Triggers

A few weeks ago I listened to the first episode of Fearne Cotton’s podcast, Happy Place. It was an interview with parents-to-be Tom Daley and his husband. They were so excited, so happy, so keen to share stories of shopping for their yet, unborn baby and nursery makeovers and I found myself becoming increasingly annoyed with all the joy and it wasn’t until Fearne said something like (and I can’t go back and listen to the exact words but I promise these are pretty close) How was the scan? Because every single parent is so excited and thrilled when it comes to scans. 

I snapped off my speaker and sat with my feelings for a bit, baffled as to why I’d found it such an annoying listen and suddenly it became so clear why I had been feeling so uncomfortable. It had absolutely nothing to do with the interviewer or interviewees, all of whom I really like. The problem was they were not describing anything I recognised. I struggled with my mental health when I was pregnant and even all these years later, this excited, joyful discussion was so triggering for me.

Instead to being able to just shrug and appreciate someone else’s very different experience, I felt once again that I had failed in some way. I hadn’t felt the way I should when I went to scans, when I carried my children and guilt, shame and jealousy flooded my emotions. I cried some tears for what I felt I’d missed out on, for the first time in years and the relief of acknowledging the trigger and my own feelings was huge. I realised I wasn’t just a grumpy, bitter old cow, who’s first thought had been “What a stupid thing for her to say”.

I am someone who had a different experience and that’s OK. It was about me not them, not you, not anyone else.

It was really quite a shock. I don’t think of that time often, almost never. I once wrote that a miscarriage was like a freckle. It would fade in and out with the sun and no-one else would even notice it, but I would know it was there and most of the time I think that was me being lyrical and over dramatic, but I think I was probably right. My experience of miscarriage and ante-natal depression will stay with me and that’s OK too.

For a much more positive post about Maternal Mental Health week I joined in with my friend Amy and her #whatidgiveanewmum hashtag and I said I would give acceptance. I was really thinking of accepting what your baby needs and making that work, but actually acceptance of ourselves is so important too. Acceptance of our journey to motherhood and the feelings that this still might bring years later is one of the bravest things we can do for ourselves.

This is my experience, it stays with me. It was easier than some experienced, it was harder than others, but none of that is relevant really. It was my experience and it deserves acknowledging sometimes. I am grateful to that podcast, because it made me pause and spend some time sitting with uncomfortable emotions and then let them pass…..until next time.

For anyone who has found this post because they’re having a rough time or for anyone who is new around here, the links in the post will take you to some of my posts that will fill you in on the background.

Grateful

A week ago I attended the Tommy’s Awards. It was quite a day. Great food, lots of wine, lovely people to share the day with (thank you Jenny, Suzanne and Leigh for welcoming me to your blogger gang) Peppa Pig and Harry from Mcfly. Yes, I was beside myself. No, I didn’t touch him. Apart from all that it was a really emotional day and I wrote a few thoughts on the way home. 

I am writing this on the train. Trying somehow to gather my thoughts and get across to you how this day has made me feel. I am torn between wanting to get it down, while it’s still so new and feeling that maybe I need to take time to reflect, for fear of coming across as preachy or smug. I am opting for the former option at the moment, even if it never gets published. 
I knew today would be emotional. I knew that people would be sharing stories that I would find hard to hear and that would make me cry and I was right, but I didn’t know that I would be quite so affected by the stories I was going to hear. 

  
Tommy’s do amazing work with all sorts of families. The doctor who heads up their Rainbow clinic spoke movingly about the work they do looking after families after they have suffered a neo-natal death or still birth. He spoke with such passion and pride. He was quite the Superhero. The CEO of Tommy’s announced a new Miscarriage Research Centre. Their hope is to provide every woman who miscarrys a reason for it. Every woman. To be told you have had another miscarriage and another and another and to never know why is heartbreaking. Regardless of whether there is a fix, just to know why would help so many people and of course, knowing why would make a fix much more likely. That we must rely on a charity for this stuff is quite another debate, but the passion and determination in which this charity fights for improvements in treatment, research and all important emotional support is quite something. 

Most of all I have come away feeling so grateful and lucky. Life is not a adversity competition. We all have our ‘stuff’. Everyday stuff and not so everyday stuff. It is real for us and it can be heartbreaking. The reason I was there was because I have experienced things that many other either haven’t or haven’t felt able to take about and I have. However, as I sit on this train, with my takeaway tea and lots of grey men in grey suits, with the odd tear sliding down my cheek as I type, I am acutely aware that I am speeding towards my home. My home that is filled with my kids. My kids who drive me nuts. Who often make me so cross I feel I will explode. Who make me feel so tired by 5pm that I want to weep. My healthy, alive children, who have never suffered anything more serious than a broken bone or a nasty virus. My beautiful, wonderful, full term children and many are not returning to that.

Today I heard stories of babies born too soon to survive, tiny babies, weighing less than a pound, born at 23 weeks. I heard of twins born and parents who had to bring just one child home. Amazing children smashing the odds to survive, but living with challenging conditions that will be with them forever. The resilience of these families was humbling. How humans pick up there lives and carry on for the sake of their children, for others in similar situations or raising awareness and moving research forwards is quite breathtaking when you see it up close. 

I know, I know that someone telling you to feel grateful is the last thing that will make you feel grateful. I really do know that, but I am saying it anyway, because, I also know that I spend too much time being frustrated with the small annoyances with life and I probably will continue to do so. That’s ok. But is does no harm to stop sometimes in our busy, frantic lives and really think about what we have, rather than what we don’t have. I don’t do that enough, do you? 

Shortlisted

  
This post is on a similar theme to the last really. Not so much the horrid, Mean Girl, things we say to ourselves, but our difficulty in taking a moment to share something positive, something that we should be proud of. You may remember a while back, I wrote about being longlisted for the Seraphine Mum’s Voice Award in the Tommy’s Charity Awards. I did the hard bit and asked you to take a moment out of your busy lives, to email a little bit about why I should make it onto the shortlist and you did. I am really delighted to have been shortlisted and will be attending a lovely awards lunch in London in a couple of weeks. 

However, every time I’ve thought of sharing this news with you, who are, after all, the people that made it happen, I cringe. I put a very quick post on Facebook on the day I received the email and that has been all I have been able to do. What is that all about? Like I said, I did the hard bit, actually asking you to do something, so why not share the good news? 

  
It feels like something that happened by accident. As bloggers, we share little snippets of our lives, ranging from kid’s birthdays, to holidays , to what we’re making and little glimpses of our homes. Sometimes, we write posts that go deeper and they are always harder to press the publish button on. We never really know whether they will resonate, but we write our experiences, as women and as mothers. We don’t always get huge feedback. Comments, tweets and retweets are always really welcome and here at least, always give a little rush of pleasure, even after all these years, but we don’t get to see many reactions that our writing may have. I got a small glimpse into that as Tommy’s sent a couple of quotes from the emails they had received. It was really humbling to think that people I have never met bothered to email a few lines to say what my writing had meant to them. 

This whole experience has had me thinking a lot about sharing our stories. Stories that often feel small and insignificant. Today, Sport Relief spent a whole day raising awareness of Parental Mental Health issues, with the hashtag #Mumtalk and it was amazing to see my timeline full of people sharing their stories of ante and post natal depression. Some, like myself were a million miles away from those dark places now, but some where still in the thick of it and their bravery in sharing something so raw took my breath away. 

To us, our stories may feel small, but in a world where so often womens’ and particularly mothers’ voices are drowned out to a mere whisper, it’s important that we tell our truths. I have found myself in the position of being able to have an audience for my truth and that is a real privilege. It also means that sharing my story has made things easier for other people. The fact that I am being recognised for that is also an important part of that story and for that reason, at least, I should shout about it just a little louder. 

So, on March 11th I shall be implementing the world’s most complicated child care plan, so that I can disappear to London for the day and celebrate stories of many other families speaking their own truths, loud and clear. Thank you so much for your support and taking the time to put me in this exciting position. 

Ante-natal depression exists.

I’ve been putting off writing this post. The words just haven’t flowed and have no idea why. This is where I shared bits of my struggle not only to get pregnant but how hard I still found being pregnant. I guess writing about it now it’s a time in my life that’s finished, feels harder. As I look at my children, who I often think of as a whole bunch, it feels as if it all that went before, happened to someone else, like another life. But it wasn’t another life. It was my life and my experience and one shouldn’t hide that away.

I am very concious of the fact that I have built this space online and that it has given me a voice and an audience and I owe it to myself and to them, to reach out by sharing my experience. Isn’t that what a blog is? It is important that we tell our story, because our story can help others shape theirs. Of course we cannot spend our time looking back too often, but it does no harm to occasionally stop and remember. “That happened to me and I felt x or y and that’s OK”

Through my experiences and this tiny corner of the World Wide Web I’ve had the opportunity to work with Tommy’s. First, when I ran a half marathon to raise money for them and last year to talk about my experience of ante-natal depression. They have recently released seven case studies videos of women sharing their experience of pregnancy, mine included and have lots of fabulous information on their website to help those who don’t feel that carrying a baby is the most exciting and glowing time of their lives. 10-15% of all pregnant women suffer with mental health problems such as depression and anxiety. Unfortunately these issues are less likely to be spotted during pregnancy than any other time. In as much as a third of cases ‘postnatal’ depression actually starts during pregnancy but it is not recognised or treated at that point. Because of this, women are suffering unnecessarily. I certainly raised my issues with midwives and whilst they were very sympathetic, there was no practical help for me. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the fabulously supportive online community things would have been even harder.

You can find my video here, along with the other stories and I would so appreciate it if you could share this campaign. I want to make sure that as many women as possible know where to find support if they are struggling and that they are perfectly normal in how they feel. It seems to me that if there’s any reason to revisit those times, then that is a good one.

Connecting

About six weeks ago at my Midwife appointment, I mentioned I was struggling with the emotional side of being pregnant. I had been prompted to do so by a few comments and tweets I had after one of my recent posts, so decided to be brave and speak up. The Midwife was very lovely and sympathetic and made all the right noises about how I am not the only one who feels this way, but the sum total of her actual practical help was that I could, if I wanted to, make an appointment with a GP, who would discuss the possibility of medication. So, really, no practical help at all. I am not keen to start medication while pregnant and at the time only had three months of being pregnant left, so the thought of spending that time trying to find the right medication didn’t appeal to me.

Understandably I felt pretty despondent, but mainly I felt very much alone. Very much that this was down to me to get through and no-one else could really help, which is kind of true. Obviously there are lovely lovely friends, family and a brilliant partner, who are on hand for a chat or a pregnancy related moan, but mostly there isn’t an awful lot they can say or do. I am pregnant, there is an end point and that’s about it really. Added to this is the fact that actually I don’t always want to be moaning about things, contrary to what you may think as a reader of this blog. I want my friends to distract me, to make me laugh, just to not bloody think about all the things that are swirling around my head.

That night, as I lay in the bath, mulling over the day and feeling isolated from everyone, something happened that made me think a little differently. The baby kicked. Something that happens often, sometimes I am too busy to notice, but this kick seemed so well timed. It reminded me that I am not really in this alone, in fact at the moment, I am never truly alone. My baby is always with me, growing, developing, moving around and it is my job to take care of myself as much as I can. No-one else in the world can do this job for this baby right now. I am not really alone anyway, but my baby really does only has me to rely on.

It occurred to me that I have given so little thought to the actual baby. I had been rushing around so much that there was no connection there, no mindfulness, just irritation. So, I vowed straight away that each day I would spend some time on my baby. Call it connecting, thinking, whatever you like, but each day I would take, sometimes only a few moments, to acknowledge it’s presence. It seems like such a stupid thing to say. How can I not acknowledge it? It’s there, an ever-growing, moving bump, but mostly I give it very little thought, it is just there.

It could be by practicing some anti-natal yoga, or a relaxation or my most recent idea, making a blanket for the baby. There is something very special about using my skills with a hook and yarn to create something that will one day wrap around an actual person. For me, making something for someone is an act of love and has become an important ritual for all my babies to have something made by me before they arrive. Some days, though, it may be as quick and simple as placing my hands on my bump as it kicks and really feeling each movement, closing my eyes and taking some deep breaths.

I still struggle and some days are full of worry and anxiety, but I certainly have more of a sense of what this is all for, what is to come and what that means for me. I think perhaps I am quite good at coping, when I know it is down to me to do so. I become quite resilient and discovering that the only help available was medication actually clarified things for me. For a few more weeks, at least, it’s just me and this baby doing this pregnancy thing and that’s just fine.

A break in the cloud

As I reach the last weeks of a pregnancy that I could never describe as enjoyable I find myself, surprisingly philosophical about when the baby will arrive.

Suddenly everyone I speak to assumes I am fed up and desperate not to be pregnant any longer. They put their head to one side and screw up their noses asking “How are you, bet you’ve had enough now?” I smile and shrug and tell them I really am OK and that the baby will come when it comes.

There are things praying on my mind, but they have nothing to do with our impending arrival. My Mum is going through a difficult and financially messy relationship break up, Mckdad has been applying for a job (which we found out tonight he didn’t get) and thanks to an absess and stress-related cystitis for my cat (have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous!) I have been to the vet’s surgery five times in less than a week. There are the usual nerves about the birth and until that baby is safely in my arms I cannot totally relax, but that is all normal and natural.

I am feeling, what I can only describe as, twitchy. Physically tired, yet itching to do things, while at the same time unable to settle to anything. I am not even knitting. However, as far as actually being pregnant is concerned I’m feeling OK, for probably the first time since the second line appeared in that little plastic window so many months ago.

I can see the end, or rather the beginning and yet am happy to wait until the baby is ready to come. Every day means another day to grab some extra rest, potter around the house nesting or enjoy the relative peace of being a mother to one child.

My due date is Friday and I intend to simply carry on as normal with no fuss. I am hoping that this new found laid back attitude is still around even if I do have another 2 weeks to go.

The Silver Lining

I have made no secret of my dislike of pregnancy and all it’s horrid side effects. The raging hormones are at the top of the list but the early sickness, general tiredness and indigestion that you feel you are going to keel over from come in a pretty close second. It really does feel like a Nine-Month Cloud.

However, as I get towards the end of the longest nine months EVER (and yes, I realise that my moaning must have made them seem pretty long for you too) I have begun to see some silver lining to that cloud, just a few rather nice side effects and am focussing on these to keep my spirits up.

1) My skin is totally spot free and tans easily so I look thing as if I’ve spent 2 weeks in the Carribean. However, it does mean that people seem to think I’ve been sitting in my garden for hours on end which I assure you I haven’t.

2) I can wear clothes that are tight around the middle. Usually the worst part of my figure is my too large and definitely flabby tummy, but at the moment it is a pregnant belly so therefore totally acceptable to show off. Such a nice change.

3) For some reason when I am pregnant I don’t crave junk food. In fact, once again, my diet is probably better than usual and seeing as my biggest craving is ice, I am drinking tons of water. Of course I still consider cake to be a food group on it’s own when I am pregnant and breastfeeding but other than that I am putting all good stuff in.

4) My boobs have grown. I think they are planning to stage their own lunar eclipse. I wasn’t sure this next one was a benefit, but a quick twitter survey confirmed I should be pleased. Also from a totally non-appearance perspective it feels good to see them getting ready for the tough job that is ahead of them. It is reassuring

I really wanted to get to 5, these things are always in fives aren’t they? I’m afraid I can’t and yes, I know that most of them are shallow and based purely on appearance, but look back at my other pregnancy posts, the fact that I am seeing any positives is a huge step forward.

While I’m in this positive frame of mind, tell me what I’ve been missing. What did you love about being pregnant?

Beware!

Beware! Stand back! I am a pregnant woman and I have the ‘rage’. No-one is safe and especially those that try to cheer me up by telling me that I’ve not got long to go and that it is so exciting to be having a baby.

I want the world to leave me alone, stop hassling me to see them, return their calls or respond to their e-mails. Of course, not you dear readers, my on-line people are the only ones that are currently keeping me sane. It is very strange that it seems through a computer I can find honesty and the kind of rye humour I need, rather than the ‘hallmark’ version of pregnancy that seems to exist in the ‘real world’.

Family want to know what we are doing over Easter, which is a perfectly normal question, but I know it is leading to wanting to see us and I just don’t want that. We still have things we want to do before D-Day and Mckdaddy has lots of time off over the next couple of weeks. So we want to be left alone to get on with things. There will be some spare time, but I don’t want to spend it with ‘other’ people. I want to stay safe, in our little unit, just the three of us.

Even the rare offers of help make we want to rage. I realise I am not at my happiest or most bouncy but I feel I am coping well with day to day life. When someone comes over and offers to clean my bathroom, it just makes me feel that they are making a judgement on the state of my house. Anyway, what I really need is for someone to take Mini Mck out and run with him, kick a ball, lift him onto the slide. All the things that I can’t do. Standing and doing a little bit of ironing with the radio on and a cup of tea is far less strenuous than that. However, no-one is offering to do that, no-one actually asks what ‘help’ would actually help me.

I know that if my brain was working in the way it should and I didn’t have hormones tearing thorough my body I would see these attempts at kindness for what they are, but at the moment I don’t want it, I don’t need it and it just seems like added pressure.

I have tried being a more honest during this pregnancy, admitting I don’t like it, that it makes me grumpy and I don’t feel particularly excited about this new arrival, just anxious and overwhelmed by the thought of  it all. I may as well have said I don’t like my own child, from the looks I have got. This makes me rage too. Why should I be judged for being honest? I make it clear that I do know it will be worth it and I have no doubt that once the baby arrives I will love it as much as I love my first, but just now I feel grumpy and irritable and full of rage. If people don’t want the truth they shouldn’t ask.

In fact, that would be great, just don’t ask. I am tired of being asked about this pregnancy as if I am just a bump now and not a person. I still have a brain and I don’t want to think or talk about being pregnant ALL the time.

I think it’s all a form of nesting, a rather extreme form perhaps, but wanting to withdraw seems perfectly natural, it is what my instincts are urging me to do. We need to do practical things, but I also need to prepare myself and I work best if I can do that without interference, without any added pressure. We need to spend some time, just the three of us, we will not be a family of three for much longer and I want these last weeks to be as enjoyable they can be.

So, don’t expect the rage to disappear, perhaps my hormones are doing what is required by ensuring that I rage sufficiently to keep people away, to do what I need to do for myself and for my family, all of them, even the ones that are not here yet.

Knitting Myself Together

Some people pour a large glass of wine, some run, their worries falling out of their feet as they pound the pavement, some people lay in a warm bath. I knit.


In June 2007 I decided to learn how to knit. Coincidentally it was the same week I got a kitten and the same week I had my first miscarriage. Throughout the difficult 12 months, that was to follow, the kitten sat on my feet and grew and I gradually learned to knit, purl, decrease, increase and cable.


Whenever I feel that I shouldn’t and can’t inflict myself on the world and vice versa, I can find the comfort and escapism I need between two bamboo needles. The familiar feel yarn wound around my fingers and the needles resting on my hands slows my heart rate and after 10 minutes of working my shoulders have dropped. 


It needs enough concentration to take my mind off whatever may be troubling me, but at the same time is familiar enough to take very little toll on an already over-packed brain. 


This need to retreat coupled with the enthusiasm that a new project brings, made more special by the fact that it is a garment for a friend’s, yet to arrive baby, means I haven’t and may not be around as much as usual. I may not have replied to an e-mail or text you have sent. I may not be around for coffee or be calling you on the phone. I am sorry. I have not forgotten you and will be back soon.


In the meantime, do not fret. I’m just knitting. 

The Nine Month Cloud

The nine month cloud has been in my life before, blown away as suddenly as it arrived by the rush of love that filled it’s place when my boy finally arrived. At the time, I had no idea that it was a cloud, really, just nerves about becoming a mum and concern, because until that baby arrived safely I could never truly be excited.


This time though, the familiarity of how I feel has come has quite a shock. I know I can cope with being a mother and know that I can have a healthy child, so feeling that cloud descend has taken me aback. 


The urge to retreat is strong, to avoid those that make me feel worse. Things that would normally pass me by, as only slightly annoying, linger and fester in my mind, making the cloud blacker and more stormy. Unfortunately my wider family are pretty high on that list, but I have other people in my life that I can be honest with and that will lift me and I’ve become lax at contacting them too. Finding it harder to take that deep breath and paste a smile on.


I did confide in a friend last week, one of those friends that loves you however you are and who you can say the things that are not considered suitable for polite company. She admitted that one of the things that put her off having a third child was that she had really disliked being pregnant. 


She also agreed that it is a hard thing to admit and is usually met with clichés about how fantastic a baby is and how there are many people who would love to be in the same position. In fact she felt that it was more acceptable to express a preference as to which sex you are carrying than admit that being pregnant makes you miserable. 


Of course, all of those clichés, that set my teeth on edge, are true. I irritate myself for being so self-indulgent, when I know that this is something I want, that has been planned and is surrounded by love, but denying how I feel is not helping at all. 


My mood is so similar to last time that I began to wonder if there is such a thing as Antenatal Depression and it turns out there is. Knowing that I am not the only person to feel this way is a huge relief, but that relief is joined by feelings that I’m just being ridiculous and blowing everything out of proportion.


I guess, as with any form of depression there are differing levels and whilst I don’t feel I need professional help, I know that I don’t feel myself, I am a few degrees away from the me that I know is still here somewhere. 


Mainly I am glad to discover there is an actual ‘thing’. It comforts me to know that I’m not imagining it, that it is OK and will no doubt pass, blown away by the change that is coming. 


Until then, I know things that help. This helps, writing it, even though it has taken three attempts. My on-line people help, they somehow manage to get through the irritation filter and it is often easier to be honest here. I need to resist the urge to retreat, but on the other hand make sure I retreat a little from those that make things more difficult and not feel guilty for this. 


I have to accept this is how I feel. It doesn’t make me a bad person, it doesn’t make me a bad mother and doesn’t mean that I don’t love and want the child I am carrying. It doesn’t mean that I don’t know how lucky I am or that this is not a easy place to get to. It is simply how I feel, a cloud I have to pass through, despite all the turbulence it may hold.


Giving in to feelings can often be a good thing. If we open ourselves and accept what we feel, then we can let these things wash through us and slip away and that is what I have started to do today.