Blacklisted for Having Kids.

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.

My Secret Recipe for the perfect Burnout.

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.

Bon Appetite!! 👩🏻‍🍳

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. 💕

Confessions Of A Chronically Ill Mum #21

Yesterday was a bit of a pity party – sometimes we’re allowed to have those. As long as you don’t outstay your welcome at the party, you know, make sure you leave before the sun comes up. It’s totally justified to indulge in self pity once in a while, when life feels too much and you’re overwhelmed, and everything’s going wrong or you’re unwell. The idea of being positive all the time really can feel quite toxic. I’ve been feeling lonely, as though my circle has shrunk to such a minutiae and I’m struggling to find anyone to reach out to that I haven’t bored to tears with my problems a million times already.

I love a bandwagon – Spirit Costume

In the space between my last update and now, so much has happened. Too much. I will never have the short hand speed or memory to recite it all. Today though, I ‘dusted myself off’ it’s been a week in the making, because for the last 5 days I have slobbed about half naked, nursing a sick baby and struggling to get on top of my own ailments.

I guess the most notable thing to happen and served to also be most terrifying, is my son’s recent contraction of Hand Foot and Mouth Disease. A ‘mild’ childhood illness that’s extremely contagious and turned out not to be very mild at all. Don’t get me wrong, he’s recovering well, but the symptoms were savage. He had a high fever for days, constant vomiting and was writhing in agony from the blistering rash that covered most of his body not just his hands, feet and mouth. It was awful to watch. It took us two days to be seen by a doctor and over a week for his symptoms to dissipate.

Secondly, and more life changing…. I handed in my notice at work. For years now I have been trying to hold down a job that requires me to be present during the core hours of 9-5. As a sick person who is also a parent, I have found this almost impossible. Since having Kaiser and the landslide both my mental and physical health took, it became really impossible. Because, not only am I shit out of luck with childcare, I’m always ill. Meaning, somedays I’m not able to function prior to 11am and other days it’s 8pm before my brain has travelled through and out the other side of its’ fog.

It wasn’t a decision I made lightly. I mean who in their right mind would quit their job during an economic crisis, right? But I really did feel I had no choice in the end. Despite my employer really trying to support me, my own sickness absence, on top of dependants leave to compensate nursery closures and childhood illnesses, remained high. Since starting HRT my memory has been awful, my mental health is fragile at best, and physically I still cannot sit or stand for any duration without being in real pain. I didn’t want to leave my job, but something had to give and I’m not well. I haven’t been well for years. I’ve pushed through until now, for the bare minimum and it has had a detrimental effect on my whole life.

Silly really, but I sat with my hand hovering over the keyboard for ages before taking the plunge to post this. There are so many parts of me that feel as though I’ve failed. As a wife, and as a mother. Some moments I think the guilt will swallow me whole. I’ve agonised over what people will think and indeed whether or not I’ll be able to feed my children without a stable income.

That said, I made this decision with the help of my family because we believe it is the right one for us. I’ve realised it’s not that I can’t work at all, it’s that I need to be able to work around my health and my parental responsibilities. Unfortunately life doesn’t offer many opportunities for disabled parents to be able to do that. However, I’ve recently put my heart and soul into the charity work I’ve been doing for PMDD and I plan to continue to do this, while also trying, once again, to make my writing work for me. So if you’re after some copy, a CV, or are interested in having me write an article for you, please get in touch!

Confessions Of A Chronically ill Mum #20

It’s 2am on Saturday morning, or Friday night- whatever….and I’m wide awake. I have been to sleep but I’m having awful trouble staying there. I had a significant psychological wobble earlier this evening.
After the hype around my debut newspaper article earlier in the week, followed by genuine relief at another good day in the bag for my son (who is really struggling with separation anxiety currently) at
the childminders. This wobble knocked me for six. It shouldn’t have really, because I’m at the end of my cycle, and I know what that means….

For those of you that know about my health already, I won’t need to say much – other than PMDD got it’s claws stuck into my psyche.

I’m a paranoid, angry (fuming actually – but don’t ask me why) tearful, mess of a woman, whom also told the car insurance telephone handler earlier in the day to get a new job because he had the intelligence of a
gnat. Who even am I?

I have felt physically terrified for no
reason. I wanted to lash out at other parents for breathing next to me at the harvest festival. The sound of my kids’ talking and playing made my skin hurt. Don’t even get me started on what Kaiser’s screaming is doing to my blood pressure. I have a mouth full of ulcers, limbs made of lead, period pain that feels like labour, and can’t stop itching – oh and eating!!! And all of that is ‘just’ menstrual – not to mention sitting or standing for more than 5 minutes at a time leaves me in agony, getting in and out of the car and lifting my son makes me want to cry. To add insult to injury, everything I do to relax fails, every book I attempt to read feels like
the words are sliding off the pages and flying the fuck away from me. I just can’t process life at all!

“Stop the waltzers! I prefer the certainty of a prize that comes with hook a duck”

There are so many points I want to make with this blog post. The main one is, these things, this trauma and constant carousel of feelings that come with chronic illness, don’t ever really go away. No matter how long you’ve lived with something, no matter how great the good days are, there’s a lingering trepidation of when the lights might go out again and how long it will take until, or even whether or not they’ll eventually come back on. Of course the evidence suggests they will [the lights] come back on, but it’s hard to believe when you’re run down and in pain.

It’s Saturday lunchtime now and I’m waiting patiently to be seen in rheumatology again. The combination of the constant diarising of appointments, childcare and HRT, is making me forgetful. I’m struggling to keep up with my physical therapy exercises, which I know is only going to exacerbate my pain in the long run, but that’s really the point I’m trying to make in response to all the ableist propaganda circulating at the moment – having a chronic illness is a full time job and when all of your time isn’t being taken up trying to feel better, you’re planning damage limitation for the next time you might feel shit. All of this of course on top of parenting, being a wife, friend, working part time in a regular job and so on. It’s not easy, it’s definitely not fun.

It’s Monday and Kaiser has had another awful day at the childminder’s house resulting in me in tears the same time as he was, with less than a mile in distance between. Shaun had to leave work to collect him in the end. It’s unfortunate that this coincides with the week I’d usually be on my period – which means the rage and anxiety and general feelings of overwhelm are taking hold. I’m again anticipating what the fuck I’m going to do if I have to seek alternative care for a baby that is already so anxious in the face of change. Or god forbid I have to leave my job to care for him full time when I’m barely surviving caring for myself.

Bedtime now and yet nobody sleeps. Shaun tiptoes around the house on his size tens and Ciara is up and down like a yo-yo with various complaints of insomnia. Kaiser will be awake in a minute, desperate for a cuddle.

I love being a mum but I struggle with it so much. Every month I wonder how I’ll survive and what the future looks like if and when I eventually lose my shit all together. Somehow we make it though, we adapt and make allowances and exceptions.

People say I don’t know how you do it and my reply is always I don’t have a choice. But that’s not the only suitable response: another appropriate one would be I don’t do it, we do it. Together! Because without them, there’d be no me. Forever grateful to be lucky enough to have created this wonderful family even with all of our flaws, challenges and trials combined.

Be Weird Be Wild Be Wonderful ~ Review

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 BWBWBW will 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.

Give the hub a follow on Instagram to stay up to date with all their latest goings on.

Confessions of a chronically ill mum #16

So much can change in a week. Such as estrogen dissolving as fast as an effervescent pill. Or progesterone over egging the pudding and ballsing up those chemical reactions, more catastrophically than Walter White on his first cook. I’m speaking in metaphors because I’m bored of saying the same thing about how I feel being attributed to hormones. My boredom doesn’t make it any less true though.

This week I’ve felt my patience being stretched and my rage reaction time quickening. My body has shown signs of a flare up in similarly dramatic fashion.

Aside from that though, there have been good things happening too, and as is the new and improved version of myself; I want to concentrate on those. Not because I’m feeling overly positive, but because I am trying to extract the positive from days when there feels like there hasn’t been any.

On Saturday I wrote a caption on Instagram that saw me confessing to finding parenting both of my children, whilst alone and with physical limitations, really fucking hard.

The reason for the post wasn’t even so much about the kids, but more in relation to how I feel about myself and my disabilities. I know they are there, I know how much they impact me, and you all know, because I write about it. However, in my everyday life I find myself playing down how bad things get sometimes, because I’m worried about what other people might think. Or even sometimes because I do go as far as gaslighting myself and telling myself that I’m the problem, rather than the fact that my being unwell, is the problem. I compare myself to other mothers, as many of us do, but I compare myself to healthier more able mothers, and that is not a fair comparison. Being kinder to myself and remembering that I have limitations is an important part of healing. Even if that healing must occur every luteal phase, every flare up in chronic pain, with every migraine attack, I must remember it’s not my fault.

After I posted the above to Insta I packed up a picnic for Ciara and I, leaving the boys at home and we went out to meet up with our friends. A girly afternoon in the woods was exactly what was needed to distract myself from overthinking, to calm down and get some reprieve from the noise and the chaos of being home alone with both children earlier that morning. It did wonders for my mood in lots of ways and was great bonding time for Ciara & I. We made a den in the woods and ate chocolate cakes and cold pizza slices from tinfoil. Ciara climbed trees and used her imagination whilst I got to sit and have a moan to a friend. It was therapy, and simultaneously a reminder that these are things I need when I’m not feeling great. When I’m overwhelmed and unable to fight through the mental and emotional fog of everyday life. I need to take a break, get outside, force myself out the door and just enjoy being away from my phone pinging a comparison inducing notification every 75 seconds.

That little outing also reminded me, it’s ok to not love every second of motherhood. Reiterating to me that my not loving every second of motherhood, has no bearing on my love of being a mother. Which is an insurmountable amount of love. I just needed the quiet time to be able to reflect on that.

Outdoorsy but make it chill
Unless you’re six, then make it fun.

This coming week I have a lot going on in general ‘life stuff’ terms, and I need to remind myself of the things that soothe me when my mental health, hormones, or physical ailments are drip feeding their steady dose of hell into my body.

Do you have a go to self soothe aid? During therapy last year, one of the first things the psychologist advised me to do was to create a self soothe kit. I plan to write about this in more detail in a new blog, but until then, do share your personal self soothe favourites – but keep it clean! 😜

Confessions of a chronically ill mum #14

It’s Tuesday and yesterday wasn’t a great day. I’ve been doing lots lately, socialising and catching up with friends, rearranging things that were supposed to happen around my birthday in April, but couldn’t go ahead because of sickness. Along with my mum’s sixtieth earlier this month. I’ve been out and about a lot. What should be, and is, a treat to most of us, costs me a lot physically and emotionally. That became paramount yesterday when I suffered my first panic attack in months upon waking. My thoughts were whizzing through my brain so fast I was getting snippets of memories that I couldn’t latch on to and feeling like I had zoned out. I told Shaun I was too afraid to be home with the kids on my own and that he would need to stay home too. After a short while that felt like a looooong while, I regained some composure. I acknowledged what I was feeling and thought about all of the discussions I’d had previously with the mental health team about how to rationalise my thoughts. I used distraction techniques learned in DBT too.

After that short while, I felt well enough to engage with the children and told Shaun I would be ok and for him to go to work. Then I did what I always do when I’m feeling anxious, I checked my period tracker. Now, the period tracker is doing half a job at the moment, because I’m no longer having a period in the blood shedding sense, but I am very much still suffering cyclically with PMDD. I’ve had random bleeds recently that have upset the original equilibrium of follicular and luteal. To be honest I dunno whether I’m coming or going! I blame the hormones.

But, and it’s a relevant but, I also did something brave. I reached out to The Pmdd Collective. The collective is a group of health and well-being practitioners that are PMDD informed and provide both psychotherapy and peer support to the PMDD community. Please do check out their website and Instagram page to stay up to date with all the amazing work they are doing, including offering reduced priced therapy sessions, PMDD focused poetry groups and much more.

After writing a message to Emily, a founding member of the collective via instagram, I realised in fact, the panic attack probably didn’t come out of nowhere. My discharge from the mental health team has been a heavy weight, mainly because of not being able to get any support whatsoever from my GP, despite my complaints and self advocacy. So I have felt a little lost and out on a limb. My hormones, of course are there, fluctuating and torturing me whilst they’re at it. My kids, are exhausting, and my body cannot often keep up with the physical demands required, to chase around a prewalker hellbent on making himself a Jason Statham stunt double. My pelvis has been agony lately, making even sitting excruciatingly painful and that’s more of an issue now that I’m back to work. It’s been a minute, and settling back in to routine whilst managing symptoms 24/7 and children and life, hasn’t been easy. Despite my employers being really supportive and attempting to make the transition smooth for me. My social life has turned up a notch and I’ve had to suffer the pain and fatigue, migraine and mouth ulcer, repercussions of having a social life as chronically hormonal and chronically sick person.

Lastly, the most notable reason for my panic yesterday was, I had a hospital appointment at 10am. A heart scan that will determine the function of my heart and either diagnose or debunk the original theory that I may have heart disease.

So I guess you could say, maybe it’s not that surprising or out of nowhere to have suffered a panic attack yesterday morning.

As always with these musings though, I like to try and think about the positives. I believe this counts as my confession, because I’m finally confessing to the belief that positivity can and does exist alongside all of the other shit! Here’s a little list of yesterdays positives for clarification.

  • I got through the panic attack. Without taking medication. I used skills I’ve learned and listened to voices I’ve heard before (in my head) teach me how to sit with these feelings for a while.
  • I got another perspective from Emily. It wasn’t about reassurance seeking, but rather a different viewpoint.
  • Writing it down, helped.
  • I danced (upper body only obvs) with the kids in the kitchen to The Specials, as a distraction technique and to boost endorphins.
  • I went into my hospital appointment strong. I have no control over the results so much like the breast clinic appointments I was having recently, I reminded myself not to panic about things that are out of my control.
  • I didn’t go crazy because of a panic attack.
  • My wise mind kicked in and I was able to calm myself down, something I haven’t been able to do on my own in 11 months.
  • The kids are both, alive, happy and loved. I’m doing a good job.

I know I’ve crammed a lot in, and much of it sounds negative, but it’s not all bad. I’m really grateful that I’ve been able to see my friends again more often recently, it’s been a wholesome experience. I just need to pace the social aspects of my life better. I’m grateful that I still have friends that want to spend time with me and invite me places. I’m grateful to have been able to go for walks with my mum and the kids, and I’m grateful to have spent some time as a family with Shaun and the kids. I’m also grateful to be shipping them (the kids) off to their other Nanny’s house on Thursday for the night because, Jesus, looking after Kaiser is like raising an unruly hyena cub, or at least what I imagine that to be like.

Life isn’t bad. Rough somedays, yes. But not bad. Ciara and I have talked a lot recently about extracting the good from the days. We’ve spent some time working through emotions and of course I have a husband who has his shit together and shares the load. Here’s where I say, probably not often enough, that I am grateful for him, too.

My Family

Dear Steph – I’m unhappily married and feel trapped.

I am in my 40’s and have been married for a long time and have 2 kids with a man that I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love with. I was treated badly in previous relationships and my self esteem and mental health had hit rock bottom when I met my husband. He was the first person in a long time who openly adored me and didn’t hide me away like a dirty little secret. I didn’t particularly reciprocate his feelings but it felt nice to have someone who I knew would be loyal to me. It was comfortable and easy…but never passionate or electric. We ended up getting married and having kids and my husband has become more and more lazy over the years and I am at my wits end with him. I have to pay for everything and he never wants to do anything with us as a family. If he does come out with us, he just moans and makes the experience un-enjoyable. His temper is awful and he often shouts at the kids and calls them stupid or idiots. He is very rough with them too which is upsetting. I cook, I clean, I take care of the kids and I pay for absolutely everything whilst he sits on his ass doing nothing. He also gaslights me and makes me feel like I’m a bad Mum.
It’s safe to say, I’m not in love with him and I feel extremely trapped. It’s not as easy as just leaving as we have debt and the kids love him to death despite his temper.
We haven’t had sex for over 6 years and if he touches me I get the ick really bad!
Despite all of this, I feel dreadful and guilty for even thinking of leaving.
I don’t feel in a very good place at the moment if I’m honest, which just makes me really alone and sad and even more suffocated within my marriage.

Please help Steph! – Anon Somerset Uk

Dear Anon,

Your situation sounds really hard. I can relate to a lot of what you mentioned about past relationships and feelings of low self esteem. In my experience, it is all too easy when feeling this way, to get entangled in relationships that offer us even snippets of what we have previously been missing. It seems a shame to me that it went as far with this man as getting married and having kids, but you can’t turn back time. And you’re definitely not alone. I know people in ‘real life’ who too, have married for convenience or particularly comfort, especially as we get older and crave the quieter life. The issues are many for you, but the main one I’ve noted is this marriage is no longer making you feel comfortable, nor is it convenient. You mentioned that you pay for everything and I wonder in reality if you might actually SAVE money from not being with your husband. However, I do understand that it’s not as simple as that, when houses, children and debt are involved. I wonder have you ever had this conversation with your husband directly? Does he know you don’t hold any feelings for him anymore? It doesn’t sound as though he’s doing much to change that in any case. Maybe he too is feeling unhappy or unwanted and that’s fuelling his laziness and shitty behaviour. The trouble is though, if you’re not interested in igniting the fire (reigniting seems inappropriate in this case) Then what would your ideal solution be? In relation to the children, it’s really awful to hear that your husband treats them quite badly. You didn’t say how old they were but I’m assuming school age. What’s most concerning is the fact you said he’s rough with them. Without more information I can’t be sure what you mean, but I’m going to assume that you mean physically. This I’m sure, is a major concern for you. The thing on my mind right now when I read this is, firstly, the impact this will have on them long term. By you staying in a marriage with a man who treats your children badly, despite how amazing a mother you might be, there is a small possibility that as the kids grow up and see for themselves what their dad is like (and they likely will, unless he makes any major changes, despite adoring him presently) that they may one day think by remaining in this relationship, that you were complicit in his treatment of them. Forgive me if I have this all wrong but it sounds like you could be struggling to admit how bad your husband’s behaviour is. I say this, because you have already told me all of the reasons why you SHOULD leave. Your husband is lazy, and somewhat abusive to you and your children, he criticises your parenting and makes you feel like a shit mum. I understand you feel trapped, but I can promise you, if you see this through with no intention of pursuing a loving relationship with him, you’ll will only grow arms and legs for the reasons you can’t leave. There is never a right time. Financially there may be organisations that can help. You say you feel guilty, and obviously, I’m only getting one picture here… but it sounds to me like your husband gives you many reasons to leave and NOT feel guilty. I think in this case, aside from his initial enamour of you, he’s not given you much reason TO love him. Do you feel guilt because he took you under his wing at a time you felt vulnerable? If so – that time has passed and it sounds like you’ve definitely paid your ‘debt’ to him. I would first and foremost tell your husband how you feel, who knows he might make the decision for you! That way guilt can be evaded. I wish you every luck in finding the courage to do what is best for you and your children.

I’ve listed below a charity I found that can help you manage debt upon separation. StepChange.org along with this page on Citizens Advice both have some advice for people whom are in similar situations to yourself, I hope they are useful.

Love and luck, Steph xx

Send your questions or confessions to divamumsteph@hotmail.com and include ‘Dear Steph’ in the subject line. Can be 100% anonymous if requested. Otherwise first name and region will be shared.  

Sometimes mummy forgets.

‘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.

Confessions of a chronically ill mum 13 – I’m back

COACIM had a bit of a hiatus. This was unintentional but life has been both busy and really quite difficult in recent weeks. I’ve not been as active on socials as I usually would. My youngest child Kaiser, has been quite poorly. This has coincided with both my return to work and my discharge from perinatal mental health services. You can probably imagine what I am likely to say next… Yes, I’ve had a flare up. An exacerbation of my symptoms is common with life’s stresses and I’ve been feeling pretty rubbish in general. Mentally, I am still coping. My discharge from PNMH definitely rocked the foundations I’ve built though, and it’s been a weird and destabilising week.

Migraine attacks have plagued me, I had been back to work just days when I had to leave early to collect Kaiser from childcare because he was so unwell. It was also my mum’s 60th birthday. We’d had a weekend away planned that my sister and I had bought her as a present, I wasn’t sure Kaiser was well enough for me to leave at home, and I wasn’t sure I’d be well enough to attend myself. As it turns out, I did manage to spend a few days away with my mum.

It was lovely, not just to chill out with my mum but because one of my great friends came up from Devon and stayed with us also. I don’t get to see her very often and always miss her dearly, so to spend a few days in her company, alongside celebrating my lovely mum’s coming of age, was amazing. Amazing doesn’t mean perfect though, unfortunately after a walk Saturday I spent all day Sunday in bed unable to get up and move my body freely without crying out in pain. Several times my mum had to come into my room and help my up out of bed and onto the toilet. My life’s reality is hard to accept always, but particularly when I’m supposed to be celebrating and bringing the fun with me. I didn’t drink any alcohol so there was no trigger warning, just a body that doesn’t function well at times, and those times are usually times I am trying to live. Somedays I thrive but most days I just survive.

Kaiser is recovering well but the four top teeth that all cut at once in his tiny little chops, are still giving us hell, as is his endless cough!

I’ll confess, I felt a whole heap of ‘mum guilt’ about leaving him with my husband. When my babies’ are unwell I want to be with them, comforting them. I also wanted to be there for my mum to celebrate her sixtieth. I don’t know why I feel the need to explain this, but I did ensure Kaiser’s symptoms were well managed before leaving him to recover with his dad and without mummy cuddles.  

What’s also been really arduous has been talking myself down when feeling anxious, without the support of the community perinatal team helping to keep me in check. My discharge with them was emotional. I have been supported by them for a year and that’s a long time when you’re spending it living day by day, often hour by hour, sometimes minute by minute. I’ve had a few wobbles already and I was only discharged Wednesday, when thinking about moving forward and how I navigate this brave new world on my own I often overthink and find myself panicking. I made great connections with my key-workers’ and whilst there were always clear professional boundaries, it’s not easy letting go of relationships that have served you so well. I felt really truly supported for the first time in my life by professionals, and I’m worried I’ll have to go back to fighting for basic support and healthcare. I write this knowing it could be worse, but always wishing the system was better.

An Instagram post I wrote just a couple of days before discharge

For now I need to get back into the habit of better self care. In recent weeks I’ve resorted back to eating crap, the fact I’m not able to move much again doesn’t help, but it stops now. I’m restarting getting my diabetes coursework back out, along with my DBT handbook and I’m taking action before things spiral again.

I know what I need to do I just need to learn to maintain healthy habits and ditch the many unhealthy ones I seem to find so easy to stick to!

In other news – you may have seen on my ‘News’ page that I’ve been nominated for two awards in the Mental Health Bloggers Awards this year, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d take a few minutes out of your day to give me a vote. Your support continues to mean so much to me. Vote 🗳

Maternal Mental Health Awareness Week.

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.

Last year just before MMHAW and Maternal Mental Health Awareness Week Blog

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 and intrusive thoughts were the overriding emotional responses to pregnancy and for a long time postpartum. I couldn’t be alone with the children for weeks after his birth, I felt as if something bad was going to happen whilst they were in my care. I had many intrusive thoughts and my main fear was of developing psychosis. Funny really, because the fear of this very nearly tipped me onto the scale of being psychotic.

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.

Brett Salako Photography ~ Review

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.

Brett’s instagram showcases his versatility.

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!

Confessions of a chronically ill mum #7

We started well. The weekend the kids and I went for a short walk on our own. This was a big deal because I rarely go out alone these days, and it was the first time I’d been out on foot with both children. As my health has worsened so dramatically in recent months, I have developed quite significant, but understandable, health anxiety! I took the win Saturday, rested in the afternoon and woke up Sunday ready to attack the day. But it didn’t quite work out like that. I woke up feeling extremely fatigued to the point where I couldn’t keep my eyes open and had to have a nap mid afternoon. For most of us with fibromyalgia this is normal, particularly following a day in which we’re more active. However, for me, fatigue is also a symptom of the pro-drome phase of migraine.

Being the hormonal mess that I am, I have noticed migraine attacks increasing in frequency again in the last two months. 2am Monday morning I was woken by the head pain, swiftly followed by cold sweats, hectic fever and vomiting. Monday was a write off. I spent all day in bed unable to watch tv or read and silently crying in between naps. I’ve said it before, but migraine is the most debilitating symptom for me, even more so than not being able to walk well, because migraine is a complex neurological disease that affects everything!

Fast forward to today, Thursday and I am feeling better. Not by any means ‘well’ but I was able to get out yesterday and I haven’t needed my husband to stay home from work to care for me. I also managed to get out this afternoon even though I couldn’t think of anything worse at the time I forced myself to do it and I have to say…. I’m converted. All the times people said to me ‘you need to get out’ while I led in my bed riddled with pain and anxiety, I thought those people were prize pricks to be honest, but I can see there’s merit there. I will say it’s not as simple as just getting outside when you live with chronic and or mental illness, and even in motherhood it can be hard to just get up and out. Let’s be real here it takes longer to wrestle a screaming baby into the buggy and pack your nappy bag than it does to do your weekly shop! But if you can get outside, you may benefit to some degree. For me the benefits are:

  • It’s a scenery change from the monotony of mum life.
  • I feel a sense of achievement if I’ve been able to do something, even if it’s as simple as popping to the shops.
  • That sense of achievement rewards me with feel good endorphins.
  • It’s so much easier (for me anyway) to be ‘present’ whilst in nature and not dwell on negative thoughts.
  • It’s free!

During pregnancy when I ate every meal in bed and couldn’t get down the stairs, going out was not only a physical impossibility, but it became mentally terrifying. I avoided leaving the house for so long, doing it now feels alien, but it also feels good. I feel like I’m taking back some control.

I don’t have any major confessions this week, other than I’ve spent a lot of it feeling sorry for myself and on occasion a little bitter about how shit and unpredictable life can be when you’re unwell. I’m worried about how I’m going to do my job in a few months when I’ve already cancelled a Keeping In Touch Day because I was so unwell. However, those feelings were scuppered by guilt as they always are when I look at the bigger picture and remind myself how lucky I am to have the life I do. I’ve also learnt that life is more fun and fulfilling when you’re grateful for the tiny things. Like a hot cup of tea or getting into bed with a good book.  Kaiser, my youngest, is an absolute rogue. I’ve had to take deep breaths a plenty in the last couple of days whilst trying to stop him climbing the stairs and then throwing himself down them. Dunno if this is a boy thing but fuck, it’s hard work. 

It’s easy for me to write this today because today has been such a huge improvement opposed to earlier in the week. That’s not to say I won’t feel the sadness and resentment again in the near future, but it means today I choose happy. We don’t always get a choice, and so on the days that we are gifted one, we have a responsibility to ourselves, to make it a good one.

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. https://www.buymeacoffee.com/Divamumsteph

Confessions of a chronically ill mum #5

The difference two weeks make when you’re living your life around hormones, pain, kids and food…

Ok so some context, last week I was so irrational and some days inconsolable. I cried relentlessly and burst into a tearful rage when my husband told me roofers were coming to do some work on our roof.

I’ll go as far as confessing my embarrassment when I attended group therapy Friday and had to partake in an exercise. It went like this.. 
Group facilitator: Name a situation this week whereby you haven’t been able to contain your emotions. 
Me: My husband told me the roofers were coming and I don’t want them there, making noise, antagonising the dog, leaving their shit all over my driveway, waking the baby up with their clanking, etc etc etc. 
Group facilitator: Ok now strip away your interpretation and just give us the facts. What was the situation?
Me: My husband told me the roofers were coming. 

I can laugh about it now, because I realise how pathetic it is to get so emotional and behave so irrationally over something rather minor. However, to me and my perception, all I could think of was them invading my safe space and my peace, and my feelings felt really valid at the time. I know my hormones and the way I am living my life around them at the moment isn’t sustainable. My daily tracker consists of days feeling angry/anxious/flat/tearful to severe itchy skin/insomnia/nightsweats/cramps/bloating and more. But even with these hellish symptoms, likely as a result of taking progesterone, I’ll still take them over feeling suicidal every month and having migraine attacks that last a week at a time. Weighing it up with pros and cons isn’t the right thing for me to do, because in all honesty I have to accept that I will live with moderate to severe symptoms probably indefinitely, whilst praying that their severity is less.

In the last two weeks Ciara has been poorly, emotional and generally not herself. In the last few days she has perked up again and this brings me joy, I really struggle to regulate my own emotions when the kids are ill and I know they need me to master this better. For some reason I just seem to retain so much anxiety when one of them is not their usual selves. Kaiser has started flying around on his knees faster than our old Seat Leon, and climbing the walls quite literally, but still rarely sleeping. I’ve also spent a night alone in the house with Kaiser that I was petrified of doing, eradicated lots of foods from my diet and lost 6lbs despite the cravings those hazardous hormones bring! So it’s not been all bad.

It’s also noteworthy that whilst some symptoms have been tolerable, fibro fatigue and brain fog has been much worse, though physical pain in the more manageable stakes. We’ve gotten out and seen friends we’ve not seen for ages. I’ve all but organised everything for Ciara’s birthday party, and…life goes on. It’s up and down and yoyo’s persistently but some of it, is ‘just life’ I guess, and not everything is a catastrophe, as much as my brain would like to convince me otherwise!

Next week I have my first appointment with the diabetes team postpartum, and also an appointment with cardiology. Alongside these I have to collect my new laptop for my imminent return to work and arrange for Kaiser to meet his childminder. It’s all go for sure, but it’s not all bad. Shaun and I have a night off this weekend, his parents are having both children so we can lie in bed all day and binge watch all the TV we started the last time we didn’t have the kids home which was January!

Life is good and then it isn’t, it’s awful followed by magnificent, excruciating and liberating all at once. So far this week, I’m grateful for small wins, play dates, family and friendship.

Ps. The roofers haven’t even turned up yet!

Confessions of a chronically ill mum. #4

It’s all been going on! Since last week’s news about my health, I’ve been determined to go full steam ahead with the diet change. For us, living on takeaways we can’t afford and binging on food instead of our pre kid vices like booze and fags, has been the norm for so, so long. Shaun set us a goal of no takeaways in February and I know we’re only 2 weeks in but for a couple who ate pizza and mail order brownies several times a week, we’re smashing it. I’ve signed up to do a diabetes prevention course which I’m keen, but also stressed about getting started on. Keen because I want to make the best changes possible, but stressed because it’s another thing to try and squeeze in to my ever full appointments calendar.

Kids

Kaiser has started crawling! At seven months old, Ciara was crawling at six months plus two weeks, so this didn’t come as a huge surprise. But how annoying are kids that move so soon?

Confession - This week Kaiser had to see a paediatrician. I won’t go into detail here but, we need to get a urine sample from him. Note I say need and not needed because after two hours of trying to catch his piss in a plastic tub, inside a waiting room on the children’s ward, I gave up. I also, and shoot me for being a terrible mother, wished they would just do a bastard heel prick blood test and let him scream! After failing in my attempts and wrestling him into a position that wasn’t comfortable for either of us, I left the appointment sweating profusely in unbearable pain and doing a lot of cussing. Nobody wants to see their baby in pain, but dear god I would of preferred the blood spot over that pantomime. Worse still I am going to have to endure the debacle all over again in my second attempt. Have googled whether it’s ok to wring out a nappy, but have been sadly informed it is not! Fucking Kids!! To top that, Ciara had an appointment at Bristol Eye Hospital and fainted! My second confession is that I was glad it was Shaun that was with her and not me. I know that sounds awful but I also know I would have panicked so badly I wouldn’t of been able to cope. Or maybe I would, maybe I’d have dealt with it on autopilot. Right now though, I’m just glad she’s safe and seems to be otherwise fine. She’s so desperate to go to school tomorrow for her non uniform day in aid of Childrens Mental Health Week that I’m letting her sleep with me tonight so I can monitor how she’s doing. 

Hormones

I’ve been struggling immensely with TMD and went to the dentist on Monday only for them to shave off half of one of my wisdom teeth and then tell me that probably won’t work. PSA, it didn’t! Unfortunately, hormones (those bastards) really flare up all of my pain and it’s not unusual for me to experience horrific TMD during ovulation and through luteal.

Speaking of hormones, I’ve been taking progesterone for around 4 months now, and whilst I am seeing some relief from the mental health symptoms, physically things are no better. In fact I may even go as far as to say they are a little worse. It’s hard because I have to weigh up what is worse, and realistically I know it’s the crippling anxiety and thoughts of suicide, along with inexplicable rage. But knowing this still doesn’t make the physical symptoms any easier to manage.

Breakthroughs

What I will say though, is that I am managing the mental symptoms I am experiencing, much, much better. And I think I have therapy to thank for that. It’s a slow burn, therapy! It makes you feel vulnerable with each session, but the more vulnerable you can allow yourself to be, the less that vulnerability is able to take hold. Then suddenly, seven months later, you realise you are doing better! You don’t always feel it, but you know it’s true. The feeling of drowning in quicksand every time you have a bad day gets less, and it starts to feel more as though you’ve just been inconveniently splashed by a car driving through a muddy puddle.

I’m not saying I’m cured, or that I will never have episodes of dread and impending doom again. But I feel right now, that if I do experience that again, I have more tools in my arsenal to help me fight it. I’ve another eight weeks of group therapy to get through before I can be discharged from the perinatal service. Discharge looms, like a black cloud really, because I’ve been helped in so many amazing ways by the team that I’d like to be able to talk to them about my trauma forever. At some point in the not so distant future, I’m going to have to hold my own hand.