Hi Everyone
So here we are, on the cusp of a New Year. I don't believe in the New Year, New Me bollocks, but I do enjoy the looking back and seeing how far I've come (or not) and what that means for the path ahead.
2018 really tried to do me in. It's been a year of challenges, but crucially, a year of survival. It's been a year where depression got lonely, and invited anxiety in as an unruly housemate, and at times this year, that anxiety has been pure terror. Mentally, I've had some of my worst times this year, but I've also learnt more about how to manage it.
For me, control is quite important. Well, very important. Some of the worst times in my life have been when I've been stuck, whilst the best have been when I've been fearless and free. Money is integral to that, and the last few years have taken a huge toll on me financially - if I could do it all again, I definitely would.
Each month became a financial cringe. Anxiety about my bank balance left me on a constant seesaw - what was worse, not looking and not knowing, or looking and hating what I saw? I became adept at playing the system (use your credit card before the interest goes on to get a little extra spend out of it) but eventually the margins became tighter and tighter. It was time to grow up.
So finally, properly, I am living on a budget, with no credit cards. And it's terrifying. There is no spare cash for all those lovely little extras that make life fun, and without a partner or savings, there is no safety net either. Bills increase every month and I haven't had a pay rise in 2 years. I like that I am surviving, but I hate how scary it is.
Money has caused me a lot of anxiety this year, and as I said, that anxiety has often been pure terror. I spiral quickly from financial concern to homelessness, and it's sometimes taken every ounce of the little mental strength I have left to keep my mind under control.
Key to my mental survival this year has been Matt Haig, who wrote a brilliant book called Notes On A Nervous Planet. It's full of truth, perspective and illumination, all in small chapters that the scattered mind can absorb. It's taught me a lot about myself, particularly destructive thought patterns that I didn't realise I had. I recommend it to everyone.
Beth continues to be the centre of my world and a reminder of how fragile the world can make us. Her teenage challenges are so much more acute than they were in "my day" and I'm really glad I'm not part of her over-digitised generation. She's probably needed more parenting this year than ever before - but I think we've laughed more too. Parenthood is a proactive thing. We can't just let our child loose in this world and hope they will be okay. Yes, allow them freedom, but be concerned and interested in their travels. And more importantly, CARE.
I also had an epiphany late in the year. The last 10 years of my life have been tough, certainly not the years I envisaged for myself, and I've realised that I have been so focussed on survival that I have forgotten to focus on LIVING. I'm going to write about this separately because it's such a big topic, but I've become so lost in the struggle, that I literally stopped seeing the wood for the trees. And the wood can be so pretty, and magical. And my trees had thorns.
We all make mistakes in life, and we all fail sometimes. In fact, it's crucial. Without failing, we don't learn. As you look back on 2018, be kind to yourself. By all means identify your mistakes, reflect on them, and learn from them, but DON'T beat yourself up about them. They are what will shape the YOU you become in 2019 and beyond.
See you in 2019!
Hi Everyone
Sooooo, in the UK we were recently gripped by Bodyguard, a fab thriller on BBC1. That ended 4 weeks ago and a new series started - The Cry. From the trailers, it looked mesmerising - a child goes missing - with haunting echoes of Madeleine McCann, the dingo baby and a thousand other awful stories.
What I wasn't prepared for, was that the series would start with the nightmare of new motherhood, and specifically post-natal depression (and don't worry, there are no spoilers in this post.) It's one of the very first times I can remember PND being portrayed so accurately in a drama, and for me, as a survivor, most of that accuracy comes from how it is *under*played.
Post natal depression isn't some big blasting melodrama; it's the very opposite - silence, absence of self, a desire for everything to just fade away. We can be functional or semi-functional on the surface, but inside we're shitting ourselves, waiting to be found out, feeling useless and just wanting that baby to stop crying.
Jenna Coleman's portrayal is spot on. It's in the little moments. It's when she's so sick of the baby crying, she locks him in the bedroom and turns up the TV so that she doesn't have to keep hearing that DAMN noise. It's the filthy look she shoots her husband as he slumbers blissfully and she absorbs all the stress. It's the way she lies to a friend about loving motherhood, when every fibre of her being screams otherwise.
I hated new motherhood. Not going to lie. Hated it. I felt out of control (not a control freak's favourite modus operandi), hopelessly unprepared, thrown in, and worst, alone. I had no nearby family, no nearby friends. I am an only child so babies weren't something I'd ever been around. And the day after I got home from hospital, my husband went back to work.
I was terrified. I used to the count the minutes down, to prove that I was getting through. I had no clue what to do with the baby between meal times. I didn't want to leave the house, but I didn't want to be stuck inside either. And oh, I so badly wanted to run away.
The isolation of early motherhood is extreme. You are thrown completely out of yourself and into an existence you are completely unprepared for. You live only to serve the baby-tyrant, and if you're not naturally maternal, there's not a lot of joy to be had in this phase. I am so thrilled for all the mums out there who enjoy motherhood, but for some of us, it's a struggle, as alien as trying to juggle knives without stabbing ourselves.
I see myself in the moments where the husband, as hero, and after he is glutted with sleep, takes the baby and tells Jo to get some sleep. What a joke. In a state of stress and fever-pitch anxiety, we can't just go "oh ok" and switch off - although men, maddeningly, can. Even when we are given help, it's hard to take the time back for yourself, to repair yourself, because PND has taken you so far away from yourself that it takes a long long time to travel back.
When the baby is taken in The Cry, Jo barely reacts. She stands, not quite comprehending what is happening, as the husband-hero goes into rescue mode. Her disconnection from the world is profound and this is the kicker - the mother terrorised by PND doesn't know what's just come true, her worst nightmare, or her dream.
For a split second, for Jo, the trauma is over. The crying has stopped. The tyranny is over. It's as if a tumour has been removed. She's still too stunned to speak and react, and her lack of emotion scares others, and implies her guilt. But how do you convey that although you would do anything to get your baby back, you're secretly relieved to have this breather? That secretly, a version of this is what you've wanted since you came home from the hospital?
One final point. At some point in the future, Jo is asked how she got through it. She tells us she remembered she used to be strong. Motherhood can slay anybody. It is all-consuming and never-ending. In the process, most of us lose ourselves (some willingly, some not). We step out of our own lives and into the life of our baby, and each day it gets harder to step back. We become absent from our own lives, and our own selves. We forget who we were. But when we remember, the strength comes back to save us.
Post natal depression is akin to suffering a trauma. Those of you who have never felt this way may feel this is an exaggeration, but I promise you it's not. It's a profound place of shock, sadly with very little awe. If you have any of these symptoms, please see a doctor -
* struggling to get out of bed
* lack of personal hygiene - not showering, getting dressed
* not eating
* resentful of your partner
* wanting to escape
And if you can, these are the best ways to get through it -
* see a doctor. I know not everyone likes medication, but it can help and it helped me
* accept absolutely every offer of help and support - don't say no!
* if you're on your own, invite people round. Being less alone will ease the struggle for a little while
* time-keeping. I was a control freak. Counting down to when I next had to feed Beth / take her to the doctors / bathe her, helped me get through the minutes LITERALLY 1 AT A TIME
* don't be ashamed to tell people how you feel. The myth of motherhood as something that completes us and gives us nothing but joy is just that - a myth. Tell people how you feel and you'll not only feel less alone, you'll find out some of them felt that way too.
Love.
Well hello!
This week, we crept into autumn. For most of my life, it's been my favourite season - the tumble of leaves, the kaleidoscope of colours, the blessed relief of cooler temperatures and (yes, I was that child), the excitement of going back to school.
Autumn always felt like the season that matched my soul. In many ways it was like the rebirth of my year (echoes of back to school, I think) and I used to adore the slow, thrilling slide towards Christmas and all things darker (including the season of the witch).
Nearly 20 years ago that all changed when my mother died, and now, Autumn is just a long, drawn out, painful echo of everything I lost when she died, and it puts me in a 4 month funk that is really hard to break. It leaves me weak, and depression gleefully sneaks into my cracks.
So why specifically does Autumn break me? Well, for a start the Autumn Equinox is on September 23rd, my mother's birthday. It's like the very shift of the season rings a death bell and peels the scab off my loss. It's September 23rd, welcome to absence.
Then the nights begin to darken, the days get shorter,and the mornings arrive in a shroud of gloom. Some days, it's very hard to get out of bed and greet the dark, especially when you know that for 3 solid months, it's just going to get darker every day. And suddenly, just like that, my mood syncs with the season, and each day gets darker, duller, drearier.
I used to laugh at people who claimed they had SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), but do you know what? These days, I love spring. I crave the crawl towards April and the moment the days get brighter and lighter - and I mean lighter in both senses of the word. It's as if the greater stamina of the sun lifts my soul.
So on we trawl through autumn, days getting darker, and markers of death at every turn - grandparents no longer here, relationships that ripped me to pieces, last memories of my mother. It all accumulates. Every day on dark roads filled with wankers and potholes, I feel I dodge my death as I travel back and forth to work. Me and the A1 and darkness, it's a combination which scares the crap out of me.
And then it's December 3rd, the anniversary of the day my mother died, and when my life changed forever. I didn't just lose a parent. I lost a best friend, a soulmate, a sounding board - my sanity. As the years have passed, this day passes more easily, but occasionally there will be a little pyschic hiccup to remind me of the pain.
What keeps me going at this point is that we're only 3 weeks from the Winter Solstice, the official shortest, darkest day. Once we hit here, I know it gets better. Everything will begin to lift and lighten ... as long as I get through Christmas.
Christmas used to bring me so much pleasure. Decorating the tree, picking exciting presents, drinking snowballs, driving people mad with my impatience. All that changes when you get divorced and you no longer get to have the child every Christmas. Even though you didn't choose to separate, you get to pay the price, and who wants to sit alone in a house where Christmas mocks you?
So I no longer do Christmas. Of course I buy gifts for the daughter, but I don't do the hoopla. It's pretty much like any other week in our house. I can't even be arsed with Christmas music anymore - they represent a happiness that is no longer mine, and frankly, they just piss me off.
So on Christmas Day, we eat what we want. One year we had sausage and mash, another year, curry (I'm not a fan of roasts). We treat ourselves, but non-traditionally, and as for Beth, well she gets the whole hoopla at the other house, so she's fine. And once Christmas is gone, (and the icy death trap roads are clear) things get easier. I know I'm past the worst, and soon Spring will be here.
So how am I today? Well, scattered. Scattered is my first stage symptom, where it's a battle to keep my mind on track, fearless, and WHOLE. It's when it gets hard to focus, do stuff and COMMIT to living (and I don't mean that not committing to living means wanting to die; no,it means wanting to do nothing).
But today I am a little brighter than yesterday (hence why there was no blog post yesterday), and with each year that passes I understand more how to keep myself on an even keel. Anxiety however, doesn't like to be left out, so currently my stomach is in knots waiting to get my car through it's MOT and the house through its inspection, and the extension of my tenancy.
But Matt Haig has helped. I've mentioned his book, Notes on a Nervous Planet, so often, but it's almost a form of medicine. My car gets MOT'd on Wednesday. Sat here on Sunday, there is NOTHING I can do to affect that outcome. I need to enjoy the moment until the moment changes, and not worry about it 1 second before. Of course that is sooooooooo much easier said than done, but at least I recognise it now, and I can try and keep the panic in the box.
Now for those of you who actually see me on a daily basis, you probably won't notice any change in me. One of the things about depression - we are MASTERS at having a game face. We're actors. We know how to cover the cracks externally whilst we're weeping and bleeding on the inside.
So, autumn. Bit shit. Christmas, can't be arsed. But soon, soon it will be Spring. And the darkest hour is ALWAYS before dawn.
Hi Goddesses
There's a certain irony to today's post, so please bear with :) I've written about my battle with depression lots on this blog, and today I wanted to celebrate some of the things that keep me sane. Ironically, I'm in the middle of a bout of depression at the moment, which makes this almost amusing.
I've learnt over the years what things help me, and what things don't. Just as I've had to adapt certain things to reduce my migraines, I've found there are things that help me deal with the world.
I tend to have a positive outlook. My current work colleagues call it my Glad Face. My ex husband called it my Positive Psycho Bullshit. Whatever, it gets me through most days. Not all, but more.
I remember reading, in 1989, an interview with Kate Bush where she was asked to name what she would most like to eradicate in the world. Her answer was "negativity", and she went on to explain how it was such an empty and pointless emotion, something that achieved nothing, and I had an epiphany. From that moment on, I tried to be more expansive, more open, and definitely glass half full.
The nails are filled with little mottos - Keep Calm, because getting stressed doesn't solve anything (although this is not always controllable). Live Love Laugh, my motto as much as I have one. Then there's a symbol for positivity, and on the pinkie a pair of headphones - turning the music up high, or using them to silence and exclude the world both help. And don't forget all the bright happy colours to reinforce the bright happy things.
The ring finger features 2 profound statements (and some shockingly bad lettering, sorry!). One of them is my religion - Everything For A Reason. Everything DOES happen for a reason, even if we can't always instantly understand why. It is what it is, and we need to accept and move on.
The above quote by Henry Ford was a life-changing moment for me. It summed up so much of what I believed, and also stressed how most of what we want CAN lie within our power - if only we'd let it.
So sometimes it gets strained, sometimes it cracks, and sometimes it plain old rips at the seams, but for the most part, my positive mental outlook keeps me tethered to this life. So, thanks :)
Hi Goddesses
Today, the blogging community is coming together under the banner #fightforlifeandlive, urging others to post green manis for Depression Awareness. Previously, this is something I'd have jumped at, but for some reason, I've been really reluctant.
It's taken me a few days to work out why, and I think it's mainly because I have no more story to tell. I have written frequently about depression on this blog (you can find them all under this label), and I didn't want to just regurge myself today. So I decided to sit it out.
Then yesterday, I spent half the day in the nail room, with the gorgeous new Literary Lacquer polishes, doing nail art after nail art, and I realised, THIS is the story I have never told. So, with a little help from Literary Lacquers Who Which Whatsit, here is the story of how nail polish genuinely helps me fight my depression.
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We need to do the science first. I am a voracious reader. Love it. Devour books in a day person. But one of the really vicious "perks" of depression is an inability to read more than a paragraph at a time. Books are just too much to absorb, because there is not enough brain left to process it. Magazines are ok - they're more of a buffet than a meal - and social media is ideal, as you can flit over the words like a butterfly. Blogging? Perfect.
So with a ravaged mind that can't be soothed with the medication you have used since you were 3 years old, where do you turn? Well, eventually, as you know, I turned to nail polish. I've joked with people before that it's like my yoga, and it really is. When my depression hits hard, and I can't even be bothered to do my nails, THAT'S when I really value how much it helps me. So how DOES it help?
For me, it works on a number of levels. It's the fact that it's a "still" and largely silent activity - craving of silence (from others, and the voices in your own head, is so integral to this illness), and I like that you have to slow your breathing down to a more yogic pace as you concentrate on not being a messy pup.
Then there's the peace of creating something, of watching the seed of nail art grow from the toxic barren soil of your mind. The soothing strokes, the magic (albeit sometimes muted) pop of a great idea.
And I like to look at them. They're pretty. Just looking at that spectrum of colours or stroking the bottles (yes, I DO do that sometimes) is therapeutic, especially when your cats are nowhere to be seen (let alone hugged).
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When you're in a dark place, and you feel like you've gotten nothing out of your day, it's nice to look and see that colour and creativity on your hands. It's an inversion of the famous "I hurt myself to prove that I can feel". It's "I made this so I must exist", as well as a reminder that colour DOES exist, and the entire world is not as grey or sludgey as your mind.
It's a little like a nail polish equivalent of The Giver. Our world feels grey, sounds grey, veers to black. This is the way I add colour back in, especially the colours that help me feel - the tranquil touch of lilac, the "please help me feel this bright" of orange or pink, or the "dammit, I'm fighting" of red.
And finally, the real win - it comes with no threat. A lot of us who love doing our nails have body issues. We're too fat, we're too ugly, we have this, we have that. Nail polish carries no judgement. People don't like your nails? They blame the polish, NOT YOU. For those of us with brittle self-esteem, this is crucial. When the mani is gorgeous we get to soak up the praise, but when it's shit, we don't have to absorb it, because the criticism isn't directed at us. Nail polish is SAFE.
I've deliberately not done nail art today - I didn't want to "put on a show", I just wanted to do something simple. One of the things I am proudest of with this blog is the number of people who have said my writing about depression has helped them - either because it has articulated what it's like to suffer, or because it's helped them understand what a loved one is going through.
So again, we are not in this alone. But man, it often feels like it.
#fightforlifeandlive
