Fighting Myself and the Impact on my Children #MentalHealth

I have spent far too much of my 26 years fighting. Fighting myself.

Fighting clinical depression.
Fighting post-natal depression.
Fighting post traumatic stress disorder.
Fighting self-harming behaviour.
Fighting anorexia nervosa.
Fighting anxiety.
Fighting.
Fighting.
Fighting.
Endless fighting.

I need a day of respite. One whole day to myself, without any intrusion from myself. Just accepting myself as myself.

But, this isn't going to stop. It never will stop. Day after day, year after year, decade after decade, it will carry on and on.
I'm gradually accepting that.
I have to keep on fighting, indefinitely, and that's fine. I've become accustomed to it. I have my ways of coping and, when I can't cope, there are people around me that know my 'signs.' People that pick me up and hold me up until I can do it myself again.

But...what impact will that have on my children?

What if they get caught up in my fighting?
What if I've passed something onto them, genetically or otherwise?
What if they have to spend their whole lives fighting too?

What happens when they start asking why Mummy has scars?
What happens when they start asking why Mummy has 'down days'?
What happens when they start asking why Mummy doesn't eat much?

What do I say to them then? Do I tell them I'm fighting?
Do I tell them the truth? And what impact would that have on them?

Battling PND & the Pressure to 'Make it Up' to my Children

I suffered from Post-Natal Depression.

There, I said it. It's out there. Why is that so scary to admit to? Mental illness has had a wide-spread impact on all aspects of my life, why does it still prove so tricky to talk, or write, about? It shouldn't be that difficult to say; not when research suggests that as many as 3 in 10 Parents/Mum's have battled PND. But the reality is, that for many, me included, it's still a tricky subject to broach and hard to talk about. So bear with me on this...

Almost 4 years ago my Husband and I were thrown into a situation neither of us could have foreseen. After the reasonably normal arrival of our eldest came the incredibly early and traumatic arrival of our youngest who spent his first weeks in an Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) and a Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU). We were both blindsided and thrown off balance and I often find myself wondering how all four of us made it out of those dark days still in tact.

The truth of the matter was...I kind of didn't. I was in a very dark place; PTSD was wearing me down day by day, PND had set in and was making the normal, daily things feel impossible and the hours stretch on forever. It felt like somebody had turned out the lights and told me to carry on as normal. I couldn't bond with my youngest and I began to isolate myself from everyone and everything. I battled on for almost 11 months on my own before I reached a point where I couldn't function any longer and was becoming increasingly unstable. I hit the bottom. And it was pretty messy.

Thankfully when I did summon the strength to reach out from that place I found a wonderful Doctor who saw that I received support, help tailored to me and the right medication (my choice, due to ongoing clinical depression). It took a lot of time, patience and hard work, and not just from me, but I recovered.

The thing that lingers now is the guilt. Oh gosh, the guilt!
I cared for my children, I loved them, looked after them, fed them, bathed them, changed them and did all the things that I should have been doing. But I wasn't present and I wasn't the best Mother to them that I could have been. Now that I'm recovered from PND that guilt can be a crippling burden and I've spent the time since desperately trying to be the 'perfect mum' (I'm not sure she exists!!). I've been striving to make it up to them and give them every single bit of me, all of my time and energy and love. All the things I feel I couldn't give them at the beginning.

But that's just not realistic is it? And what exactly am I trying to make up for? Because I was ill (something out of my control) and struggled to be the best parent to them? I was still there; I still cared for them and showed them I loved them. I still made time for them, played with them and took them to see people and places however daunting I found it. I did all the things I should have been doing and they seem like happy, confident and able children. What exactly am I trying to make up for? Is it them I'm trying to make it up to...or is it myself?

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, 4 Years On #PTSD

My youngest's birth and the situation surrounding it was a traumatic one. After going into labour at 29+3 weeks pregnant our little man was born at 30+0 weeks weighing just 3lbs 10oz. He was a Saturday child and he was every inch of "works hard for a living." He was born a fighter, and thankfully a very strong one. We had our setbacks along the way, a virus, water retention, sleep apnoea and 2 bouts of septicaemia but he conquered them all bravely and found his way home with just a couple of ongoing health issues when I should have been 35+1 weeks pregnant. It was also his Daddy's Birthday!

He was fantastic; so strong and brave and resilient. It was I who started to fall apart. After having emergency surgery for a retained placenta that saw me loose an awful lot of blood I was incredibly unwell and physically weak and the emotional toll of a premature baby and all that had happened over those first few hours and the 5 weeks to come started to break me down. I was already at high risk of developing Post-Natal Depression having suffered with it mildly after my eldest was born and having an ongoing battle against Clinical Depression. What I hadn't considered though was just how mentally unwell and unstable I would become in the months after my little ones traumatic entrance to the world.

I developed quite severe Post Natal Depression that went unchecked for 11 months and my inability to cope pushed me down the road of relapse of an existing Eating Disorder, something that I'm still battling to get a hold on to this day. They were things I understood though and thought I could handle. I had been dealing with such emotions since my mid-teens, they were nothing new. I was wrong, obviously. I couldn't cope and I entered a very dark place. I reached out to a medical professional to be told I "seemed okay" to them and that "everything would be fine." It wasn't helpful in the slightest and stopped me from approaching anybody else within the health profession about my mental health issues until I reached a point where I felt I could not take any more. My Son was 11 months old.

For almost a year I had dealt with seemingly constant intrusive thoughts throughout the day accompanied by upsetting dreams at night. There were flashbacks that came along with them, mainly hearing sounds and sensing smells when I held or fed my little man but escalating to visual flashbacks and strong emotions the longer I suffered, where I saw things that weren't there and felt the emotions that were surging through me when the moment first happened.

It was tiring. Incredibly tiring. Each day I was trying to look after my two children to the best of my abilities whilst I struggled to function myself. It felt like every second was filled with constant thoughts about his birth, my mind replaying it section by section like a stuck record.

After reaching a point where I simply could not function any longer and finding each day an endless battle to survive I turned to my GP for help. My initial worries about them wanting to take my children away and the guilt I felt over my emotions were soon washed away as he took the time to listen. It was difficult to talk about it and my heart was drumming loudly in my ears for most of the appointment but my GP was wonderful and listened to everything I had to say before taking steps to get me some help.

As I'd been on medication for Clinical Depression before I fell pregnant we both decided that it would be beneficial for me to return to them but at a higher dose. After having waited 11 months to seek help I was in quite a state and my GP kindly forced me to the top of the waiting list to receive some treatment from a Psychiatrist. He was so insistent that I was seen as soon as possible that I received an appointment and started my treatment just two weeks after I'd been to see him.

It was a difficult and long road for me. There were a lot of other mental health issues, both existing and Postnatal, that were rather tangled up. I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) by the Psychiatrist, something which shocked me at the time but seems so obvious now. I went through a process of being gradually exposed to small memories of my youngest's birth and what followed whilst also receiving treatment that challenged my thoughts and emotions and gave me some life-saving coping mechanisms for when I felt overwhelmed and when a flashback hit.

It has been almost 4 years since my Son was born and almost 3 years since I had to summon the courage to admit something was wrong. I'm having to do that again to hit publish on this post but I figure if just one person reads this, identifies with it or finds the courage to seek help for themselves it is worth my silly feelings of nervousness and insecurity of 'sharing too much.'

I am a much different person. My existing mental health issues continue but they are a battle that is manageable, monitored and that I feel much more in control of. Postnatal Depression has since passed and although some of the feelings of guilt over my youngest's early birth remain they are not as overwhelming as they once were.

I still struggle with my youngest's Birth; reading birth stories can be quite difficult and watching them on TV (I only watch them in soaps - I avoid any programmes solely about birth) is something I have to build up the courage for. I still get flashbacks but they are few and far between. Where they were a regularly, weekly occurrence, they are much more of an annual happening now. They are still just as scary - emotions are brought up and tears well my eyes. My heart feels like it's going to jump out of my chest and I struggle to breathe. But they pass. Coping techniques I've picked up from my therapy help greatly and I'm now reaching a point where I feel I can speak a lot more openly and easily about my youngest's birth and following months - something that was close to impossible before.

I guess the message here is to seek help when you start to feel something is wrong. Don't leave it to escalate to the point you can barely cope. Your GP or whoever you speak to will be kinder and more helpful than you think and the fear of speaking out is nothing compared to battling through on your own. You can recover from PTSD. It is possible.