At the end of this week, we are going on our second family trip.
The first time was bad enough, travelling for 6 hours through mountain roads to arrive near midnight with a screaming carsick 5 month old was not the most pleasant experience of my life.
I am becoming increasingly anxious about this holiday, perhaps it would be better if we just didn't go. I do believe it would be more relaxing. That's the weird thing though, for me, it will be just another day, it will just be slightly more complicated because I won't have everything she could possibly need at my disposal. But from Husband's point of view, this is a holiday. For him it's some time off work and away from day to day life.
There are so many things to consider now. It's no longer simply a matter of 'have you packed yet?' "No, but we aren't leaving for an hour, so will do it soon."
It's now become an exercise in military planning. A week out, I am thinking of what will be the best time to leave. Just on bubba's bed time? Or VERY early morning before she is usually awake? Whichever one we chose, it CANNOT be at a time when she would normally be awake. So, instead of our normally leisurely day long drives to the parents, we are thinking of getting up at the ungodly hour of 3am, or alternatively, leaving at her bed time (roughly 7pm) and arriving just after midnight. Neither seems a preferable option.
We also have to negotiate what to pack, and HOW to pack it. Strollers, car seats and travel cots take up an enormous amount of space, so we must endeavour to pack as little as possible for ourselves least we end up having no room for the incredible amount of stuff we must bring for her. Honestly, it's ridiculous. I need a lorazepam just thinking about it.
Which is why I'm not thinking about it.
I should be writing lists, and starting to make sure we have things in place. But instead, I am spending all my time writing a Trust Deed, applying for funding and looking at budgets for the Festival which is running again this year. It's not that I like looking at budgets, it's just that I feel I have some semblance of control over a piece of paper covered in neat numbers and deficits.
Oh the deficits.
I forced myself to write this, because writing helps keep me sane, but I think I have a writers block, my mind is too wired to let the words flow. I am dreading this coming Friday.
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Friday, 16 May 2014
Where the Dark Takes Me.
This is where the dark takes me.
To places where I begin to question whether motherhood is really something I can do. Where I start to fantasise about pills and escaping and curling up in a corner and never coming out.
Where life gets too much and all I can see is the pain I'm causing everyone around me. The frustration in their eyes that I'm 'still not better'. The anger when they recount to me that they are doing more than they are capable of to help me, everything that they know of to fix me. But that I'm not stepping up. I'm not responding. What more do I need?
But I don't love her any less.
I don't love him any less.
I still feel a heart glow when she smiles, and when she laughs.
I still try to make a clean house because I know that makes him happy.
I read her stories because I know that makes her happy.
I do my best and sometimes I manage to even look happy.
Sometimes I can laugh. Those are good days. Day's when I manage to do things. When I can get out of bed without thinking about how I am drowning.
I remember before she came along. How excited I was. How happy I imagined life would be.
But I was wrong. Perhaps I am not supposed to be a mother.
But that doesn't mean I regret her for even one instant. Because she is perfect. She is my light. But she is also my darkness and in the darkness I believe she deserves better than I can provide.
That is where the dark takes me.
To places where I begin to question whether motherhood is really something I can do. Where I start to fantasise about pills and escaping and curling up in a corner and never coming out.
Where life gets too much and all I can see is the pain I'm causing everyone around me. The frustration in their eyes that I'm 'still not better'. The anger when they recount to me that they are doing more than they are capable of to help me, everything that they know of to fix me. But that I'm not stepping up. I'm not responding. What more do I need?
But I don't love her any less.
I don't love him any less.
I still feel a heart glow when she smiles, and when she laughs.
I still try to make a clean house because I know that makes him happy.
I read her stories because I know that makes her happy.
I do my best and sometimes I manage to even look happy.
Sometimes I can laugh. Those are good days. Day's when I manage to do things. When I can get out of bed without thinking about how I am drowning.
I remember before she came along. How excited I was. How happy I imagined life would be.
But I was wrong. Perhaps I am not supposed to be a mother.
But that doesn't mean I regret her for even one instant. Because she is perfect. She is my light. But she is also my darkness and in the darkness I believe she deserves better than I can provide.
That is where the dark takes me.
Wednesday, 7 May 2014
All The Kings Horses and All The Kings Men
It's a strange feeling, losing control of your own mind.
Having thoughts you wish weren't there, and feelings that defy all logic and belief. Considering things which you would normally turn away from, yet for some reason, seem the only logical solution in that moment, that hour, that day.
It's scary to come out of that alive, knowing how it feels, remembering the terror as you fought against your own mind as it turned against you, and realising that it could all happen again. Suddenly realising how it came to be that way, and how fragile you now are, sitting on a precipice with so little standing between you now, and you then.
You look back and you can see all the warning signs, and worse than that, you can see all the cries for help. But you weren't crying loud enough. You thought you could just keep going. That it would be ok, that you would get through this one, just like all the times before.
But this time you have a baby to look after.
You can't look after yourself the way you did 'all the times before'. You have to get up every day. You have to smile and play and pretend everything is ok. Because those innocent eyes look up to you, and watch you and are learning from you. You are now responsible for another human, and there is no time or space to go back to your old coping habits.
You see it coming. You feel it creeping up on you, but this time, you try to ignore it. You try to make it go away. You hear the voices creeping back in, the irritability crawling across your skin. This time, you ask for help but it's too late.
You suddenly can't look at your baby. You can't handle the chaos, the noise, the life happening around you, and so, you fall apart.
It's a strange feeling, losing control of your mind.
It's terrifying realising you can't pick yourself up this time.
It's soul destroying to realise you have to stop. You have to get of the train and leave your life for a while in order to get better. That you have to give yourself over to others to look after you. To trust that they can help you.
But in the end, it is only you who can really put you back together.
Time out. Simple enough, but nearly impossible to achieve in the first few months of Baby's life. Since we have started daycare, I have four hours a day to myself. It's definitely working, because I know for a fact that those four hours, have single handedly saved me from relapsing already. The hardest part is forcing myself to relax, not just clean, clean, clean.
Watching that I eat for nutrition not comfort is vitally important. The worse I get, the worse I eat. So trying to eat right in order to stay sane is another challenge. Again, with a new baby in the house you are often lucky to find time to eat at all, so that didn't help. So I've adopted a strategy - sugar free may! I don't feel restricted, and I can eat lots of mac and cheese. Yum! (Plus I'm already losing weight! BONUS!)
The isolation of new motherhood is also a big contributor. Many people think that becoming a mum means play groups and endless coffee dates. But those people would be mistaken. My husband was managing to go out and see friends, plus he had his daily social interactions with workmates. But somehow, I was letting friends fall through the cracks. I never saw anyone. Taking the time to actually arrange things is a big priority right now.
Sleep. Time Out. Food. Friends.
All these things can be managed. And manage them I shall.
Because I have to. For her sake, for his sake, and for my sake.
Having thoughts you wish weren't there, and feelings that defy all logic and belief. Considering things which you would normally turn away from, yet for some reason, seem the only logical solution in that moment, that hour, that day.
It's scary to come out of that alive, knowing how it feels, remembering the terror as you fought against your own mind as it turned against you, and realising that it could all happen again. Suddenly realising how it came to be that way, and how fragile you now are, sitting on a precipice with so little standing between you now, and you then.
You look back and you can see all the warning signs, and worse than that, you can see all the cries for help. But you weren't crying loud enough. You thought you could just keep going. That it would be ok, that you would get through this one, just like all the times before.
But this time you have a baby to look after.
You can't look after yourself the way you did 'all the times before'. You have to get up every day. You have to smile and play and pretend everything is ok. Because those innocent eyes look up to you, and watch you and are learning from you. You are now responsible for another human, and there is no time or space to go back to your old coping habits.
You see it coming. You feel it creeping up on you, but this time, you try to ignore it. You try to make it go away. You hear the voices creeping back in, the irritability crawling across your skin. This time, you ask for help but it's too late.
You suddenly can't look at your baby. You can't handle the chaos, the noise, the life happening around you, and so, you fall apart.
It's a strange feeling, losing control of your mind.
It's terrifying realising you can't pick yourself up this time.
It's soul destroying to realise you have to stop. You have to get of the train and leave your life for a while in order to get better. That you have to give yourself over to others to look after you. To trust that they can help you.
But in the end, it is only you who can really put you back together.
Putting Me Back Together Again
Sleep turned out to be my biggest trigger. Of course, sleep with a baby in the house is almost hypothetical. We now take it in turns to look after her, but that doesn't mean I am able (yet) to sleep through her regular crying. I do look forward to those nights 'off' now, and am trying to rest when I can in the day time.Time out. Simple enough, but nearly impossible to achieve in the first few months of Baby's life. Since we have started daycare, I have four hours a day to myself. It's definitely working, because I know for a fact that those four hours, have single handedly saved me from relapsing already. The hardest part is forcing myself to relax, not just clean, clean, clean.
Watching that I eat for nutrition not comfort is vitally important. The worse I get, the worse I eat. So trying to eat right in order to stay sane is another challenge. Again, with a new baby in the house you are often lucky to find time to eat at all, so that didn't help. So I've adopted a strategy - sugar free may! I don't feel restricted, and I can eat lots of mac and cheese. Yum! (Plus I'm already losing weight! BONUS!)
The isolation of new motherhood is also a big contributor. Many people think that becoming a mum means play groups and endless coffee dates. But those people would be mistaken. My husband was managing to go out and see friends, plus he had his daily social interactions with workmates. But somehow, I was letting friends fall through the cracks. I never saw anyone. Taking the time to actually arrange things is a big priority right now.
Sleep. Time Out. Food. Friends.
All these things can be managed. And manage them I shall.
Because I have to. For her sake, for his sake, and for my sake.
• If you need immediate help, please call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255)(US) or Lifeline 0800 543 354 (NZ), or contact your local Psychiatric Emergency Services.
• If you are looking for pregnancy or postpartum support and local resources, please call or email us:
• If you are looking for pregnancy or postpartum support and local resources, please call or email us:
Call PSI Warmline (English & Spanish) 1-800-944-4PPD (4773) (note: NZ also has a warmline for each DHB, so please google their number as they are all different)
Email support@postpartum.net
Email support@postpartum.net
Monday, 5 May 2014
Motherhood vs Feminism - Is It Really A Choice?
Once upon a time, I was a very ambitious young woman.
I excelled at school. I never failed a test. I got a job as soon as I was legally able, and I saved all my money. I travelled the world alone at 18 years old. I sought out education wherever I could. I went to university and got a degree. I studied hard and got a huge student loan. Then I worked even harder to make my degree into a career, and eventually I caught the job I'd studied for.
I believed that women deserved equal pay, equal rights, equal opportunities.
I would instigate fights with my father over the fact that only my brother was allowed in Dad's work-shed when he wasn't at home. I believed my mother was hard done by as a stay at home mum, and so I stood up for her too, when my father demanded to know why the house was so untidy. I would sit in church as a pre-teen, seething as the priest dared preach a pro-life sermon. I started arguments with pastors over a woman's right to become religious leaders.
I believed, 100% that women could, and should be able to do everything.
Absolutely. Everything.
I have been raised in a society which encourages girls to do everything their male counterparts can do. But better. We have to prove ourselves their equal. We have to earn as much. We have to learn as much. But more than that, we have to earn, prove and learn more than they do.
All the while, people are reminding us that our so-called-clocks are ticking. Familiar phrases start to become part of regular catch ups; "Are you thinking of having kids?" "Don't leave it too long." "You really should start a family."
Before too long, those thoughts had embedded themselves in my mind. I believed I could and should have a baby. I believed that a baby was what was missing in my life. I believed that as a woman, it was my right to have a child. I was nearly 30 years old. What was I waiting for?
Now I am a Mother.
But I still hold those feminist ideals. They are ingrained in my soul and I can't let them go.
The job I studied so hard for, and worked even harder to find, was only mine for a mere one and a half years. I gave up my career to do this, and it feels like a crushing defeat. I no longer have my own income, and I feel like I'm stealing from my Husband. Whenever I must state my occupation, I now write 'Stay At Home Mum', and it feels like my years of education and the career I worked so hard for have been stolen from me.
I think back to a time long before I was born and feel nostalgia for it. I feel sad that in this day and age, in the circles I move, being just a Mum, isn't enough. Raising just a child, isn't enough. Keeping just a house, isn't enough. It's not enough for them, and it's not enough for me.
I find myself wishing for a time when being just a Mother was expected and respected.
So, like a lot of Mother's out there, we try to do both. Some Mother's manage to keep their career ticking along, others are forced to find work wherever they can, oftentimes not even using the years of study. In the process, we are working ourselves to the bone, on day and night shifts working what was traditionally (and biologically) women's work and traditionally (and less biologically) men's work, in an effort to be equal to men. Who, in most cases, have not had to meet us half way (stay at home fathers aside "I salute you!").
This Mother's Day, take a moment to think about all the Mum's you know, who are educated, intelligent women. Who have given up their studies and their careers in order to raise a family. Who are perhaps trying to reach the impossible standard now expected of Mum's by society. Who are suffering for it. Who are exhausted, both physically and mentally. Yet are beating themselves up and feeling guilty for doing so. Because the reality is different from what they were led to believe and this isn't what they were taught to do. We can't let go of the notion that we could and should be able to do everything a man does. Even when they can't.
So is it any wonder then, when you really think about it, that so many Mothers are suffering and afraid to ask for help?
I excelled at school. I never failed a test. I got a job as soon as I was legally able, and I saved all my money. I travelled the world alone at 18 years old. I sought out education wherever I could. I went to university and got a degree. I studied hard and got a huge student loan. Then I worked even harder to make my degree into a career, and eventually I caught the job I'd studied for.
I believed that women deserved equal pay, equal rights, equal opportunities.
I would instigate fights with my father over the fact that only my brother was allowed in Dad's work-shed when he wasn't at home. I believed my mother was hard done by as a stay at home mum, and so I stood up for her too, when my father demanded to know why the house was so untidy. I would sit in church as a pre-teen, seething as the priest dared preach a pro-life sermon. I started arguments with pastors over a woman's right to become religious leaders.
I believed, 100% that women could, and should be able to do everything.
Absolutely. Everything.
I have been raised in a society which encourages girls to do everything their male counterparts can do. But better. We have to prove ourselves their equal. We have to earn as much. We have to learn as much. But more than that, we have to earn, prove and learn more than they do.
All the while, people are reminding us that our so-called-clocks are ticking. Familiar phrases start to become part of regular catch ups; "Are you thinking of having kids?" "Don't leave it too long." "You really should start a family."
Before too long, those thoughts had embedded themselves in my mind. I believed I could and should have a baby. I believed that a baby was what was missing in my life. I believed that as a woman, it was my right to have a child. I was nearly 30 years old. What was I waiting for?
Now I am a Mother.
But I still hold those feminist ideals. They are ingrained in my soul and I can't let them go.
The job I studied so hard for, and worked even harder to find, was only mine for a mere one and a half years. I gave up my career to do this, and it feels like a crushing defeat. I no longer have my own income, and I feel like I'm stealing from my Husband. Whenever I must state my occupation, I now write 'Stay At Home Mum', and it feels like my years of education and the career I worked so hard for have been stolen from me.
I think back to a time long before I was born and feel nostalgia for it. I feel sad that in this day and age, in the circles I move, being just a Mum, isn't enough. Raising just a child, isn't enough. Keeping just a house, isn't enough. It's not enough for them, and it's not enough for me.
I find myself wishing for a time when being just a Mother was expected and respected.
So, like a lot of Mother's out there, we try to do both. Some Mother's manage to keep their career ticking along, others are forced to find work wherever they can, oftentimes not even using the years of study. In the process, we are working ourselves to the bone, on day and night shifts working what was traditionally (and biologically) women's work and traditionally (and less biologically) men's work, in an effort to be equal to men. Who, in most cases, have not had to meet us half way (stay at home fathers aside "I salute you!").
This Mother's Day, take a moment to think about all the Mum's you know, who are educated, intelligent women. Who have given up their studies and their careers in order to raise a family. Who are perhaps trying to reach the impossible standard now expected of Mum's by society. Who are suffering for it. Who are exhausted, both physically and mentally. Yet are beating themselves up and feeling guilty for doing so. Because the reality is different from what they were led to believe and this isn't what they were taught to do. We can't let go of the notion that we could and should be able to do everything a man does. Even when they can't.
So is it any wonder then, when you really think about it, that so many Mothers are suffering and afraid to ask for help?
 |
| source:http://www.history.com/photos/world-war-ii-posters/photo2 |
Letter From Bean
Dear Mummy,
I have had to enforce some new rules around mealtimes, as things are getting out of hand, and I think you should know what they are.
Are we clear?
I think it's time for one of those chocolate biscuit things, I saw that there were more in that packet.
Thanks, Mummy,
Bean
I have had to enforce some new rules around mealtimes, as things are getting out of hand, and I think you should know what they are.
Number 1
I WILL hold the spoon, Mummy. I don't care if I don't end up getting food on it just yet. Does it really matter? I mean, I get the food everywhere else, today I even made a special effort and got it on the wall, so I think it only fair for you that I at least keep the spoon clean.
Number 2
I won't drink that water stuff from a bottle or one of those stupid sippy cups, they are for babies. If you could keep giving me water from a cup that would be great. You will have to hold it though, as my hands are usually too slippery from all the food. You are doing an ok job at that, Mummy, but not yesterday. You should be more careful, I can't drink all that at once!
Number 3
Please stop trying to get me to eat that savoury stuff, Mummy. Why can't we just stick with the fruit and the custard? I know you have been mixing the custard with the savoury, and I guess that's fine. I'll accept that as a worthy compromise. But really, Mummy, can't we just do that from the start? It's tiring having to keep my mouth closed so tight for so long. I thought you'd have learnt by now.
Number 4
Why, Mummy, WHY must you wipe my face after EVERY MEAL? It's AWFUL! I don't understand why you do it, Mummy. My face just gets dirty again. It doesn't seem worth the trauma. PLEASE STOP!
Are we clear?
I think it's time for one of those chocolate biscuit things, I saw that there were more in that packet.
Thanks, Mummy,
Bean
Saturday, 3 May 2014
Angry At The System
I'll admit it.
I'm angry.
I'm angry at what has happened to me. I'm angry at how it was handled. I'm angry at my diagnoses - or lack thereof. I'm angry at the constant appointments, medications, changes in therapist, lengthy waitlists, and being constantly transferred between units because you no longer fall under 'their criteria'. I'm angry that all of this is considered 'normal' and that my situation was not an exception, but rather, the rule.
I'm angry that I had my first panic attack over 14 years ago and I'm still dealing with them today. I'm angry that the words "bipolar disorder" were first mentioned 12 years ago, are still being mentioned today and have yet to be either set in stone or thrown aside. I'm angry that I have seen so many different people meant to help that I can't even remember most of their names let alone tell you how many there have been. I'm angry that I was put in an inpatient unit for nearly three weeks, and didn't see a psychologist or a psychiatrist even once in that whole time.
And that's just the tip of the ice-berg.
I have lost my faith in the system. I have lost my trust in my psychologist. I no longer believe they have my best interests at heart. I feel like I'm just part of one big clinical drug and therapy trial.
Cognitive behavioural therapy
I discovered all this anger at my most recent therapeutic session, and the feelings have yet to abate.
I am angry that my discharge papers list my diagnosis as 'Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety', yet seem to have neglected mentioning any kind of mood disorder. While some people would be thrilled that they don't have 'anything else', I am just frustrated by its admission. Because as far as I'm concerned, I clearly don't just have depression. Plus, I feel like I've actually overcome a lot of my anxiety issues (and worked really hard to do so). So to see this written down makes me feel like I'm wasting my time in the mental health system. Like they are not seeing the bigger picture.
I am tired of trusting in a system which constantly fails those it's supposed to help. I'm tired of trying so hard and falling so far. I know there are plenty of individuals who work tirelessly within this system, with the best of intentions and the belief that they can help. Unfortunately the system is so broken, there is little they can really do. There isn't enough funding to support their endeavours. The waiting lists are too long to help those who need it when they actually need it. It is too easy to prescribe a pill and send us on our way. Psychologists and Psychiatrists are too expensive for the average person to visit. There are too many people needing too much help, from a system straining at the edges and unable to do anything about it. Pills are only part of the solution, but the other part is not easily accessible, nor easy to give.
I'm sure somewhere someone must have, at some point, been helped properly, been cured even. But I don't know that person.
The mental health system is an ambulance at the bottom of the cliff for most of its patients. And believe me, that is a very big cliff.
I'm angry.
I'm angry at what has happened to me. I'm angry at how it was handled. I'm angry at my diagnoses - or lack thereof. I'm angry at the constant appointments, medications, changes in therapist, lengthy waitlists, and being constantly transferred between units because you no longer fall under 'their criteria'. I'm angry that all of this is considered 'normal' and that my situation was not an exception, but rather, the rule.
I'm angry that I had my first panic attack over 14 years ago and I'm still dealing with them today. I'm angry that the words "bipolar disorder" were first mentioned 12 years ago, are still being mentioned today and have yet to be either set in stone or thrown aside. I'm angry that I have seen so many different people meant to help that I can't even remember most of their names let alone tell you how many there have been. I'm angry that I was put in an inpatient unit for nearly three weeks, and didn't see a psychologist or a psychiatrist even once in that whole time.
And that's just the tip of the ice-berg.
I have lost my faith in the system. I have lost my trust in my psychologist. I no longer believe they have my best interests at heart. I feel like I'm just part of one big clinical drug and therapy trial.
 |
| source:http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog |
Here, try this pill. Not feeling any different?
Ok, let's increase it.
Too many side effects? Let's change it.
Still not working? What about this drug?
Your feet feel weird? That's normal, nothing to worry about.
Feeling nauseas? Wait it out.
Dizzy? How dizzy? That's a safe level of dizziness.
Continue with what we prescribed.
What about therapy?
 |
| Sigmund Freud |
Cognitive behavioural therapy
metacognitive therapy
group therapy
individual therapy
compassion based therapy
mindfulness
talking therapy
psychotherapy
Trust me, I've had it all 'tried' on me.
I discovered all this anger at my most recent therapeutic session, and the feelings have yet to abate.
I am angry that my discharge papers list my diagnosis as 'Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety', yet seem to have neglected mentioning any kind of mood disorder. While some people would be thrilled that they don't have 'anything else', I am just frustrated by its admission. Because as far as I'm concerned, I clearly don't just have depression. Plus, I feel like I've actually overcome a lot of my anxiety issues (and worked really hard to do so). So to see this written down makes me feel like I'm wasting my time in the mental health system. Like they are not seeing the bigger picture.
I am tired of trusting in a system which constantly fails those it's supposed to help. I'm tired of trying so hard and falling so far. I know there are plenty of individuals who work tirelessly within this system, with the best of intentions and the belief that they can help. Unfortunately the system is so broken, there is little they can really do. There isn't enough funding to support their endeavours. The waiting lists are too long to help those who need it when they actually need it. It is too easy to prescribe a pill and send us on our way. Psychologists and Psychiatrists are too expensive for the average person to visit. There are too many people needing too much help, from a system straining at the edges and unable to do anything about it. Pills are only part of the solution, but the other part is not easily accessible, nor easy to give.
I'm sure somewhere someone must have, at some point, been helped properly, been cured even. But I don't know that person.
The mental health system is an ambulance at the bottom of the cliff for most of its patients. And believe me, that is a very big cliff.
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