Reaching Out

Anxiety is just a feeling. It is not a physical problem. It is an emotional reaction. It is a feeling of worry, unease, fear and nervousness. It is internal and mostly, people don't know that you are suffering it. That is, until it becomes physical. Anxiety is real. It is strong. It effects your entire mental and emotional state and some times, it can become so overwhelmingly strong that it begins to effect your physical state too. Anxiety, and depression, can be caused by all different kinds of factors. It is never truly any one thing and mostly, sufferers are not even certain themselves of why they are feeling the way they are. They just know that they are. 

We suffer in silence. We wake in the middle of the night. We fight for breath. We swallow it down and we try to ignore it. All the while trying to prove that we are okay, that we are super Mum (or mum-to-be), we are strong and capable and coping. The problem is that we are all of those things, even when we feel like we aren't. Motherhood is hard work. It is not perfect, it is not clean, it is not easy and it is not always fun. It is the hardest job that we will ever have to do and it is a job that we will always do. No one expects us to excel at this job every single day. No one expects us to do more than we are capable of doing. No one puts these expectations on us, except for ourselves. So much pressure, so many expectations. Such disappointment and anger when we fall short. It is no wonder anxiety and depression is so common.

It is more common than you know. Than I know. Especially in young Mothers. In Mothers who are trying to be... everything. We need to loosen the reigns, take a step back, take some time, walk away. We need to learn to look after, not only our children and our families, but ourselves. It is time to take control. It is time to be honest. It is time to understand that anxiety and depression is not a flaw, it is an illness. An illness which can be fixed, if only we would admit to having it. All it takes is a little support, a lot of encouragement and a bucket load of strength. It is time that we reach out, that we speak openly to each other, that we tell our stories! It is time... to get better!

Yesterday I reached out. Yesterday was a big day, huge. Yesterday I made a step towards a better future... a better life. I went to my midwives and I said those very hard and very intimidating and very "disappointing" words. I said to my midwife, I am just not coping. Then I spoke to a counsellor. For over an hour. I cried, I talked, I shook, I smiled and then the best thing of all. I walked away and I survived. I came home and I felt lighter. 

Anthony said to me last night. "I have never heard of prenatal". He wouldn't say any more words than that, but I think his implication was that he has never heard of prenatal depression. Anthony is as supportive as a man who doesn't understand depression, or anxiety, can be. But he truly doesn't understand. Depression does not only occur within Mothers after the baby is born. It can start while you are pregnant. It can start months, even years after your baby is born. It can start when ever it damn well wants to. Because, postnatal depression is depression. Depression does not just show up at a text book time. It shows up whenever it pleases. It comes and it goes. 

The problem with "mental health" in today's society (which has come so very far) is that people cannot understand it. They can not see it. It is an illness of the mind, not of the body and so it can be hidden. How do you understand something you cannot see? How do you understand something that is not talked about? 

It is more common than we know and everyone has a story. Everyone has a story of suffering but they all have a story of surviving. We are survivors. I choose to be a survivor, I refuse to be a victim to this. I choose to talk about my story because I want to encourage you to do the same. The more we talk about it, the more we admit it, the easier it will become for you, or your loved ones, to reach out and take that all elusive first step to recovery.

We Mothers need to band together, we need to be honest and we need to give each other the strength, courage, support and encouragement to reach out!

I reach out to you... Are you okay? 

Anxiety

Being a Mum is single handedly the easiest and yet most difficult role in the world. As I sit down to write this, I am at my worst Mothering moment in my journey as a Mother. I am finding it difficult, more than difficult. I am finding myself to say, more often than not, in this last week that "I am not coping". The love, that part is the easy part. But the pressure is the hard part and I am really feeling the pressure. 

Some people are born Mothers, born with a maternal instinct. They fall into the role with such grace and ease and from the outside looking in, they are just perfect at it. Never have a bad moment, a not coping moment. When Evelyn was born, I thought I was born to be a Mother. It was easy. I loved her with all my might. Every little inch of me and my life became about her and her life. She was breathtakingly beautiful, she was gloriously behaved, she slept well and I was cruising through this life as a Mother. But since becoming pregnant for a second time, the pressure of maintaining that level of Mothering has cracked me. Broken me. 

I remember when Evelyn was 12 months old saying to Anthony, "I just cant ever imagine being angry at her, look at her, she is perfect". But then she learnt how to be naughty and I learnt how to be angry with her. Up until today I had never yelled at her. I have always kept my cool and with each moment that she misbehaved I would sit myself down and hold her by the arms and explain to her why that behaviour is not acceptable. She would hug me and she would kiss me. But today, I yelled at her and she just cried at me. And that cry didn't break me like it normally would. Infact, it infuriated me even more. And now as I sit locked in my bedroom trying to find my cool I feel guilty for being so angry with her. 

Being a Mum is the hardest job in the world. We are relied upon to teach our children right from wrong. Safety and danger. How to crawl, walk, talk, write, read. How to be polite and thankful. Grateful. Social etiquette. Correct speech. Please and thank you. How to eat, what to eat. How to be healthy, how to live healthy. Hygiene, routine, not to be mean. We are the ones who direct them to their futures and influence their beings and my god, that is overwhelming. 

In the last two weeks Evelyn has been testing me and my patience and with every moment that she acts out, with every tantrum my patience is wearing just that little bit more thin. Every time that I find myself grinding my teeth, or tearing up, I feel guilty. Because I am her Mother and I should be calming directing her to the correct path. I should be displaying the correct behaviour for her to learn from. I dont want her to learn that when it gets too hard, cry. But at the moment that is the behaviour I am teaching her, because when it gets too hard, I cry.

Evelyn has not been sleeping before 10pm for the last two weeks. Sometimes staying awake until midnight. She has not be day napping. She has been tired and cranky and badly behaved. I started out calm and understanding. Trying to understand that she is just too tired to function correctly and that this bad behaviour is not truly her, but he exhaustion. But by the end of these two weeks, when I am sleep deprived, me deprived, I have wavered. I am unable to understand. Because my exhaustion is now creating my own bad behaviour. We are two girls, exhausted and run down and now sick and we are not encouraging each other to be better people, we are not teaching each other patience or compassion. 

I feel like I have not had even 5 minutes to myself to be able to recoup. My showers are shared with her. My bed time is stolen by her. My food is thrown by her and my quiet time is interrupted by her. We both need a break and yet we cannot seem to find one. I find it too hard to leave her, I literally cannot leave the house with out her and when I do try, I cry and wonder "where on earth am I to go?". I need to find my centre again because without my centre I am making bad decisions. 

Two nights ago, Evelyn was screaming in my arms as I tried to comfort her to sleep. She had been screaming in my arms like this for 3 hours, on and off. It got to the point where every nerve ending in my body was screaming with her. I ached. I was sweating. I was crying. Every fibre of my body was suffering with anxiety. I just could not hear her scream any longer. And so I put her in her cot and I walked away. I walked outside and I told Anthony that I literally could not hear it anymore and then I got into my car and I drove away. As the rain poured down so did my tears. I felt like I had failed. I had given up. But my body just would not allow another moment of it. 

Today, the water to our suburb has been turned off. As I was outside trying to work out what had happened to the water, Evelyn decided to bring dirt inside and put it on my lounge and then pour her glass of water of the top and then start rubbing. My bird was going crazy, squawking with no relief for an hour. I was beginning to break down, I could feel that anxiety taking over my body. I am came inside to find the dirty mess and I snapped. I yelled, I really yelled at Evelyn and she just stopped and stared and then cried like Ive never seen her cry before. I stormed outside to release the bird, but stopping myself at his cage before it was too late and decided to just yell at him too. I then picked Evelyn up and strapped her into the car and I drove with the music up and the windows down, so as not to hear the screaming. 

I am waking in the middle of the night in the middle of the night in full blown panic attacks. I cannot breathe. My body aches with anger. I am tired. I am exhausted. I am failing and I feel more and more miserable every time I see how much I am letting everyone down. I have tried talking to my midwives and my Obs about my anxiety levels but I am not being heard. It is hard enough saying it once, but to have to push my concerns is just impossible.

I am not coping. I am failing. The loving Evelyn is easy. The forgiving her is easy. The getting up and starting again is easy. Its the pressure of it all. The expectations. The need to succeed. The fear of failing. Its watching yourself fall apart over a little bit of screaming, or some dirt and knowing that you are letting them down. Its the inability to be what she needs from me at all times, because at some times, I need to have a tantrum too. And I have. This week I have tantrumed. I have cried. I have fallen apart. I have let my family down with my inability to hold myself up. And its hard. Its really bloody hard to have to admit that you are not Super Woman, not Super Mum. You cannot be everything, all the time. Its really hard to admit that anxiety is taking a hold of me. 

But every now and then I think we, as Mothers, need to take a step back and accept that we cant be everything. Let the pressure go. Loosen the expectations. I might be failing this week. I might have failed today. But tomorrow I will get back up and I will try again and I will hope that tomorrow I wont fail. Tomorrow I will make a difference. I hope...

Could this be depression?

Last night I went to bed and laid my restless and aching body beneath the sheets, as I settled in for a long night of slumber I began to think. That thinking soon turned into panic and anxiety and tears later followed. Last night I realised something, as I lay in my bed alone.

With this week being 'postnatal depression week', there have been many stories around the internet that I have been reading. With each and every story I read a feeling begins to bubble. A feeling that something isn't quite right. With me. Last night I realised that something definitely isn't right. 

Today I have told my two closest people. I have said the words out loud. I am not yet sure what to do with those words or if those words are real. But today I took a step. Today, I came to the understanding that the way I have been living my life is not normal and I came to the understanding that I want my life to be full again. I have spent the day trying to determine if this is depression. And if it is, when did it start? Is it postnatal depression or has it been around for far longer than that?

About 12 months ago, Anthony and I went out for dinner and I explained to him that I do not feel myself. I had never said these words to anyone before and I cried as they spilled from within me. I told him that I do not feel anymore. I can feel love and I can feel happiness and I can feel anger and I can most definitely feel sadness. But those feelings have been subdued. My excitement never reaches its full capacity and my smile never as bright. My sadness is all consuming and my anger is uncontrollable. I feel irrational and agitated. But all of those emotions, are just not as real as they used to be.

I have noticed that I spend my days waiting. Waiting for the next day to come. Waiting for the next event so that I can enjoy myself. I lack the ability to just enjoy a day because it is a new day. I do not look forward to a new day, I look forward to the next thing. I have no motivation to leave the house, unless it is to accept an invite from another. I have no motivation to go and do for myself. The idea of leaving without my Daughter does not excite me. Where will I go? What will I do?

I don't remember the last time I woke up and didn't feel tired and yet, every night I go to bed and I cannot sleep. If it were possible I would sleep through the day, every day, avoiding spending time on my own.

I do not feel depressed, I do not lock myself in a dark room and cry. This is how I always viewed depression and this is why I struggle to see if depression is where I am. I have had thoughts that I may be a sufferer for quite some time but I have always told myself I have no reason to be depressed and that people around me do. I have always guilted myself out of approaching the topic any further. How can I be depressed, if they are not? After all they have been through?

I do not know wether this is depression, or if this is just normal. But what I do know, is that I do not want to waste my days away, always waiting for the next day. I do not want to be too afraid to enjoy Evelyn's nap time by spending the time by myself. I no longer want to always rely on meeting other people in order to leave the house and I want to be able to feel a real emotion again, in all its fury and rage. I want to feel an overwhelming emotion of happiness, or even sadness. I want that emotion to consume me and to no longer live in this perpetual state of mediocrity.

I do not know if this "funk" started after Evelyn was born, I do not know if it is postnatal depression. Perhaps it started after my Step Father passed away? Or even after watching my Sister go through the pain of losing her child and not being able to help? Or maybe, it has been around for far longer than that and stems from my childhood and the struggles of coming from a broken home?

Whatever the cause and whenever it started, Id like for it to longer be something that keeps me awake at night. Today I took my first step. I said the words out loud. At some point I will need to make the next step, but for now, leaning on my people and letting those words spill, that is big enough and scary enough for me. The rest will have to follow...

A conversation could change a life

At 8pm on Wednesday night I heard my phone ring. I missed it. Seconds later, Anthony's phone rang. As he answered it, it stopped. Moments later my phone rang again. And I knew... there is something wrong. I answered the call only to be met with a voice so distorted by tears and sobs that I could not identify who it actually was. Through the mess of words and tears I heard...

"Aunty Sue has committed suicide"

...Followed closely by heaving sobs and heart breaking tears and concern, a voice and words full of concern about my Ma. My 85 year old Ma, who spends her every waking day taking my Aunty Sue to doctors appointments, to clinic time, to hospital visits. My 85 year old Ma who has never stopped mothering her 57 year old daughter, my 57 year old Aunty.

I rushed out the door and into the car and made the mad dash up to my Ma's house to just be with her. To sit and talk, cry and laugh, plan and organise, deny and accept. My Sister and I both sat with her, all three of us sipping on tea with foggy minds, teary eyes and aching hearts.

The following four days have been emotionally charged, with all sorts of mixed emotions. My Aunty was a very sick woman, in a lot of pain, constant, chronic every day pain. She was also very lonely. So alone. More alone than I care to admit. I feel a sense of relief for her, relief that she doesn't have to be in pain anymore. I feel a sense of understanding, I understand that her life did not have enough quality and perhaps warrants the need to leave. I feel a sense of anger, anger that she could leave my Ma behind feeling like she should have done more. I feel a sense of sadness, sadness that my last words to her were "I'll see you soon", and hers to me "I hope so", but now I never will. I feel a sense of disbelief, why did she want to leave this world in this way. I feel a sense of worry, I worry that her departure from this world was just as painful as her last 10 years. I feel a sense of frustration, frustration that my very last memory of my Aunty is that she gave up.

I want so badly for my Aunty Sue to be in peace, I want for her to have died in peace. The thought of her feeling sick and vomiting, feeling weak and regret, in her very last moments is what keeps me awake at night. I want for her to have fallen asleep, peacefully, for her to have slipped out of this world as perfectly as she slipped into it. I don't believe in God, but I pray to him, that he had enough grace to be able to have given her that.

I like to think of my Aunty now in a better place, in the body that her mind remembers her having, happy, healthy, fit and carefree. I like to think of her in a place full of love and forgiveness. I would like to believe that she is now there with everyone else who has slipped away from me and this world and arrived in the next. My Aunty, sitting at a dinner table with my Step Dad, with my nephew, with her Uncle and Aunty, with her Grandparents. With people that love her and will care for her, I want to believe that she is in a place where she will never feel lonely again.

And when I see her again, I will make sure, that she is never alone again. Nobody should feel that alone. Ever.

Four days before National 'R U OK?' day, my Aunty wasn't OK. She was sad, lonely and in a lot of emotional and physical pain. Four days before 'R U OK' day, I didn't ask if she was Ok. Four days before such an important day, I did not comprehend the importance behind such a huge question. But today, on this National day, I finally understand. 

Are you okay?

Why don't we ask that question enough, why don't we listen to the answers? Why, when we know that someone is "down and out", do we ignore it? Because that is exactly what we do, we leave those people alone and we wait for them to be ok again, then once they are, we welcome them back into our lives. Why? Yes, it is hard to deal with somebody else's pain, but how selfish of us to "protect ourselves" by avoiding the topic, protect ourselves from their pain because we don't want to feel their sadness. That is not what family should do for one another, that is not how friends should treat each other. 

This world can be such a cold, gruelling and painful place and we really owe it to each other to hold each other's hands and walk through the world together. No one should be alone and ignored and avoided. No matter the cost of your own self preservation. We all deserve to have someone ask us, and care about the response, are you okay?

I don't want anyone to have to feel what my Aunty Sue felt on Wednesday, or for the months leading up to Wednesday so today I ask you to please, please, ask your loved ones...

Are You Okay?