on a Friday so you’re fucked for the weekend.
Book a babysitter and be grateful when you have to cancel that it’s because you’re sick and not one (or both) of the kids.
Work until at least ten o’clock every night because it’s the only time you’ll have to do anything without a screaming commentary.
Treat yourself to a takeaway and then wonder where all your money goes and why you haven’t lost your two year old baby weight.
More scrolling comparing yourself to people you’ve never met, online.
If you like things really spicy, let the washing pile up, eat another takeaway instead, and run yourself a bath. Or better still, go to bed when the kids go to bed and enjoy the extra thirty-five minutes of sleep you’ll get.
In all seriousness now – Obviously (I hope it’s obvious) the above text is meant in jest. Nobody should follow this recipe. If anything – please take this as a reminder to TAKE A BREAK. Motherhood is hard. Your children adore you. You’re doing great. 💕
Got a preschooler who loves to explore? A baby under six months that is fascinated by their surroundings but still limited with movement? A tornado crawler? A toddler? If you answered yes to any of the above BWBWBWwill surpass your play expectations. Situated in East Bristol’s Longwell Green suburb, occupying an old shop space with free parking, it’s a play hub like no other.
The hub is open plan so wherever you are you can see your little person playing safely
If like me you dread soft play and get jittery just thinking about joining a baby group Be Weird Be Wild Be Wonderful is the perfect alternative to both. Roomy, open plan interiors and infinite open ended play resources, even an indoor sandpit, the play hub offers an ideal space for your little ones to roam free and explore safely. Possibly what’s even more special about this place is that they offer proper coffee in childsafe cups! That’s right, you can crawl about with your little ones and get your caffeine hit whilst it’s still hot. Teas and coffees are served in flasks with closed lids, making it much harder for your little one to come into contact with any hot liquid, yet miles easier for you to be able to enjoy a hot beverage. The perfect place for a Mother’s meeting too, aka a catch up with your bestie, where you can chat away freely whilst your babies safely enjoy all the hub has to offer. And there’s a lot on offer. Areas of imaginative play include a dress up station full of vintage treasures. An outside space to enjoy the summer months. A corner den lit up with twinkling fairy lights with hanging shower loofahs posing as pom poms. Giant teddy bears and a monochrome section, sure to peak your child’s imagination whatever their age.
Kaiser is a huge fan of the metallics and spends ages with the sensory bottles
Down the middle of the hub is a huge tube ready and waiting to have wooden cars and balls launched down its innards, enticing laughter and repetitive delight from the little people.
In our favourite corner – the black and white area
The hub also sports a café so you can grab a cake with your coffee, or feed your little’n lunch so they’re nice and full in time for a nap on the way home.
The hub is designed for children aged under five, from tiny babies and beyond.
To access the play hub, booking is essential and can be done quickly and easily online via the website. Also on offer are classes including mother and baby fitness, and creative Little Pumpkins Play Time along with scheduled events for all of the family. The hub is run by early years specialists and all staff have the passion and knowledge required to bring out creativity, and inspire imagination in tiny brains. And if all of that isn’t enough to prompt a visit, they also have a range of items available to purchase from local small businesses. All products on offer -which include clothing, toys and child essentials- have been tried and tested by the hub’s staff.
Kaiser and I have recently purchased a membership which allows us to visit the hub for everyday play sessions as many times as we like, for just £18 a month. Usual pricing for everyday play is £4 per child and £2 per adult, so even if you only manage to go once a week, you’re still saving a tidy £6 a month with a membership.
‘When you say you’re going to do something it takes a really long time sometimes, and sometimes you just forget all together.’
My six year old said to me tonight as we thought up new ways for her to learn her spellings. I spent ages cutting up letters so she could arrange them correctly. The traditional practising aloud was becoming tiresome for her and I could see her frustration. ‘Mummy doesn’t ever mind you getting something wrong, it’s how we learn’ I said to her, face screwed up in confusion at why she’s so upset. I want to prod but not too hard. I want to ask her why her emotional reaction is so major to something so minor. My brain working overtime, wondering whether someone has ever made her feel inferior for making a mistake, hoping that someone has never been me.
‘We still haven’t done my homework, you said we’d do it last night’
I did say that, but last night I was in bed, a migraine attack had me so sick, I couldn’t see, mid-cycle bleeding, cramps, along with feelings of anxiety and guilt all throbbing at my temples. I’d discussed with her how we were going to do her homework, we’d talked it through and even thought of different mediums to use for a collage. Then, like she said, I forgot. I had to work today, her brother up every two hours in the night, I can’t remember the last time I managed to watch a tv show all the way through with my husband without being interrupted by ‘I need a drink’ or ‘Waaah waaah waaaah, cough, cough, cough’ from the baby. The car was in for MOT today. I forgot to check out my online food shop too, and when it didn’t arrive as I expected today at 12 noon, I had a few choice words for the Asda customer service lady. That was until, I realised my error, apologised profusely and cried into a cold cup of tea.
‘You said we were going to put my picture in a frame’
I have no idea which out of the twenty seven pictures she’s drawn this week she’s referring to. I’ve forgotten. I love her artwork, but they’re not always memorable and some of them are awfully samey. I still love them, but not enough to frame each and every one. My hormone addled brain cannot hold on to another memory of felt tip hearts and swirls, or colouring pencil sketches of trees and mermaids.
‘You said I could have a balloon at the food festival, but we didn’t get one’
She’s right, I did say that, not wanting to get it on arrival in case she let go and the six pound foil dolphin flew up into the sky, never to be seen again. I had meant to get it for her before we left, but it was busy, the throng of bodies distracting me, exacerbating the heat from the sun. All of us tired from being amongst so many people. Her brother on his fifth suncream application. A desperate bid to get us all to the car before he woke up and terrorised us with post danger nap screams, on the ride home. I forgot. I just forgot.
And you know what? I feel bad. Of course I do. Every time I forget and she remembers, I feel terrible. But she forgets too. She’s forgotten that mummy took her to Little pink café on Saturday and the food festival Sunday. She’s forgotten that I tuck her in every single night and make sure she has clean clothes and her spellings are done, her books read, her PE kit ready, clothes for forest school too. I make sure she has money for whatever mufty day is occurring this week. That breakfast club is booked, and nanny’s picking her up. I’m also pretty good at whipping up a costume or two for the seemingly constant dress up days and Easter bonnet parades. She forgets to brush her teeth but I remind her. I clean her eyeglasses every night before she goes to sleep, and when she’s finally spent, I creep into her room and make sure she’s tucked in. I stroke her hair back from her face and tell her again (because I’ve already told her 100 times that day) how much I love her. She doesn’t know the impact of a mother’s load. To her it’s promises broken and forgotten moments.
Sometimes I forget things, but I remember a lot too. I remember without fail to remind her just how adored she and her brother are. Every day, of every week, of every year and I’ll continue to do that until it embarrasses her in front of her first crush, I’ll do it when they’re thirty and maybe have their own children to love. I’ll never stop. Because every word I say and every promise I make, is true, and yes I might forget, but when I’m reminded, I try my best to follow through. And our best is all we’ve got, right!?
If you’re a mummy that sometimes forgets and feels bad. Know this, it’s not just you. You’re not doing it wrong, it’s just hard. And if you’re worrying about being a good mum, the chances are, you already are one.
MMHAW runs from 2nd-8th May 2022. It’s purpose is to raise awareness for mental illness and mood and anxiety disorders that occur during the perinatal space. The perinatal space is considered to be from pregnancy right up until your child is a year old, but in my personal experience this fluctuates for everyone. Last year during MMHAW, I was pregnant, and in a very dark place. I opted not to get involved in much awareness raising, though it was a decision that I found difficult, because spreading awareness of topics such as this, is so important to me. However, whilst these weeks/days/months are so important, they don’t come without triggers. So I want to let you know, if you’re in the perinatal space, just out of it, or five years postpartum, if spending too much time online is proving triggering for you right now, please take a break. Not feeling able to spread awareness is ok. Joining in for one day is ok. Wanting to get involved in the whole shebang is ok. Having good intentions and then changing your mind? Also ok.
Maternal mental health/illness is complex and the effects are different for everyone. We’re often warned of postnatal depression but maternal mental health is so much bigger than depression alone and definitely doesn’t just occur postnatally. I’ve had two babies and suffered with my mental health with both, throughout pregnancy and during the perinatal space. But the effects of each illness were very different. For example with my daughter I suffered low mood (depression) as more of a prominent symptom. I would want to be away from her a lot and I struggled with bonding and finding my identity as a mother. With my son, anxiety, OCD and the fear of ‘going mad’ was so severe that I ended up having a psychotic episode. I couldn’t be alone with my children for weeks after his birth. I felt as if something bad was going to happen whilst they were in my care.
Have you ever considered the language used in relation to maternal mental illness?
The reason I ask this, is because I have realised as a sufferer and survivor that we are still relatively behind in how we refer to maternal mental illness. Many people still only resonate with the term postnatal depression except we know that postnatal is just one period within the perinatal space. We know that depression is just one of the many perinatal mental illnesses that affect women during this time period.
Other types of maternal mental illness include
Maternal Anxiety
Maternal OCD
Peri and postpartum psychosis
Maternal suicide
Exacerbation of existing mental health conditions such as bipolar disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder
Development of menstrual disorders postnatally
Organisations such as PANDAS often now refer to mental illness that occurs during the perinatal space PMADS which stands for Perinatal Mood and Anxiety Disorders. Others refer to postnatal depression as PND or PPD and some like myself who suffered both depression and anxiety refer to it as PNDA. Perinatal depression and Anxiety. The terminology might not seem overly important, but what is important is the level of understanding and knowledge, that maternal mental illness is not just one symptom, it can often include all of the above at the same time.
I’ve just finished ten months of medical and therapeutic intervention since giving birth to my son in July 2021. I am also medicated for both anxiety and PMDD. Having my children crippled me physically, it shattered my mental health and any equilibrium in my life disappeared. I love my kids, that’s not in question. Though I found growing, birthing, and caring for both of them during the perinatal period, traumatic in the extreme.
What really saddens me when I look back now is that I cried out for help, particularly in my second pregnancy. From just seven weeks pregnant I asked for mental health support. I was told I wasn’t anxious or depressed enough at that time. There was no preventative intervention, nobody to guide me. Particularly as I carried my son during the height of the 2020 pandemic. By the time I was admitted to hospital on the verge of psychosis, the damage had been done. Not only did I need to recover from the trauma of a debilitating pregnancy, I had to do so whilst mentally very unwell and with two children to look after. I still believe that if I had been referred to the perinatal mental health service earlier in my pregnancy my experience would have been very different. You can read more about my experience during my second pregnancy here. Pregnant and chronically ill.
I haven’t shared Kaiser’s birth story, because still to this day, ten months on, after much therapy and support, I find it a harrowing and destabilising time to reflect on. I can talk about it in conversations but I struggle when recalling the details and writing it all down. It causes me pain. And whilst I’ve worked through a whole heap of trauma and accepted my illness, delving into and sharing the true extent of my thoughts is not something I’m completely comfortable with yet.
What I am willing to do is share a quote from the day he was born. A quote that I wrote in the notes on my phone during our first night with Kaiser.
I feel scared of my baby, scared of what the responsibility of being his mum means. I’m missing my other baby, I can’t cope with this one too. Am I a bad mum? I don’t want to be here, in this room with the yellow light and the sound of feet moving and trollies rolling outside of its door. I don’t want to go home either. I just don’t want to be HERE at all.
12.10am 02.07.21
There is a lot of work being done by charitable organisations such as PANDAS as well as The Perinatal Mental Health Partnership to find out what’s causing huge hold ups for people waiting for mental health care during the perinatal period. NHS England are also working on extending the time you can be supported when suffering perinatal mental illness. It’s currently until your child is a year old, however many women find symptoms of mental illness might occur later in the perinatal period and need further or ongoing support.
If you are struggling with your mental health at all please reach out to your GP or one of the organisations listed below. You’re not alone. If you feel like you’re not getting anywhere with your GP ask to see someone else. If you or someone you know is suicidal please visit your nearest A&E department or call your maternity unit immediately. Mental health care is for women during the perinatal period is as essential as physical healthcare.
Three months I’ve been writing these, and they are basically just a way for me to brain dump, to offload and overshare. However, when I look back to number one, I can also see personal growth. Those confessions I wrote in the first few chapters of COACIM were so much bigger than the ones I’m bringing to you now, and that’s because things have changed.
So what’s been happening? A lot actually. But before I get into it, I have to admit that having Shaun off over Easter for a week was undeniably helpful. This week, I am feeling done in. My joints hurt, I have brain fog, migraine symptoms and generally feel under par. It’s only two weeks since I last felt like this which is proper shit as it means this menstrual cycle, PMDD and Fibro symptoms are massively overlapping, and ergo exacerbated. The last week of the Easter hols was just me and the kids, and surviving that after a week away and all of us contracting norovirus, along with my normal and new symptoms, was pretty tough going.
You know what though, I’m proud of me. I’ve been relentless with this PMD Awareness month stuff, now having raised over £500. I’ve had so much support, mostly from strangers online as per, and those IRL proper mates that show up for you whatever shit you’re spouting about on the gram. I also participated in two instagram lives, one with IAPMD and one with The PMDD Collective; you can check them out below.
I’ve finally got childcare sorted for going back to work. Kaiser has had his settling in sessions, he did really well, especially as it’s at two different settings. We’ve been together for such a long while now that I imagined him to be clingier, turns out if you have snacks and give him lots of attention, he’s anyones’
I have a few things going on health wise. Mentally, I’m trying to prepare for being discharged from the perinatal service, and it’ll come as no surprise that one of my confessions is that, I’m terrified. I’m worried of how I will measure up without a team of people supporting me and fighting my corner. Physically I’m still waiting on test results for a second diabetes check, and appointments for my heart issues as well as physio.
I’m due to return to my job in less than a week, so I’ll have to adjust to life back on the 9-5 for those two days. I’ll confess that I’m not looking forward to it. To say that I am would be a lie. In all honesty, it’s nothing to do with work, they’ve been great and supportive. It’s all to do with me! The reality is I don’t know how I’m going to fair as an increasingly disabled person, and mother of two other persons, back in the working world. With our financial situation as it is at the moment though, there is no other viable option and this makes me very stressed indeed. I feel like I am only just coming through my recovery journey of perinatal mental illness and regaining my mobility, whilst still managing an ever increasing list of health problems, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think work was going to upset the equilibrium I’ve finally established in my everyday life.
I’ve realised since being involved with IAPMD this month how much I love my advocacy work and I’d really love to be able to keep giving back, writing and making a difference but again, I don’t know how achievable that will be once I’m back doing what I have to, to put food on the table. That said I still really want to expand my blog, upload the fiction I’ve been working on and share that with you all. I also have a new interactive feature coming soon!
Dear Steph is a new agony aunt style feature where I’ll be answering your questions about almost anything! Just for fun. My friend Amy keeps on telling me how wise I am, and during my collaborative work with House21 I was often told I should cameo on their Dear Donna feature! So I thought fuck it, and decided to go for it.
I hope you’ll send in your problems or confessions for me to comment on to divamumsteph@hotmail.com adding Dear Steph in the subject line. It can be 100% anonymous if you so wish. Serious and funny/questions/problems welcome.
There are a few restrictions, mainly because I need to protect myself and make sure I’m offering support to anyone who writes in. (Knowing my luck nobody will -LOL)
Important to note, I’m not a professional so if your topic includes any of the following please seek professional support.
Sexual assault
Illegal activity
Health issues that require a medical opinion or further investigation.
I will happily give my advice, personal opinions and share my experience on mental health and or chronic illness, but if you require specific medical advice please seek support from a qualified practitioner.
I want to hear your most embarrassing moments and comment on them (no judgement here) I want to hear about your relationships, struggles, motherhood woes and workplace dramas. Is your mother in law driving you up the wall? Have you fallen out with your best friend? Maybe your partner is giving you the ick? Or are your kids’ as feral as mine and you need some reassurance that it gets easier? Basically I’m trying to fulfil one of my younger selfs’ dreams of having my own agony aunt column in the back of That’s Life magazine. So do me a solid and send in your woes and faux! Dear Steph will start as soon as your emails come in, and I’ll respond to one a week, once a week, on a Thursday.
On 3rd April we hired Brett to take some photographs at our daughter’s sixth birthday party. During my time blogging I’ve met some great photographers and all of them offer a different and individual vision. We hadn’t used Brett before. We’d never hired a professional to photograph a kid’s party before either. It’s safe to say though, we were more than a little thrilled with the final pics.
Those of you that have been reading my blogs for a while will know, I don’t often review products or services. But I felt it important to write a full review of Brett’s services and tell you why I think you should hire him for your next event.
Brett arrived early, managing to capture some fantastic, intimate, family photos before the carnage of 30 six year olds ensued.
Brett’s presence was non invasive. You can imagine lots of kids don’t want to be lined up for a hundred photographs when they could be partying, and Brett made sure that wasn’t necessary, whilst still managing to capture some perfect shots.
He has a very arty flair when it comes to captures, and he managed to make the otherwise plain background of the hall fit perfectly into each photograph.
He listened to what we asked for and delivered.
His efficacy of getting the finished edit to us was stellar.
Banksy style capture
Brett is Wiltshire based but also covers surrounding areas, he is available for family shoots, weddings, landscapes and a variety of other photography services.
What I really liked about having Brett at our daughter’s party, was his patience. When you’re surrounded by children moving at speeds, for hours, it can be hard to capture the perfect shot, but that wasn’t an issue for Brett. He was dedicated to the cause and managed to capture our daughter, and us as a family, beautifully.
Action Shot Family
So why would you hire Salako Photography for your event? Well, if you’re after a patient, punctual and interested photographer, who listens to your ideas and is speedy with his edits. I can’t see any reason why you wouldn’t want to hire Brett. His prices are competitive, he really cares about your vision and will work with you to achieve it whilst adding his own artistic flair. We now have a whole album of our daughter’s special day that we’ll be able to cherish forever. Her first birthday as a big sister, and her first surrounded by friends post covid-19.
I highly recommend Brett, he’s not just a great photographer, but a genuine and friendly guy, too!
Apparently, according to the world of social media, the answer for some is yes. But I’m gonna call bullshit on this one and say it’s likely not the elf but the comparison to other mums that’s making you feel inadequate.
Let me explain…. As someone who uses Instagram to share family life, and who chooses to celebrate and share both successes and failures, I am very aware of how seeing things online can impact your mental health.
There are a whole host of topics that could or should be banned from social media. Topics that in my opinion elicit trauma, and if it was up to me I would choose not to read or see the things that trigger me.
Oh wait, for the most part is IS up to me.
I am able to mute, unfollow, ask not to see this again, in order to clean up my news feed.
Hence why I find it just a little bit unnecessary when someone has a rant about how Elf on the Shelf is making mothers (them) feel inadequate.
People who have tidy houses, are hugely successful and look like supermodels make me feel inadequate, but it would take me one hundred years, most likely bitter years, to successfully call out all of these people on their pretentiousness, but why would I want to?
Don’t get me wrong, as a disabled mother on a low income, I know what it’s like to be hard up. I’ve experienced trauma and I know what it’s like to struggle with your mental health. We all have triggers. All of us. But we also need to take stock and stop blaming others for triggering us.
The mum posting her child’s toy elf prancing around on a plastic dinosaur is not doing so to make you feel inadequate.
Realistically, she is probably doing it to make herself feel better, a silent high five to having remembered that Fergus-Frosty-Pants the elf needed to move his matchstick body, to another part of the house after her kids were tucked up in bed.
Similarly, the mum who takes pride in her home and posts pictures of it, is not doing so to make you feel inadequate. She’s sharing something she’s proud of.
I’m not a big fan of sharing hauls, or how many presents my kids get, mainly because I’ve always been brought up not to place too much value on material things, but you know what? If I could afford to do all the things with my kids that I’d like, if I could afford to shower them with gifts that fill rooms, I probably would. Of course we need to educate our children not to place value on how much they receive, I had a conversation just yesterday with my daughter about being grateful for all that she has as opposed to being sad about the things she doesn’t. It started when she sulked walking back from the shop because they didn’t have the Christmas tree biscuits we usually buy to decorate this time of year. We had a good chat about all the lovely things we’ve done and the crafts we’ve made in the run up to Christmas and that sulking about not being able to decorate some chewy gingerbread, kind of pales into insignificance if we compare. We talked about how there will inevitably always be things we want that we can’t have. Things others have that may make us jealous or resentful, but this is part of life. It’s literally something we all, even us as adults (clearly) will experience often. Comparison is the thief of joy and if we focus on what everyone else is doing and allow it to make us feel shit about ourselves, we lose sight of all the great things we have and if I’ve learned anything in the last year (and I like to think I’ve learned a whole lot) it’s that gratitude is not only a healthier way to eradicate the feelings of inadequacy that comes with comparison, it also helps us to feel better about what we have.
I see posts all the time saying ‘it’s ok if you don’t have XYZ this Christmas’ and of course it is, but I’m nonplussed as to when anybody suggested it wasn’t.
I myself am guilty of previously following trends, especially with the kids. Always wanting to make sure my daughter has a birthday party as great those of her peers. Don’t forget the photo ops, balloon arches and all that. However, I’ve learned that actually she’s happy if there is food and dancing, and she doesn’t really give a shit if she has 100 balloons positioned into a giant rainbow at five years old. I’ll add as well that all of these things are available in DIY and don’t cost the earth if you’re prepared to graft yourself.
We’re all human, trying our best, wanting the best for our kids, and it’s hard enough to avoid the never ending guilt that is placed on us as mothers, without turning on each other for moving around a felt elf, two weeks a year.
What a year. I can’t believe that just six months ago I felt as though my world had imploded without any real warning. I woke up one day and didn’t feel like me anymore. I was afraid for my sanity, for my mobility, for my family and our future. I couldn’t see past six hours without having a panic attack let alone six months. I led in my bed, day in day out for 7 months, unable to walk. As my son’s due date approached my mental health declined. I felt consumed by all consuming, claustrophobic, fear. Wracked with perinatal anxiety. I was broken. I guess that’s why they call it a breakdown. But here we are now, a family of four, surviving interminable routine and carnage, poor health and therapy, work and parenthood simultaneously. Loving each other through it all. It’s not been easy, it’s been hard getting here, ridiculously fucking hard in fact, but it has paid dividends to keep going.
I’ve got everything I need this Christmas. Genuinely. I feel so content with my family. When I say this I mean content as in they are enough, not content as in getting loads of sleep or life being perfect, unfortunately! Ha! I know how blessed I am, I’ve always known it, but I really feel it this year. After everything we’ve been through I have a desire to keep them close and let them know how much I love them. The only thing I want for the big day is more of that contentment (as well as good health & freedom for all, world peace too, but I’ll refrain from getting too ambitious.)
I am not the same old me I was last Christmas. Granted, I’m still a stressy, messy, bitch with a foul mouth who is always exhausted…. but I am also different. I’m softer round the edges. More vulnerable I guess, if that’s possible, but stronger too. I believe that what doesn’t kill us can leave us with a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms, and I by no means, have ditched all mine. I haven’t turned into a preacher or someone who promotes their new lifestyle as some big epiphany, desperate for people to follow. But I am interested in change, in finding fun and contentment in new places. That makes me further away from those unhealthy coping mechanisms than I once was and I’m proud of that. I suppose what I’m trying to say is, I’m more open to learning better ways to survive and enjoy the mundane in the everyday.
I’m less inclined to sweat the small stuff whilst simultaneously being more interested in the big stuff. My tolerance for a lot of things is greater, but less for small talk. I’ve always struggled with chatting aimlessly about the weather and the like, I’m too nosy, too inquisitive, I want to meet people and know them, not skirt around edges with hollow pleasantries. Similarly I’d rather be quizzed on my life than have it glossed over, skipped or ignored. I’m over hanging on to dead end relationships and chasing things that don’t bring me joy. Whether that be friendships that are more effort than fulfilment, or doing things I don’t enjoy anymore, for example forcing myself to be somewhere I don’t want to be. This year I have no desire for big boozy nights feigning Christmas cheer. I mean obviously the pandemic has some impact on those kinda outings, but I honestly think even without the plague, I’d still just want to be snuggled up close with my nearest and dearest.
Transitioning from one child to two has been a lot. I’m already anxious about how I’m going to cope with a baby that hates sleep whilst I’m trying to eat my turkey dinner. However, I’m ok with those kind of anxieties, they’re normal, they make me feel normal, whatever ‘normal’ is. The biggest change of all for us this year is of course the fact we have an extra person round the tree to love. And love him we do. ❤️🎄
Some people when they hear the words intrusive thoughts automatically assume that the person experiencing said thoughts is hearing voices. Some people think OCD, and others believe intrusive thoughts to be a sign that a person is bad, and will act on their thoughts.
So what are intrusive thoughts?
Intrusive thoughts are unwanted and or distressing thoughts that are often reoccurring. They are likely to leave the thinker very upset, distressed, disgusted, confused and ashamed.
It is thought that 1 in 5 women and mothers will suffer perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, and 57% of those will have experienced intrusive thoughts. Mental health professionals are not entirely sure why more women in the perinatal period experience intrusive thoughts, but it’s believed to be related to a variety of hormonal, environmental, and emotional factors. That said it’s a common symptom of PMADS. Typically, the thoughts that occur in the PP (perinatal period) are fears that surround our children, ‘What if I harm the baby?’ But the thoughts don’t always stop at physical harm and can be of any distressing nature, including sexual fears too.
To be clear before you read on, suffering from intrusive thoughts is NOT a reflection on a person’s character, desires or beliefs. The thoughts themselves go against all of our beliefs and natural instincts as mothers and do not align with our values, hence the very word for them being ‘intrusive.’ We don’t want these thoughts, we can’t bear them and it’s the very reason we are left feeling as though they are ruling and ruining our lives.
During pregnancy with my second child, I became overwhelmed with intrusive thoughts; some of them too abhorrent for me to share —though in some ways, I wish I felt I could share them all, then maybe they wouldn’t have consumed my brain! It got so bad that at just shy of 38 weeks I was hospitalised, under psychiatric care, my labour was induced and I was medicated for my mental health.
After my son was born and I was again assessed by a psychiatrist, she told me thoughts that are violent/harmful or as mentioned, occasionally sexual in nature, are the most common types of intrusive thoughts during the perinatal period. I asked her why this was, and she gave me a fantastic analogy.
You have this tiny human to care for. It’s your most important job, above any other. The thoughts that you are having are in direct conflict with your own anxieties about what could happen to your child. The thoughts are the very things you want less than anything in the world to happen.
But how do you know I’m not just a psychopath? I asked.
‘Because psychopaths don’t phone me up hysterical about upsetting thoughts, you pose absolutely no risk to your children. These thoughts are only hurting you.’
At this stage, I felt so out of my mind I didn’t know if I posed a risk to my children. I felt like I couldn’t think straight. But Dr M was adamant in her statistics in relation to harm caused by intrusive thoughts. Athough it didn’t ease the thoughts initially, it helped me to understand I wasn’t alone and other women and new mothers went through this too. She then went on to say (I feel like this is a big one…) the only person you pose a risk to, is yourself with your judgement about the thoughts.
I found that particular line about judgement really interesting because I realised quite quickly that it WAS the judgement that was keeping me in a cycle of constant fight or flight and inciting suicidal ideation. I felt as though my family would be better off without me.
I was overthinking every single thought and if I dared speak out about my thoughts, rather than feel better, I’d worry about other people’s judgement instead. That was until I met the most wonderful community psychiatric nurse. For the purpose of this blog I’m going to refer to him as Neo (He will appreciate the reference.) Neo has changed the way I think about intrusive thoughts, but more importantly, the way I feel toward opening up about them.
Maternal OCD is a mental illness that affects women in the perinatal period and includes intrusive and obsessive thoughts followed by compulsions completed in order to relieve some of the discomfort from the thought.
Ironically for me, my most intrusive thoughts were about convincing myself I had, or was going to develop severe mental illness (the irony isn’t lost on me.) I first believed I was developing psychosis, I was sure I would go on to hear voices telling me to kill or harm my children. This made me feel disassociated often. Despite not actually hearing voices I was convinced they were coming and I would be sat in my bedroom listening for them. I later googled intrusive thoughts which convinced me I was suffering from severe OCD, despite not having any compulsions. Another common thought for me, was passive suicidality, such as thinking I could just walk out in front of a lorry. Or consume all of the insulin in my possession. These thoughts would come to me during calm activities such as crafting or cooking tea.
When I discussed how I was feeling with Neo, he followed the protocol of having me fill out an OCD assessment, and we discovered that yes I was having obsessive and disturbing thoughts, but I didn’t have the compulsions in that were traditional in a person with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I’ve since learned not everybody with OCD experiences compulsions.
Looking back I can see the fear of speaking up about the intrusions was what held me back in my recovery and I would then worry that I was constantly reassurance seeking.
The truth was, there was an element to seeking reassurance, but for the most part I was doing what I needed to do, engaging in therapy and opening up in a safe space.
The mind plays tricks on all of us occasionally, and thoughts are the perfect segue into us believing we are not good people and therefore convincing us we’re unworthy of the love and compassion we so desperately NEED to give ourselves, particularly in the early stages postpartum when you wonder if you’re doing anything right.
Once I finally said aloud that one of my biggest fears was I didn’t want to be alone with my baby because I was terrified I would have a psychotic break and harm him whilst he slept. I was only then able to unpack the thought and see it with clarity for what it was, ‘just’ a thought.
If we all talked about our deepest darkest thoughts, we might be less bothered by them, but even today there is so much assumption and stigma attached to thoughts. People believe that if you think something you must feel it. With intrusive thoughts it’s the exact opposite.
The vulnerability of a woman who has just been through childbirth is like no other time in her life, the fear that we feel is immense. I personally (and wrongly) believed if I told the truth about my thoughts in the early stages postpartum, my children would have been taken away and I would have been sectioned.
You don’t have to open up about every thought in order to dismantle their hold on you though, you can put in to practise strategies and use them for all thoughts that cause you distress.
Neo recommended a book for me to read during my recovery and it’s called The Happiness Trap and is written by Australian doctor, Russ Harris.
In the pages of The Happiness Trap, Harris provides tools to defuse yourself from negative thoughts; and the book itself centres very much on acceptance. It took me a while to come round to the idea that I would ever accept distressing thoughts, but the idea is not to engage with them, just to accept them for what they are, random mental events and words.
If you’re suffering from intrusive thoughts in the perinatal period I would urge you to talk to your doctor. I know it’s hard, you may be feeling judged and terrified, but I promise you the road to recovery starts when you learn that you are not alone with in how you feel.
Organisations that can provide support during the perinatal period are:
I won’t say I’m cured, because that would be a lie, but I’m working towards how to better manage intrusive thoughts and not allow them to take over my life.
Included at the bottom of this page is a link to ‘Buy Me A Coffee’ (or book, in my case) please don’t be put off by this! Currently, Divamum makes no money, and whilst I love writing, in order to keep growing I have decided to accept donations. Just to clarify you are in no way obligated to make a donation and at no point will this become mandatory, it’s just there as an optional extra for anyone who would like to and all information is available via the link.
It’s funny how days are marked by our worst memories and our great ones, are often lost in mind with no clearly accessible date and time attached to them.
At 5am on the 11th October I woke up, eyes barely even open before I was thrust deep into a panic attack. My body wracked by the sensations, my mind reeling from the racing thoughts. To say I was devastated is an understatement, this is the first acute anxiety attack I’ve had in just under three weeks. Three weeks isn’t very long to most people, but it felt joyous to be able to think clearly for a while without the feeling of dread hanging over me. Without ruminating and catastrophizing. Without the pain in my teeth from my clenched jaw. Without the fatigue that hits you after yet another night of insomnia. Sleep when the baby sleeps… haha, if only.
What I’ve noticed though, in the fifty something days since I last updated my postpartum progress, is how hard I’ve tried to implement grounding techniques. How dedicated I have been to my recovery. I started a new contraception eight weeks ago to try and eliminate my periods, ergo reducing symptoms of PMDD. I’ve been on similar contraceptives in the past for the same reason. In this instance I have bled non stop for eight weeks. I am so run down I have ulcers in my mouth and reoccurring shingles pain, requiring more medication to combat. Around the same time I started the new contraception, I also switched my migraine medication for a slow release version and this has helped immensely with preventing attacks.
My son is now fifteen weeks old, he can hold a toy in his hand, chatter and laugh. but he rarely sleeps. His charming little face is one of the most beautiful I’ve seen, that is when it’s not screwed up like a tomato that’s past it’s safe to eat stage, wrinkly in places and as red as hell.
In the last one hundred and four days I have felt every emotion to ever exist. My days are now spent trying to wrestle a screaming baby into a car seat I’m unable to lift, and reading books about Biff and Chip with the big kid. I don’t get any opportunity to rest, which is hard when you have an illness that requires it. I’m mortified to admit some weeks it takes me three attempts before I manage a shower, and even then it’s hurried.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, I find it much easier to remember all of the hard bits, the downs, the panic and the tears and I’m very good at choosing to ignore the successes. Deeming them unworthy in their minutiae. Such as; getting the baby down for a nap on the first attempt. Watching his sister cuddle up to him or gently bounce him in his bouncer with her foot, whilst idly watching yet another episode of Bluey. The beauty in the pumpkin patch photoshoot we’d had recently, a windy autumn day surrounded by orange and forest green, the memory of the rain pelting down on our clothes afterwards, and rushing home to drink hot chocolate.
Watching my son grow, though hard, has not been wholly clouded by my poor health. It’s been beautiful in so many ways, and I’ve enjoyed very much time spent with him. I can feel my confidence as a mother returning somewhat. I have my first night out coming up and I’m anxious. When my daughter was a baby I couldn’t wait to get out, feeling more than ever that I needed to let off steam. Now the only steam I’m interested in, is the steam coming from a freshly boiled kettle and the piping hot tea that comes after the boil.
My pelvis hasn’t healed, I am still struggling with walking as with any physical activity. Unfortunately, it does seem this is likely to be yet another long term problem, but we knew that was a possibility.
I use the word progress to explain how far I’ve come and it’s the reason I’m utterly disappointed when I come up against relapses like that earlier panic attack. Im devastated when Im unable to rationalise my intrusive thoughts. Yet in spite of relapses, hard days, long nights and tragically cold cups of PG tips, I’m grateful. Grateful for the support I’ve received from an amazing perinatal mental health team, from my family, and from those few close friends who selflessly and with conviction, care enough to remind me I’m doing ok.
They say it takes a village to raise a child, and there are many people whom have contributed to my progress. Thank you. And here’s hoping for another 100 days of progress to follow.
Please look but do not touch…. Little me thanks you very much.
Late 2016 when my first born baby was not yet six months old, I had an altercation in Tesco with an older lady who, whilst my back was turned for a millisecond, approached my baby and started holding her hand. Pumping her little arm up and down, the lady in question was deeply offended when I asked her not to touch my baby.
Yes you read that right, she was offended.
She looked at me as though I had grown a second head, and shook her own in disbelief.
So why didn’t I want a stranger in the supermarket making hands at my vulnerable little girl? Well, in case it’s unclear the answer is in the question; babies are vulnerable. Our daughter was in NICU for ten days following her birth. She spent some of that time fighting to breathe on her own, this made her even more vulnerable than the average healthy baby, but the truth is ALL babies are vulnerable. Their immune systems are too immature to cope with exposure to certain viruses and germs. Germs that are passed onto them via other humans.
Fast forward 5 years and I’m having the same altercation, except this time, I’m sat having a meal with my family in a country pub. We are all engrossed in conversation, chewing mouthfuls in-between chatter, my son tucked up, snoozing in his carry cot next to the table. A snooze shade lazily thrown over the hood, covering part of his face, when along comes another lady, this time of unidentifiable age, she comes over and lifts the shade on his buggy. Instantly, I pull the pram back.
‘Oh what a beautiful baby’ she says, smiling as if approaching a stranger’s baby and rearranging their sleep space is completely normal.
I should note I’m early in my recovery from acute perinatal panic disorder and invasion of my personal space is indeed a trigger for me. However, that’s not the reason I snatched the buggy away and scowled at the strange woman infiltrating my child’s safe place. The reason, is because it’s unnecessary. It’s intrusive and honestly, I feel strongly about the fact it’s just inappropriate. This one looked at me as if I hadn’t just pulled my child away from her, and proceeded to ask me (whilst I’m in the middle of chewing a mouthful of calamari) ‘Is it, a boy or girl?’ At this point I asked her to step back, offering an explanation that since covid we preferred for strangers not to get too close. The truth is though, it has nothing to do with covid, well maybe a little, but definitely not entirely. The truth is, I don’t want to have to offer an explanation at all as to why I don’t want strangers touching my child. I don’t want the discomfort of having to worry I’m offending someone who’s all up in my kid’s grill. With the new guidelines that masks are no longer mandatory, this woman was freely breathing all over my child and I was trying to enjoy my quickly cooling food.
After realising my distaste for this kind of behaviour with our daughter, our son even has a tag on his pram – the words in bold white lettering
‘Please look, but do not touch, little me thanks you very much.’
Kaiser’s face when someone invades his personal space
I must say that I adore these tags, I love that they are a polite but clear message and usually they are enough of a deterrent, people have a little peek and move on, respecting the tag and it’s meaning. Unfortunately, it doesn’t deter the people that don’t bother to read them.
I love showing off my children, they are after all my biggest and proudest achievement. That said, maybe it’s because I’m not naturally drawn to other people’s kids myself that I find this particular act of feigning adoration and ogling, so…obtuse! I can honestly say I’ve never felt a need to sidle up to a pushchair and stick my face in to have a good gander at it’s occupant. Nor do I feel so inclined to question the parent on the baby’s gender, it amazes me that people still do this. There’s a lot more pressing things going on in the world I’m sure, but germ spreading, I think we can all agree, is a very real concern nowadays and a little more reservation and brushing up on your spatial awareness can go a long way with a baby’s parent.
Sure, comment how beautiful their baby is, everyone wants to hear that (though don’t interrupt their dinner to tell them) but be mindful that some of us are struggling mentally, some of us are struggling with our own physical health and at risk for infection, some of our babies are particularly vulnerable to germs, and all of us and our children, deserve courtesy and respect. If you wouldn’t go up to a beautiful adult and grab their hand (without asking) and tell them how cute they look, if you wouldn’t do this without feeling as if you’re imposing on their dinner, or invading their space – don’t assume it’s any different for their babies. Please.
My daughter was on her way to bed last night when out of nowhere panic hit me full force. My son, lying in the crook of my arm, suddenly started to spit milk out from the sides of his slow flow teat, and I realised, the hand that was holding his bottle was shaking. I felt hot, from the feet up, like a flush, my brain scrambling for grounding thoughts that just couldn’t make their way to the forefront of my mind. It’s coming I thought, knowingly.
My husband comes when I call, and holds me tight. Our son, bewildered at why he’s suddenly had his bottle snatched from his mouth, our daughter, obliviously cleaning her teeth in the bathroom above our heads. Breathe Shaun tells me. Why am I like this???? I sob, trying to catch my breath. You’re not like anything, Steph. It’s a panic attack and it will pass. He reassures me, never letting me go.
It’s been 54 days since I gave birth. Our son will be 8 weeks old on Thursday 26th August.
This isn’t a birth story, because my birth story is too long, the trauma that surrounds my pregnancy will not shrink into an Instagram caption or a rushed blog post. This is a progress report.
When my son Kaiser was born, and during the days preceding, I was in a constant state of panic. I would have moments of calm, but they were fleeting and hard to grab onto. I’ve plateaued at a panic attack approximately once a week now. I know that a large part of their occurrence is directly linked to hormone sensitivity, yet that gives me no control or reassurance regarding their assault on my life.
I’m currently under the care of the most amazing perinatal mental health team, they are some of the best medical professionals I have ever come across in my entire life and I’ve met a few. Sadly this support was massively lacking during my pregnancy – but that is a story I’ve semi already told and one that would take up the duration of the rest of this blog. The point, is that I have some amazing people in my life at the moment helping me heal from acute anxiety, intrusive thoughts and various states of panic. I genuinely don’t believe without their consistent support during the postpartum period, that I would have gotten these bastard attacks down to once a week on my own.
The trouble is, I’m still very much in a state of fight or flight. During the periods of calm, I am logical. In fact I am probably calmer than I’ve ever been in my life and generally laid back (a term probably not often used to describe me as a person) but I can’t stay there, because as quick as I’m calm, a storm cloud opens up the heavens on my head and I am ready to flee the country as though I’m being chased by a hungry tiger.
However, during those moments of calm I have reflected. I have corrected, and I have made changes to my mindset. Living with chronic illnesses as I do, migraine, fibromyalgia, PMDD etc it’s easy to become all consumed by pain and suffering. The shift in my mindset has been that I don’t want to be consumed by this suffering anymore. I know I am going to suffer, bad days, sometimes bad weeks and maybe even bad months, but I don’t want it to consume me. I want change.
My community nurse said to me this week you have to do different to feel different and so I’m doing different. Every day I’m fighting tiny fires of fear. For example, I’m frightened of being alone with my kids in case I have a panic attack, but I’m staying alone with them anyway, because I know if I avoid this fear it will only grow.
I was absolutely distraught about Shaun returning to work after paternity leave, but I knew if he delayed that process I would be as scared, if not more so, when he eventually did.
I’ve been avoiding books and television that might be triggering or that contain storylines of anyone with mental illness, but very slowly I’m reintroducing those things into my life.
I’ve been too afraid to walk or drive anywhere on my own because of how much pain I’m in. What if I get stuck with the kids? And then what if whilst I’m stuck, I panic?
I’ve been too scared to enjoy days out for fear of repercussions on my body, or to go places more than half an hour away from my house in case I panic and need to flee, but slowly I am doing both.
I’m making this sound easy, and yet it’s been the hardest most hellish experience ever, doing things I’m so desperate to avoid goes against the grain. But I’m using these examples to measure my progress, because it’s so easy to feel as though I’m making absolutely no progress at all when anxiety strikes.
I want change. I want my life back. And I have to do different to feel different. I have to be open to the idea there are positive outcomes in life, because if I don’t open myself up to this possibility, I will forever be living half a life.
Diva Mum 