It seems all too commonplace these days to talk about the stigma of mental health. It makes me hate the word ‘stigma’. That even the ‘stigma’ is in a shadow of its own. It’s health. Since when did mental health become so detached from general health? And why is it still so? We have spent decades, generations ‘coming out’ about feeling depressed or struggling with times in our life, or just struggling with everything daily. To say it’s normal doesn’t seem enough. It feels to me like everyone has these ‘struggles’ at one time or another just as often as you might stub your toe, get a paper cut or have a headache. But those occurrences aren’t frowned upon. They don’t cause people to look at you with a tilted head and ask if you’re really ok.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this. Bear with.
Despite all of this, I am and have always been a bit ashamed and afraid to talk about my time with…. [Just type it Lizzy] postnatal depression. Or just depression in general and, anxiety. Another word which has grown it’s own mould of misunderstanding.
I say postnatal depression, not because that’s the only time I’ve been ‘there’ but because that was the time I acknowledged it. It felt ok to say I was feeling this way because I’d recently had our second baby and then our third, and really it was right from the beginning of being a mum. That way there was a cause and a likely end. I’d ‘get over it’. And then people would never know. But in truth, I don’t think I ever really have or ever will ‘get over it’. And whilst I have days of self-loathing, largely in part caused by my disability but not always, I also have days or sometimes shorter moments where I can’t deal with the kids’ arguing or think I can’t do as much as other mums do, and think “what the hell am I doing with 3 kids, I’m clearly not doing a good job as all I do is shout at them or nag them”. And everyone I speak to in a similar morning-school-run-hell situation feels the same. Then I take a step back and try to see things a different way.
And that’s just how things go, some days and weeks are easy and there aren’t too many moments of this kind of mood, and some weeks it is harder to see light at the end of that tunnel, which can feel never-ending. I know situational ‘life’ issues get in the way – trying to sell a house, trying to buy another, thinking about jobs, schools, children, family, friends, and everything else gets in the way of those easier smooth days.
And I know that everyone feels like this at times, even if they aren’t ready to talk about it yet. People feel it differently, some people feel it as a problem and some people take it as the norm. And in many families, mine included, talking about low mood is still a taboo. I’m getting better at it, I think we all are slowly. Even certain family members which I never expected to open up about such things have done.
I don’t often talk about anxiety, either. I think for me that’s even more heavily entrenched in my disability. Constantly worrying and guessing what people think of me and what conclusions they are leaping towards, and I can’t be 100% sure so then I can’t stop them landing there. It’s spending my life feeling like I demand too much of people and that I should just sit and be grateful. It’s buying clothes 2 sizes too big so I don’t feel too fat. It’s the constant imposter syndrome. It’s also just worrying about every little thing, any family member with a headache has a brain tumour, every time one of the kids trips up it must be CMT, every phonecall from my mum is to tell me something bad has happened. Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it.
It’s also important to know what helps when these things crop up. I know for me it’s calm days, or getting into bed at the end of a long day and lying on Tom’s shoulder watching a crappy [brilliant] series on Netflix, or taking the dogs to the beach watching them race each other, or making a coffee from your machine that has an impressive froth on top, because you’ve got your normal coffee beans back after they were out of stock. It’s tracking Tom on my phone to see that he’s nearly home, and not stuck in traffic, it’s watching my daughter in her gymnastics competition, it’s finding something from a clothes shop that actually fits my body, it’s seeing my family, it’s going out for a drive, it’s showing the kids my favourite music videos. There are things that help and there are things that don’t. Like not being listened to, or being undermined by people who should know better, or wanting desperately to do something but knowing that it’s my disability stopping me.
Anyway, today is apparently World Mental Health Day. Or just another day to acknowledge that our brains are just another organ in our body, but also the most special one. The one that gives us love and talent and compassion. We don’t need to pretend they don’t let us down once in a while. We don’t need to be dishonest about having a bit of an achey mind.
I absolutely love watching Tom dig massive holes and bury the kids until they can’t move (parenting hack) and them giggling as freezing sea water goes over their ankles at the shore. They will be doing things that they’ll remember when they’re grown up and think about how mummy and daddy sometimes took them to really exciting diy shops but we also had great fun at the park and at the beach. Both of which cost little to no money. Bonus!
Have You Tried Walking Lately? 