It's not all black and white...

Image Source: PANDA

This week is Postnatal Depression (PND) Awareness week.

This year, I'm blogging from the other side of the coin. The survivors side.

And I don't mean survivor in the sense that I was schlepped to an island with a bunch of strangers and had to survive on a mixture of rat meat and rain water, but I mean I have been to the darkest depths imaginable and I've come back.

I'm not saying it wasn't hard, I'm not saying that I don't still have dodgy days where I think everything about me is shite and I'm not saying that what I went through is typical.

Because it's not.

Every parent, every emotion, every thought is as individual as the person having it. There is nothing typical about PND, and perhaps that's why so many of us remain in denial. 'Oh, it's not exactly the same as what Betty went through, so I've not got PND. I'm just having a bad day - I'll be fine!'

The trouble is, when those bad days start to add up and you can't remember the last good day you had. When you feel panicky at the thought of leaving the house, or someone coming over to see you and the baby. When the smallest thing can make you burst into tears or feel so angry you want to scream.

It all adds up. It all takes over. You feel like there's no way to get out.

Well, I'm here to say there is absolutely a way out. I'm living proof. Undeniable.

It feels amazing when it all finally comes out. That initial release is like someone lifting a suitcase of cheap souvenirs off your shoulders. A bag full of crappy pewter trinkets to remind yourself of every single time you think you failed. Every single thing you think you did wrong. Every scenario you've ever imagined where you think you're the unmistakable downfall.

You decide that your friends and family are better off without you. That you are just dragging them down with you. They should escape while they still can.

None of it's true, but the negative is always harder to accept than the positive. I don't know why some of us find it so difficult to accept that we are nice people and we deserve to be as happy and fulfilled as the next person. No ifs', ands' or buts'.

My husband is proof that people you love are your best anchors and will always back you up. My children are proof that PND doesn't change anything about how you love and bond. My Mum is proof that every girl needs someone to say it out loud - to say what you're afraid to. My friends are proof that the people who know you can see beyond it all and won't give up on you.

The main point is you are not alone. Ever. There are so many brave voices out there, sharing their stories and proving that no one is immune, PND does not discriminate. It doesn't care which half of the parenting unit you are, or if you are the whole unit on your own. Mum or Dad, it can hit you like a tonne of bricks.

"Perinatal depression is not a women's issue. It affects whole families and without treatment it can change the lives of families forever. However, help is available and early intervention and the right support leads to a faster recovery." ~ PANDA CEO, Belinda Horton. Quote taken from www.panda.org.au 

No one should be ashamed, or afraid to get help. Some of the many resources available are:

Click the image for more information. Image Source: PANDA 

Click the image for more information. Image Source: PANDA 

Click the image for more information. Image source: beyondblue

There is a collective link-up being hosted by Emma at Five Degrees of Chaos where people can share, and read stories of other's, experiences with PND. You can visit Emma's blog directly or click this link.

Wednesday 20 November 2013 on Instagram is the day for letting your pictures do the talking. Be sure to use the hashtag #bePNDaware.

Lastly, if you think you might be experiencing depression or anxiety, or if you are concerned for a friend or family member, contact PANDA online or phone their helpline on 1300 726 306. A complete list of contact information can be found here.

The B6 Miracle...

Yesterday, I hit rock bottom.

Needless to say that a side effect of not being able to keep anything down means my anti-depressants don't have a chance to absorb.

I struggled for the past 2 weeks, but yesterday was my breaking point. Anxiety at an all time high, the irrational part of my head telling me my boss would sack me for being sick, telling myself that I am always sick and it's not good enough, no one else gets sick - it's only me, that I'm a failure as a parent, a wife, a home maker and a person in general.

Yeah - it was a 'great' day.

I managed to schlep myself to the GP and sob away in her office. I give the woman credit for being able to decipher what I was saying through all the sobbing and sniffling.

So here I am, fresh from an uninterrupted, anti-depressant absorbing, nausea free nights sleep, thanks to a high dose of Vitamin B6.

Oh B6 - I wish I knew about you sooner. I know we'll be the best of friends and you can consider yourself added to the Christmas Card list, Easter gift list, Birthday acknowledgement list and any other important list I create that you could be logically included.

I had forgotten how something as simple as an uninterrupted nights sleep can make me feel a lot more together. The Man also took Miss 3 to daycare today so I have an entire day to myself - I can sleep, watch TV, sleep a bit more and, most excitingly, HAVE SOMETHING TO EAT!!

I am loving life today. And it makes me kick myself that I didn't say something sooner - but I don't like feeling as though I'm wasting the GPs time. There are people with serious illness or chronic disease that need a GP appointment more than me. My situation always feels so insignificant.

However, today I am focusing on the good and enjoying the fact that I feel far more human than I did 24 hours ago.

Hooray for Vitamn B6!!

The Unhappy Working Mumma...

I don't want to be a working Mumma anymore.

There, I said it. It's the elephant in the room at home, right now. Yesterday I kinda lost my shit because I didn't want to go back to work. Being crippled by the flu and germridden in bed for a week was more fun.

That's saying something.

I brought it up with the Guru yesterday, in the midst of a barrage of tears over none of my clothes fitting they way I want them to, again with him being on the computer if he's not working, feeling like rat shit and knowing that the Black Dog is using all of this as fuel for the fire.

I'm so tired. So tired of feeling this way. Pulled in too many directions, not enough time in a day and not having enough patience with Miss 3. Getting annoyed over things that don't matter, simply because the weekend is never long enough and I'm always battling the tide of fucking mess and disorganisation that is my life after a full week at work.

I get home and I blink - the clock has swung around to 7:30pm and I've not even got dinner on the table some nights.

I don't know how other Mum's do it. I can't silence that voice in my head that tells me I'm a failure as a parent for being at work, and I'm a failure as a employee for not being at work. I think I'm afraid I'll loose part of myself.

If I'm not working and earning money, what value do I have at home or in society?

My Mum has always worked. When I was a child, she used to work at the local abbatoir splitting sheep skulls and extracting the brains or removing the offal from the sheep bodies. She worked nights and it was good money. She was home during the day for me.

She taught me to always be independant.

Growing up with an example like my Mum, I feel like I'm failing her by not wanting to be the all-encompassing-full-time-working-mumma. But I don't. And I can't escape that. Deep down, I don't want to be where I am.

But being a SAHM scares me too.

Does that mean I won't be 50% of the marriage anymore? Will I have to ask permission to use money because I'm not earning it? How will I feel if someone asks me what I do and they roll their eyes at me when I say I'm a SAHM? Because I don't cope well with the horrified looks on people's faces when I tell them that I'm a working Mum - it makes me want to slap them and yell 'Don't Judge Me!'.

And I'm sure SAHM's want to do the same thing when they're judged for choosing family over a career.

For the moment our budget requires that I work. Not necessarily full time, but I need to provide an income of some sort. Once some things are paid off, my hours could drop more.

My dream is not to return to work after baby #2 - use up my maternity leave benefit from work, use the Government leave option and then cash in my long service leave. I'll have about 18months paid time off. And then I'll simply resign.

But until then I need to do something. As things are now I'm feeling run down and trapped in a never ending cycle that I hate, yet taking that first step is daunting.

I know I'm most likely over thinking it - I've been stewing all week and the more I stew, the more the Black Dog throws his 2 cents into the conversation and things start to spiral out of control.

I'm really looking for feedback from other parents - those who work and those who don't. I need to hear your stories and know that what seems impossible now, is not only possible, but wonderful.

Dear Father Christmas...

Apologies for not having posted this week.

It started out a bit of a mess when my boss went on leave and all the lunatics descended on me. They were obviously waiting for her to run off and get married so they could pounce on the weak one.

I also had to run a Remote Emergency Skills Training course this weekend. Picture 15 GPs in a room with 7 experts on remote emergency training and 2 admin people tying to make sure everyone had their laryngoscopes, that the defibrillator machine worked and all the simulation/CPR dummies were in full working order (i.e. the trainer could stand there and make it cry/moan/scream/gasp for air etc...)

I even had to make sure the baby dummy's umbilical cord was inserted and able to be catheterised with blood and everything coming out of it.

It was a very stressful weekend and I wasn't even being assessed on my ability to keep someone alive. It was a good weekend to make sure I was taking my anti-depressants properly.

But I ran out of them on Tuesday. Meant to get them on the Thursday on our way to the hotel we were staying in while I was working, but the Guru sighed and rolled his eyes at me when I asked if we could stop off at the chemist that's open late. Said to me he was sure I could make time during the weekend to get them and he didn't want to have to make a detour on our way into the city.

Needless to say my week kinda went downhill from there and I've been struggling ever since. The smallest drama will have me either in tears or irrationally angry. I almost quit my job Saturday night because I was quickly spiraling down into the abyss.

I've still not got my script re-filled. And when my Mum came to pick up the Toddler for her regular Sunday night sleep over, tonight, she knew instantly something was wrong. So she found my script and is re-filling it for me because she knows I won't.

I'm already at the point now where my brain is telling me that I'm not worth it and the Guru knows I'm not. That I should just kill myself and make him happy, able to start over with someone who is normal and not a fucking lunatic like me. That our daughter would be better off with a different Mummy and my parents would be better off with no child at all, rather than a only child who is a psycho.

It's surprised me that I've gone downhill so fast, but then I've not been sleeping because the never ending thoughts keep me awake, and I've been under a lot of stress. No wonder they use sleep deprivation and stress as forms of torture. I'd buckle in a night.

So I have finally popped online for the first time this week, and I've seen lots of lovely Blogger's listing their Christmas List for Father Christmas. To be honest, I've loved reading them and they've been a wonderful distraction from the doom and gloom in my head. And as a result I've decided to write my own list to try and pick myself up while I'm waiting for my sanity tablets.

FYI, this week I'm going to do this list as part of my 50 Days of Christmas, but without the linky part.

So here I go...






Dear Father Christmas,

This year I've tried to be good. I really have tried. I know I've been intolerant of GPs claiming money from my budget when they earn more in a day than I do in a month and I know I've been very, very impatient of other people on the road.

I'm well aware that if the wind had changed at any time, my middle finger would be permanently up.

But all that aside, I do have a couple of small things I'd really like to put forward for your consideration.

1. A very happy, simple, Christmas day. Last year was so complicated with the Guru's mother dictating who and who couldn't come to Christmas. Even though it was in our home. And my parents spent most of Christmas Day alone as a result and it broke my heart. So this year, I would like a simple day where we are all together and that's it.

2. To bring the Toddler everything on her list. We'll be working hard to cover things, but if you could cover the leftover's that'd be awesome. On the other hand, if we get it all covered - consider it our present to you - one less list to have to worry over! But I recommend you stop in for a snack anyway...the Toddler want's to go all out for you and the reindeer this year.

3. For the new pool pump to be installed. We have the pump and everything, but the Guru hasn't exactly got it installed. And after spending $700 on getting the pool water to swimming grade, seeing to green once again makes me want to cry. And I felt that way before this week so I know it's not just my brain being dramatic. I'd happily settle for you taking control of the Guru's body and getting him out there - and you won't need to say anything, if the job get's done I'll know it's you.

4. For me to get a new job. I now this request might be stretching the friendship, but if you could put in a good word for me at the job section in the Life department, I'd really appreciate it. I'm sick of the unpaid overtime, the stress, and the ungrateful, highly paid bastard GPs that I have to deal with every day. I want something 9-5, that when I go home I don't have to think about anything work related until I walk through the door at 8:59am the next day.

5. For our renovations to go well over the Christmas break. Particularly the window removal and new wall. We're in the wet season so if the window removal and wall installation fails then we'll be living in an elevated swimming pool. But I guess then the gaps in our floor boards would be an advantage??

6. For the Guru to agree to carpet in the bedrooms. I miss carpeted bedrooms...something from South Australia that I really want to have up here. Apart from David Jones and Myer. The Guru says no...but I've found some amazing carpet and I love it. I'll agree to new floorboards everywhere else and tiling where necessary, if you just get the carpet thing happening. Feel free to leave a roll under the tree - the Guru can't argue if it's already in the house.

7. And finally...I'd really love it if you could help everyone who needs help this Christmas. Everyone should feel safe, happy and know that they're loved because everyone deserves those things all the time, especially at Christmas.

The Toddler will be leaving a raw energy salad and water for the reindeer (I'll make sure there's extra water...it's stinking hot here, this time of year) and we're leaving Tim Tam's and milk for yourself. I'll leave the air-con on too so if you all want to come inside and cool down before continuing on your trip, feel free.

The population hit 7 billion this year so I know you're job is getting bigger by the second, but I want you to know you've always done a fantastic job and you make the world a wonderful place for children around the world. Even for the adults, too.

Take care and thanks for reading,

It's PND Awareness Week...

What is it about becoming a parent that means you forget about realistic expectations for yourself, and decide that being "perfect-super-champion-parent" is the only option.

What is it about becoming a parent that means we think asking for help is a failure on our part? Some of us wouldn't even ask for help if we had a full body cast - "Oh, it's fine, I've not broken my pinky finger so I can still cook and change nappies. My hair is fine too, so I can mop while I drag myself along the floor!"

"Images of "celebrity mums" gazing lovingly at their new-borns (hair and make-up perfect, of course) abound in women's magazines. Unfortunately, these snapshots have more to do with the myths of motherhood than the reality. They perpetuate the idea that motherhood is a natural and instinctive thing and the duties of motherhood are all joy and bliss - no matter how little sleep has been had.

Out of every seven women who give birth in Australia, one will be affected by postnatal depression. For such a common affliction, it is hardly talked about. Unfortunately, depression is too commonly viewed as a personal weakness or inadequacy, as opposed to an illness which - like any other illness - requires support and effective treatment." ~ Quote from the Article on Postnatal Depression - published by the Queensland Women's Health Network 

We live in the 21st Century, and yet there are still antiquated ideas floating around about mental health. We have iEverything, we have dishwashers, we have robotic vacuum cleaners. Life is scarily convenient.

Why is it that people are too embarrassed to admit when something's not right? Is it because life is so 'simple' these days, we feel that there's really nothing to complain about. That our feelings are irrational and silly given we live in a first world country, our children are healthy and we have a roof over our heads?

Even when the Black Dog is biting at their heels, people shove the feelings down. Go through the motions. Do whatever it takes to appear 'normal'.

But what the hell is 'normal', anyway? Where is this magical yard stick by which we should all be measuring ourselves? Do they hand it to you, with your baby, at delivery?

Everyone has their own shit to deal with. I don't care who you are or how glossy the pictures in the magazine are - we all have craptacular days. Days where the picture perfect 1950's home and family just doesn't happen. Days where the dishwasher doesn't get stacked and the washing sits for another day. Days where we wonder why we got out of bed and are waiting for DOCS to knock on the door.

Having a child can challenge everything you thought about life after baby. Usually they arrive and your world becomes the equivalent of a snow globe. Shaken up with shit falling all around you.

Technically it should all settle, and things will develop their own rhythm within the new life you've embarked upon. It's no good looking back - the simple days are long gone and you'll not know the joy of doing anything alone for another 18 years.

Everything happens in it's own time, it's true, but PND can be insidious. Before you know it, it's been a long while since you left the house and you can't remember the last time you smiled.

It annoys me when I hear about people who decide enough is enough and come up against idiot doctors who probably still use leeches, and have no idea about PND. When someone goes to the GP in distress and asking for - gasp - help, how can that GP be dismissive?

Maybe they need to take another look at that Hippocratic Oath:

" I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:...I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug...I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick...May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help." ~ Excerpt from the Modern Hippocratic Oath

How can a GP swear by those words and not follow through?

How can people be open and honest about PND if they have no support or care from their GP? A professional 'dismissal' of the situation will only compound the problem. It will only increase the number of people who don't seek help.

Because what's the point of seeing the GP when they tell you it's sleep deprivation. It's part of being a new parent. It'll pass. It's an adjustment. And most patronising of all, "it's just your hormones making you overly emotional."

PND is not 'just your hormones making you overly emotional'. It's not about being a bad parent or a bad person. It's not about being 'crazy' or simply a 'failure'. Parenting is hard - damn hard. Anyone who says they've not had an off day is a lair. But when that shadow is over everything you do and nothing is worthwhile, it's time to Speak Up.

Working with a GP who is understanding, caring and who will listen can make all the difference. It's not asking our GP to solve the problem in the 15min appointment block - it's simply asking to be heard and acknowledged. To feel understood and guided, not judged, shamed or made to feel guilty or 'crazy'.

We need to take away the stigma of PND and mental health in general - we are all so important to the people around us, we're too important not to get help.

It's PND Awareness Week (13-19 November), so now is a good time to take a look around. Gently prod your inner feelings and see if anything bites. We are encouraged to regularly check our breasts and have pap smears - why shouldn't we regularly check our mental health?

Most of all, never be afraid to say something and always remember you are not alone! And if you know someone who you think might need to chat, start a conversation. You don't have to solve the GFC, you just have to listen and be a friend.

Awareness encourages investigation which leads to understanding - all we have to do is Speak Up.

You can help spread the word by visiting www.justspeakup.com.au/spread_the_word

PND Awareness Week 13-17 November 2011

Never be afraid to Speak Up.

I did.

And there are so many other voices, just like mine.

It doesn't make you a 'bad parent' or a 'bad person'.

It makes you human - none of us are perfect.

The dark can be so endless.

Add your voice; add another light.

Together, we'll find the sun.



 

www.justspeakup.com.au

www.beyondblue.org.au

3 Words Can Change The World...

It's amazing the power of words. They can move us in so many ways, and it's extraordinary.

I often wonder that words have so much power in our world, and yet we forget just how powerful they can be.

Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, Martin Luther King and Shakespeare knew the power of words. They used words the best way they knew how and changed the world, even if they didn't realise it at the time.

September 15 is your chance to use words to change the world. You don't have to abolish slavery or write a sonnet that will be treasured throughout history. All you have to do is ask one small question. You may just be the catalyst for someone's life to take a different path.

You may already know something's not right. You may not. The point is, it doesn't matter what you do or don't already know - it's about what 3 words might bring into the open.

You only need to listen. There's no obligation to solve the problem. Those 3 words from you are simply to start a conversation. A simple chat to let someone know you care and that help is nearby.

Take it from me - as someone who has a tendancy to bottle things up - those 3 small words have given me a light during the darkest moments in my mind.

So on 15 September open your heart and your ears and ask someone 'R U OK?'. You never know just how powerful words can be...until they change a life.





 

For more information on R U OK? Day visit http://www.ruokday.com.au/

For immdiate help call LifeLine on 13 11 14 or the Suicide CallBack Service on 1300 659 467



Helplines & Information

SANE Australia Helpline: Mental Health information, weekdays 9am-5pm: 1800 187 263

headspace: Mental Health Services and Support for young people 12-25 years

beyondblue Info Line: Information about depression, anxiety and related disorders: 1300 224 636

Black Dog Institute: Information about depression and bipolar disorder

Pulling it together...

Right.

So, first of all, apologies for yesterday's 'freak out'.  I have to say, it did help to get it all out, so thanks for tolerating my unhinged moment.

Today is a vast improvement, and to tell you why I would like to present:

TOP 10 WAYS TO GET MY SHIT TOGETHER AFTER A CRAP-TACULAR DAY

1. Have a friend read my post and send a text message that get's me through the rest of the day in one piece. T, I love you.
2. Call my Mum and cry about emotionally scarring my husband via email and then proceed to sob.
3. Go home after work and find my husband not only hasn't left me and taken our child away, but is quite sympathetic to the situation and is even cleaning up the frat party mess of the weekend in an attempt to preserve my limited sanity.
4. Hugs. Lots of hugs.
5. Have comfort food for dinner in the shape of pasta. And then have more pasta. With carbonara sauce. Screw the calories.
6. Hog the television and not care for a single second that the entire family is being made to watch the Lifestyle/ Home channels.
7. Get to work the next day, alive, and have the breakfast of champions:
   
   

   

   Brekky of Champions - anyone who says chocolate doesn't make everything better is a liar!!

8. Decide to clean out the remaining items from my diesel-wrecked purse (don't ask) and discover a Dymocks voucher from Xmas.
9. Go online, ignore work, and spend said Dymocks voucher on books - specifically The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette and Notorious Royal Marriages - JOY!
10. Continue the spending theme and decide to buy a new Inner-B Mum Agenda in Turquoise and an Inner-B Yearly Family Planner. Being (or pretending to be) organised calms the raging river of mess within.

So there you go - this is exactly what has gotten me through the last 24 hours, and I am now about to go out and buy what I need for dinner (another comfort food, happiness meal: schnitzel with mashed potato, carrots and green beans. YUM!), something for lunch and most importantly...

A TRIP TO THE CHEMIST!

I'll see ya'll on the flip side...literally!

This isn't pretty

Today - today is a bad day.

Today is the result of ignoring my needs and not being 'good'. I may or may not have stopped taking my anti-depressants suddenly on Wednesday because I ran out and haven't gone to the chemist to re-fill my script.

I know this is bad. I knew it when I took the last tablet on Wednesday night and told myself to take my script, put it in my handbag so I could re-new the following day.

I knew it was bad when I didn't follow through with the thought, and allowed myself to be distracted by the other stuff I had running through my head at the time.

I knew it was bad when I could feel myself drifting back into the old hate-spiral again.

And so, here I am. On a bad day. A day I brought on myself. A day where my office door is closed because I don't want to see anyone. Because if someone says something to me I'm likely to react in an unexpected way. Bursting into tears or getting worked up for no reason are the two options right now.

The following is an email I just sent to my poor husband;

"I am really feeling off today – anxiety is at an all time high, same with jittery nerves and over the top reactions to everything. High strung = me. I’m even sitting here wanting to cry just thinking about the state of the house and how I know if I go and clean it, it will just go to shit all over again and I’m a complete failure for spending yesterday on the couch instead of cleaning when I wanted to clean but I was so tired, but I shouldn’t be tired because that’s just a sign of weakness and being totally useless.


People keep telling me that I did a good job over the weekend and I can’t accept anything nice about myself – I feel like it’s all lies and I’m a big fat idiot.

Today is a bad day...I have my office door shut because I just want to hide and not see anyone. I’m just really off today...really, really off.

And now you’re going to think I’m insane and crazy and divorce me and take "E" away and never speak to me again."

And that's exactly what's flowing around my head. How stupid, useless and pointless I am.

I had to work over the weekend, at an education conference we put on for all our doctors and nurses. I started at 7am and finished at 6pm. I did my job. I don't feel I did it especially well, I don't feel I did anything extraordinary. I was there with other colleagues who had to work too. I worked the hours I had to. I often have to work late during the week because of the education events I facilitate.

So when my Manager came in and gave me movie tickets as a thank you for my efforts, I had a hard time accepting them. And I cried after she left my office.

Because I feel like a fraud. That I don't deserve it. They think I didn't go the the gala ball on Saturday night because we had prior plans. The truth is I couldn't face being in a room full of medical professionals who might spot that I'm a freak, that I'm unstable and an unfit mother/wife/worker/part of human society. And I felt like I hadn't earnt my right to be in that room full of people who do such amazing things every day.

When I look at myself I see someone who should be grateful that she hasn't been found out.

But it's only a matter of time before it all falls apart and the world discovers what a horrible person I am. What a failure I am.

Yes, today is a bad day, and I know it.

But no matter what I do, there is always that small voice that says I'm not worth it. That I'm stupid and ridiculous for needing medication to be 'normal'. That I should just be able to do it, I should just be able to be happy.

Be normal.

Be like everyone else and stop being so stupid.

However, I know I need to listen to the voice that says it's not a waste of money for me to be in the chemist and getting my script re-filled. That it's all okay and that this is only happening because I didn't think about myself.

Ugh - it all sounds so selfish and self centred though. This whole post it self centred and childish. This entire blog if full of me, me, me and no one else. And right now I hate myself for that.

No wonder the truth is so hard to come by. No wonder it all hurts so much - when you're stuck in a repetitive cycle and one thought simply leads into another, building on themselves until you're so full of self disgust you can't find a single happy thought.

Thank god I'm not Peter Pan. I'd be a human meteor.

Honesty

Today, I'm going to put it out there. In black and white.

I've not been very open about my struggle with Postnatal Depression. And a part of me was ashamed of it, for a long time.

But I'm trying to change my mindset, and so I am sharing my story. And if it happens to help someone, then it will have been worth it.

This is my entry to the Black Dog Institute Writing Competition 2010/11.

When I was pregnant I felt great. Yes, I was tired and sore but, I didn’t feel any anxiety or concern about life with a new baby. I even recall mentioning to my GP that I was aware my history with depression would mean I was in a higher risk category for Postnatal Depression (PND).
 But I had a plan and a supportive, loving family who knew the warning signs.

Looking back, it would seem I underestimated my depression, and I forgot how clever I could be at masking the signs. I think this is the surprising thing about depression. Inside you can be a mess and feel like the world is about to fall apart, but on the surface you’re smiling, laughing and projecting the vision you so badly want to be the reality.

I suppose my first ‘trigger’ was that I didn’t really get the 3 day blues. At the time I thought it was a sign I was coping so well, I was going to skip the hormonal side of it all. Fantastic! But in reality it was a sign that I was already building walls around feelings that I thought weren’t ‘acceptable’ as a new parent.

Hospital was easy. Breastfeeding was a challenge. And I always had this feeling that my family expected me to get home already. That I was in hospital too long and should get out and get on with it. I know now that I was already projecting my own insecurities, and attaching them to other people to reinforce my frame of mind.

When we got home, I couldn’t relax. I felt on edge all the time. I spent a lot of time being worried that our daughter would cry and wandering the house aimlessly, unable to sit still. I felt like I had a ball of cement in my stomach that wouldn’t go away. I was always waiting for our daughter to do something so I felt like I had a purpose. It was as though I didn’t exist outside our daughter’s needs.

I began to have unrealistic expectations of myself. Obsessive cleaning and tidying became a daily occurrence and I got agitated if anything was out of place or messy.

Part of my mask was appearing to have it all under control. In my mind, if our home was clean and tidy and if I had dinner organised by 5:30pm every night, it showed the world that there was nothing wrong, that I was coping and I was a perfect wife and mother.

But deep down I felt like nothing I did was enough, especially when it came to our little one.

As a Mum I felt like a failure. Everything I did was wrong and it was only a matter of time before my husband and family discovered what a hopeless fraud I was.

When I got mastitis and my milk started to dry up, it was a steep slope down into a darkness I had forgotten.

I continued to try and feed our daughter because I felt that not being able to was just one more failure on my part. I couldn’t stop our daughter from crying and I couldn’t feed her. I felt I was worthless. Simple things, like breastfeeding and soothing our daughter, that I felt should come naturally, were slipping away and I could do nothing to stop it.

My Mum knew I was struggling and gently guided us through organising bottles and formula as well as getting our little family through each day. There are no words to express my gratitude to my Mum during this time, because how can you thank someone for holding the universe together?

After our daughter was diagnosed with colic, I still blamed myself for everything. Having a reason for her crying didn’t make me feel any less responsible. Only now I felt responsible for keeping her in pain for so long. The thought that our baby girl had suffered for the first 6 weeks of her life gave the PND more to feed on. And I slipped further and further into the darkness and cried.

I would cry in the shower, sneak out of bed and hide so as not to disturb my husband. I gave all the ‘right’ answers to our family GP at baby check up’s.

I didn’t have to worry about acting in front of friends, because I stopped seeing them. I had everyone fooled, including myself.

Breaking point came when I had to go back to work when our daughter was 6 months old. Working mother’s guilt and social anxiety competed with hiding my PND and it almost sent me over the edge.

I was exhausted but I couldn’t sleep. Cracks began to appear in my carefully constructed facade. I stopped caring about myself and started to think life for everyone would be better if I weren’t in it. That I should just grab the keys and drive away. Disappear and let them get on with their lives.

I never thought to take my own life. I did consider hurting myself. I thought if I could physically display the pain I felt inside, it might hurt less. Thankfully, I never acted on those thoughts.

When I woke up one morning and had a panic attack about being on my own with our daughter, I knew I couldn’t continue and I had to get help.

Reaching out was the hardest thing. Already feeling like a failure, admitting to my husband and family that I was drowning felt almost impossible.

I called my husband, who was on his way to work. He turned around and came home, but I couldn’t explain to him what the problem was. All I could do was cry. The truth hurt so much and I was afraid that if he knew the truth he would leave me, or that he would think I was ‘crazy’.

At some point I decided I had to see my Mum, even though she was at work. My Mum is a medical receptionist at our family GP clinic. I didn’t have to say anything. She took me to a quiet room with the little one and asked me to wait. Before I knew it our GP was there and it all came spilling out.

At times I struggled to find the words and had to force myself to open up. And it was hard to watch my Mum cry, hard to watch her hurt. But I’ll admit that a part of me was confused by her tears because I had convinced myself that everyone would be better without me. Why would my Mum cry if she didn’t care? Why would my GP be sitting here, seeing me and postponing other patients if she didn’t care? Why?

The horrible thoughts kept rolling around in my head, that if I opened up they would take our daughter away, that my family would turn their backs on me because I was a failure as a person. But I decided I was going to be honest. And I was honest when I said I didn’t want it to hurt anymore.

I started anti-depressant medication and was referred to a psychologist. It took time, but slowly I noticed the heavy feeling had lifted. Like I had been carrying a huge backpack up a steep hill, and I had finally put it down.

I started being honest with my Husband about how I felt, as best I could. The words didn’t always come easily, and even now they can be difficult to find at times. Our GP sat down with us and explained PND which helped my husband understand that medication only does so much. That it doesn’t change me and I would still be ‘me’. He has since admitted that his main concern was that I wouldn’t be able to feel anything. That I would be a ‘zombie’ and be emotionally detached from him and our daughter.

My husband told me he found it helpful having our GP talk with him. It has helped him understand the situation better and to recognise when I might need to step back and re-group.

I still have challenging days, and there is no ‘quick fix’, but I feel confident that I can manage each day as it comes. Maintaining an open line of communication with my husband, family and GP is essential because I know the medication only goes so far. The rest is entirely up to me.

It takes a lot of courage to admit something's not right and get help. There is such a stigma linked to depression, it can make it hard to be open. I now understand that there is no shame and depression does not define who I am or my value as a wife, mother, daughter, friend, family member or work colleague.

No one should be afraid to speak up.

Reaching out, getting help and healing is something to be incredibly proud of. And I am.

The night? It's dark.

This does have swearing in it...sorry...

How do you handle the ghosts of your past? Do you manage to forget the icky bits of life and move on happily, or do they come to haunt you when you least expect it?

I'm haunted. And it always seems to creep up on me and pin me to the ground. I can't breathe, escape or even yell. And I would give a lot to make it stop.

It's like a shard of ice in my heart - it hurts and burns and I want to tear it out. Just when I think it's melted, it finds a way to build itself back up again.

Last night was an evening of epic crapness.

The Toddler had decided that the terrible two's would make an appearance...I had to use the naughty spot earlier in the day, which is very unusual for us.

She decided to smack my father's hand for telling her no, she couldn't have the nuts he was eating. To be fair, he had checked with my Mum first, and she told him no, that's she's still a bit too little.

(and yeah, I would have done a mothering-fail and would have let her have them...)

My father was shocked that she lashed out. Fair enough, she's not done that before with him. I'm familiar with it somewhat, as the experimenting with boundaries becomes a daily occurence.

The Toddler knew she'd done wrong - she went and put herself in time out. Oh my darling - you want so much to be reckless but you punish yourself before anyone has a chance to explain...you have your Mummy's concience.

I arrived at my parents house a few hours after this event...but you could cut the air with a knife.

My father has an amazing gift for holding grudges. Yes, even with his 21 month old grand-daughter. My mum quietly explained what had happened while we stayed outside with the Toddler and blew bubbles and kept her happy in the garden.

I ask Mum if he yelled at her. I hate yelling. If anyone yells at me I immediately retreat and will do whatever I have to in oder to get away. I have a flight response - there's no fight involved.

She said no, he didn't yell.

We eventually went inside and proceeded to get ready for dinner. The Toddler was served her food and she started to eat happily.

From this point the evening took a nose dive. And crashed and burnt a hole in the tiled floor.

The Toddler decided she was finished...fine, I let her out of her high chair and asked her to play while we finished eating. She decided to sook that I wasn't coming to play right away, and went to sook at my Mum on the other side of the table.

I wasn't worried, my Mum wasn't worried. My father decided to take this as terrible behaviour. We distracted the Toddler by asking her to find her doctors bag and if she could hear Mummy's heartbeat.

The Toddler walked past my father's line of sight to the television from the dining table, and when she found her doctors bag she held it up and screeched out an indecipherable exclamation - I took it to mean 'yeah - found it!'.

My father's deciphering skills took another line of understanding - and his response was 'don't bother screaming, I'm not looking at you, I wouldn't waste my time.'

And with that one comment my entire childhood come flooding back. The hurtful comments, the painful memories of special times that were made not so special, the behaviour, the attitude. And at that moment I wanted to scoop up the Toddler and run for the car.

I wanted to run away. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to scream at him who the hell did he think he was, talking my MY child that way, and that I don't care what he thinks that he needs to keep his mouth shut. I wanted to scream at him everything that I've always wanted to - tell him the truth about how he made me feel so insginificant, unimportant, UNLOVED and such a disappointment in his life. How much he hurt me, and how much it still hurts.

I stopped eating because I wanted to vomit - those memories always make me physically sick.

I walked away from the dinner table and sat to play with the Toddler. I had to fight so hard not to cry - but the tears were burning at the back of my eyes and I thought my face was going to erupt into flames it felt so hot.

My father finishes dinner and sits on the couch. The Toddler goes over to him and looks...she hits his knee. The response? 'I don't know why you want to hit me, but you need to get away from me because I don't like you and I don't want to see you.'

I sat for a while and then decided to leave. I went to the Toddler's bedroom and collected her stuff. I went to the kitchen to collect everything, and to clean up my plate. My appetite was gone for the forseeable future.

My Mum came over and tried to help me stay calm. She was and always will be the peacemaker. She was the only one I ever felt loved and protected by as a child - and I'll never be able to tell her how much that means and how much I love her.

I called the Guru to find out where he was. It was almost 7pm and he still wasn't here. And suddenly I felt a rage towards him like a cyclone - I wanted to scream at him to get his arse over here and sort this shit out. That as per usual I am home on my own, trying to cope and he's just not here. I wanted to tell him he could get fucked, and if he thought I was going to have another baby he could also get fucked.

Call him - he's been at HIS parents. And I can imagine it would be something to do with the stupid online game they play. At that point I could have reached through the phone and given him a black eye.

I start to get upset - I can't stop the tears. I try to explain that the Toddler has been a bit naughty today and tell him what she's been doing. And then the words fall out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them 'She's going to grow up hating me, not you, because you're not here to help me teach her the right thing. I'm always the bad guy - you're always at bloody work.'

I start to sob - and then I hear my father's outburst to my Mum 'what the hell's the matter with HER!?'

I finish on the phone as quick as I can - I can feel my father staring at me and I can't look at him. I'm afraid I might say what I'm thinking and I can't imagine what the consequences of that might be.

I go hide in the toilet for a bit. To catch my breath - try and stop the burning, stinging tears from falling. But I can't.

The best way to avoid my father right now is just to run the Toddler's bath and call her in to me. I do it and I pop her in the bath - hoping that it will be a sufficient distraction to help me pull it together.

Shortly after my Mum comes in. And it all comes flooding out...

 - The Toddler is naughty because I'm a terrible Mum to her.
 - I'm turning the Toddler into me - an only child that no one wants to be around.
 - Because she's turning into me, that's why my father hates her. He's going to hate her the way he hates me.
 - I can't bring myself to discipline the way my father thinks it should be done...every time my voice gets a little bit louder all I can think is of how much it hurt to have my father yell at me and I cave in. When I put her on the naughty spot I have to try not to cry - because I'm afraid she will grow to fear me like I fear my father.
 - I am repeating history, I am making a mess of the Toddler's life because I am a failure.
 - Why am I such a disappointment? What did I do wrong? Why was I such a horrible child? Why am I still so horrid and disappointing?

It all gets muffled by sobbing at this point - and by now the Guru makes his entrance to the bathroom.

He gets the run down...and that's when the Toddler's bath is finished up, she's dried and dressed and all our stuff is ready to go. We're going home. He wants to murder my father.

We get home and the 3 of us cuddle on the couch.

I hate everything about last night. I hate that just when it seems my father has turned a corner, that his temper is maturing with age and he's becoming more understanding, that he does or says something to remind me that deep down maybe he'll never change.

The man who stood over me with my math book and told me I was stupid and an idiot is never far away. The man who lost it at the dinner table because 'I eat like a pig and I sound like one too'.
The man who I feel like has looked at me like I am the biggest failure of his life. The man who broke a wooden spoon on me because I had an accident when I was little.
Who couldn't go to my primary school graduation because he was too drunk and couldn't pick himself up off the loungeroom floor. I remember him looking at me, glassy eyed and slurring his words to the tune of something like he was sorry. But as soon as he thought I couldn't hear him told my Mum who cared, it's not like it was important.

And when I think of it all I feel so angry, so cheated, so sad and hurt and confused. And I want to lock it all away - deep away where no sunlight can touch it and where I can forget it.

And suddenly, one word is all it takes for me to be back there, and I don't know where I'll ever find the lock and key to keep it away forever.

But to my baby girl - I love you so much. I'm sorry I am doing such a terrible job at being your Mummy. But always know that being your Mummy is what keeps me going and makes me so happy. I am trying to find a way to show you what's right and wrong, without making you fear me, hate me or look back on your childhood and have horrible memories.

I don't want to repeat history - and you will never be a disappointment to me or your Daddy, we will love you completely for who you are and whomever you will be in this life.

So while the night might be dark, remember to look up baby girl and, you'll see the stars.