Have you ever felt that ‘eureka’ moment of connection with someone who describes exactly a feeling/situation you have experienced, but which you always assumed was so weird, you were the only one? 

I remember getting it during one of my early days of volunteering with Juno. We were discussing the isolation of early motherhood: how it is so easy to be lonely when all you have for company is an infant who possibly can’t yet even smile or crawl, never mind have a decent conversation. Many mums find this a relaxing and special time; and yet for others it is a soul-sapping drudge of a period. Another volunteer mentioned how hopeful they would get when Pointless came on the TV every weekday at 5pm, and what a daily milestone this became; because Pointless on TV meant Daddy was leaving work, and by the time it finished, he might well be home. The luxury of adult conversation and a fellow human being to temporarily dump the baby on beckoned! Entire days could pass almost entirely based on a mantra of “if I can make it through until Pointless in x hours/minutes, I’ll be OK”. And they did. And they survived.

Other mums in the room nodded and smiled at this, some in recognition. I just about leapt off my chair with excitement.  To hear someone articulate the same weird, somewhat socially unacceptable, feelings about a daytime TV programme that I’d had during my foggy days of postnatal depression was bloody wonderful! And this was several years after my recovery. To have had such a conversation right back in the midst of illness would have been even more impactful I’m sure.

Because postnatal depression, like any other form of perinatal mental illness, has a tendency to eat you alive. It painfully gnaws at your insecurities, and bites off your self-confidence in one big gulp. At a time when new mums (or mums to be) are likely to be exhausted, filled to bursting with hormones, and navigating one of the biggest change processes in their whole lives; perinatal mental illness can shatter our sense of self and leave us emotionally at our weakest. It is usually a hugely isolating experience. Good support networks and opportunities for reassurance are vital for recovery.

Every woman’s story is very different. But take me for example. I’d sailed through pregnancy on a cloud of existing social relationships and diligently-researched plans for parenthood. The reality hit me like a brick afterwards. For whatever reason, I was severely affected by postnatal depression within days following the birth. Crying became as normal as eating, and I found myself incapable of making the simplest decisions about caring for my son without consulting a midwife, health visitor, or Google. The loving bond between us that I’d always assumed would appear proved to be exceptionally late in its arrival and I spent weeks/months looking after a child who was emotionally a total stranger to me. 

Feeding was a struggle, as was getting him to sleep (or stay asleep!) and somehow or other I convinced myself I’d given birth to the most difficult baby on the planet. I had no supportive circle of mums around to admit this to, or to reassure me that he was not. Postnatal depression seemed to make me incapable of managing normal polite chitchat with other mums, and I found myself regularly explaining to people “I don’t normally act this odd, but I have PND right now.” I secretly longed to hear a reply such as “Oh me too – isn’t it sh*t?” But that rarely happened. 

Thankfully I was lucky to have good support through other channels (including the love and patience of my husband, and the kind-hearted camaraderie of some online parenting networks), meaning that after six months or so I pronounced myself cured from depression. I had a reasonably close relationship with my son, some level of confidence in how to look after him, cried a lot less, and the wide-eyed jittery look on my face at baby groups had reduced somewhat. So what if I couldn’t remember the last time I’d properly laughed or felt delighted by anything??? I had few others’ experience to lean on. I assumed that following mental illness, everyone felt ‘meh’ on a permanent basis afterwards. It took a good while to realise differently. But it would have been so helpful to talk about it openly with someone who’d been there too!

These days I know I *am*truly recovered and I experience both the wonderful and exasperating aspects of motherhood with an overall sense of internal balance and happiness. But I feel strongly that perinatal mental illness is something we should acknowledge and share amongst ourselves as mothers. To have a ‘eureka’ moment of connection – however small or fleeting – with another mum when feeling low can be so very powerful in re-building individual self-worth. That’s why I volunteer with Juno. I’m not a counsellor, and I (unfortunately) don’t promise to cure anyone, but I am a peer supporter who works with other volunteers to create safe spaces for mums experiencing perinatal mental health problems to open up, listen, and connect. If you are in the Edinburgh or Midlothian area and this article speaks to you, then do please consider getting in touch with us here at Juno.

Susi O’Brien, Juno Volunteer

As the end of term has approached I’ve been trying to think about why I always feel so emotional about it. Especially with Matthew finishing Nursery and getting ready to start Primary 1 

I once read an article which said that parenting was just a constant series of letting things go. Very true. I also read a quote recently that said “To raise a child who is comfortable enough to leave you means you have done your job. They are not ours to keep, but to teach how to soar on their own”. Also very true. But for me even though I know these things are true, it doesn’t stop me from having the ‘Hurty Heart’ as I like to describe it. 

When I was at my very worst with post natal depression, I couldn’t see past the grey fog to get to the end of the day. So to picture myself in 5 years time with a boy about to start school and another going into primary 3 seemed impossible. In those days when I felt exhausted to my very bones, I couldn’t wait until the days passed and I could crawl back into bed. ‘Make the most of every moment, they’re not babies long’ was a phrase I used to hear all of the time. I used to think ‘I really am trying my very best to’ but when your biggest wish is just to go to the toilet without having someone follow you it’s hard to ‘treasure every moment’. 

Don’t get me wrong I absolutely loved my boys being babies and I have photos documenting every part of their lives (just ask any of my friends and family who will tell you I am forever taking photos!) but I always maintain you never know the value of photographs until they are all you have left. And now for those precious pre school years that is all I have left. 

I recently spent time printing off photos to make albums from 2012 to the present day. As nothing beats physically looking at photographs. The boys love it. what struck me whilst doing this task was how much the daily things which seem so monotonous at the time grow to be the things you look back and your heart longs for. I looked back through the albums to see the boys playing with toys, wearing clothes that I had almost forgotten about. 

When they were 2 and 4, every night when they came out of the bath the boys would take their towels off and run around naked for us to catch them. It was one of their favourite games and me and my husband every night pretended to be horrified only for them to giggle more. I found a picture of this, and realised I had almost forgotten about it. This was only 3 years ago and it happened every night, yet some how I wasn’t reminded until I saw the picture. When I looked at picture I could hear them giggling and longed to jump through and squidge those babies one last time. 

I recently put on a jacket that I hadn’t worn in a while and found a dummy in a pocket. I showed it to Matthew and he took it in his hands and stared at it like he remembered it vaguely from some sort of distant memory. I said ‘that was yours when you were a baby’ and he asked me ‘what do you do with it?’ I remember just after he turned 2 tying myself in knots about getting the dummy off him as he was getting too big for it. It was such a huge issue. And here we were 3 years later and him not even remembering what it was. 

Those pre school years are so precious, when you are no doubt the most important person in your child’s life. Then as they start school they begin to have other outside influences and you find that you have no control over. Seeing your child become their own person is such a fantastic feeling and I count my blessings every day that I get to see my children learn and grow in this way. But as they grow I realise they need me just a little bit less. 

Isn’t parenting such a funny thing? Of course we want to treasure every moment and know that one day you will blink and your baby will be starting school. But on the flip side we feel guilty for wanting just five minutes peace. You find yourself all consumed trying to work out how you can juggle everything, then the next minute both children have a party at the same time on a Saturday afternoon and you find yourself alone for 2 hours having no idea what to do with yourself. But 3 years earlier what you would have done for those 2 hours. So to you mamma, who is reading this now maybe with a baby and a toddler or 2 pre schoolers, know that those hard, hard days won’t last forever. And the fact that you are worrying about doing a good job probably means that you absolutely are. 

So here I am officially saying farewell to the pre school years. I know I can put my hand on my heart and gave it my best shot. I know that I must continue doing the best for my boys for their next chapter and not spend too long looking back and longing for what used to be. But for now I have a summer to look forward to and hope I can fill more albums with photos of amazing memories. And if my boys happen to read this when they are older they will know that their Mamma gave it her all and would do it all again, good and bad, in a heartbeat.

With love, Lauren

 

Five feels like a bit of a milestone for a first time mum like me. Mainly because it’s the age schooling starts in Scotland. Ethan turns five this week, which means he starts primary school this August. It may sound dramatic to say that I felt like I would never make it to this point, but when I was in the full grip of post-natal anxiety/depression and PTSD, the road ahead was filled wirh darkness. In fact, it often seemed like there was no road ahead at all.

 

I’m writing this today because I want anyone reading this who is feeling what I’ve just described to know that there is a road ahead. There is hope, there is recovery, there is learning to live and love again, finding reason to fight. Please believe me, I have been there in the darkest of places and I am now here in the world of recovery.

 

In my own experience, the feeling of hopelessness is one of the hardest parts of perinatal mental illness. As if experiencing the symptoms of this cruel illness is not bad enough, you are met with this crippling feeling of how bad a mum you are. I spent so much energy worrying about the affect it would have on my son. In some ways I didn’t care about the impact on myself – “take what you want from me, I give up” – if you will. The fight I felt came from a place deep within, a place that forced me to believe I somehow had to get better for my son. For his health, his future and his happiness.

 

…and I did it. I recovered. For him, for my partner Chris and my father who both never gave up on me when I had more than given up on myself. For my mother who had lost her own health battle and was no longer alive. For the friends and family who didnt shy away from me when I wasn’t myself anymore… for myself. A strong support network alongside a number of services who offered what I needed to recover.

 

So let me say this; I know what it feels like when you can’t bear to invisage a future. I know what it feels like to think you are damaging your child emotionally when you are experiencing the darkest of days. But you aren’t. I can say this as I now sit here looking in amazement at my little boy who will be five. He was around when I was the most unwell I have been in my life and he is here next to me today. He is bright, happy and full of life – unaffected by the darkness I experienced when he was a little boy and I was trying my hardest to be a mother despite being pulled in to the darkness by this cruel illness. I feel so thankful to sit here and be able to say that.

 

Please seek the support you need. If not for yourself, then for your little one.

 

We made it, baby boy! Thanks for being the reason I needed to find the fight and strength to save myself x

I’m sure if you had checked my Google history when I was unwell after having my third baby ‘parenting with depression’ and similar searches would have featured heavily.

 

I was desperate to know how others mums were managing to do it. But I could find very little written about the subject that was of any real help to me. Nothing really seemed to capture the reality of what I was experiencing. The advice wasn’t achievable.

 

There was often an unhelpful focus on the impact maternal depression can have on children. I already knew that. I was carrying enough guilt. And some comments left on articles were so full of judgement.

 

I hope this blog might in some way help other women searching for answers to the same question –

 

‘How do you parent young children whilst experiencing a mental illness?’

 

Being a mum to young children even when you are well and fully functioning is a really hard job. But throw in depression. It is a horrible illness. It is debilitating and devastating. I can honestly say that looking after young children whilst experiencing severe depression is hands down the most difficult thing I have ever attempted to do. In fact – I came to realise and accept that without practical help it was impossible.

 

I wouldn’t be in the place I am now without the medical help and treatment I got from wonderful mental health professionals. But outside of appointments and behind closed doors I still had three children to care for. And I couldn’t find anything that talked honestly and realistically about how women actually cope with the practicalities of caring for children whilst they are mentally unwell.

 

School runs, activities, cooking, mealtimes, laundry, play parks, shopping, parties, bathing, homework, housework, bike rides, bedtimes. All part and parcel of family life. This is what we do as parents. But in the depths of depression I couldn’t actually get out of bed. I couldn’t get myself showered or dressed. I couldn’t figure out how to make a cup of tea. Day to day life was terrifying and overwhelming.

 

And for a long time I was frightened to tell anyone. To be brutally honest about just how incapacitated I was. To admit I couldn’t do it. Behind closed doors my husband took on being both mum and dad, looking after me and trying to hold down a full time job. It wasn’t sustainable. Post-natal mental illness not only affects women, it affects whole families. And ours was imploding.

 

I was afraid to admit how much I was struggling because of fear about what people would think if I was honest. I mean what sort of mother can’t get up in the morning, feed her kids breakfast and take them to school? Maybe there was nothing wrong with me and I was just a lazy, terrible person who didn’t deserve to have three precious children. I was too ashamed. I had been an independent, capable, responsible person. I was used to doing well at things. I was a Social Worker by profession. And here I was failing miserably at being a mum. I was afraid of being totally honest with professionals for fear of having my children taken from me. Depression lies and distorts.

 

It is from a place of being well that I can now reflect back on that time. I hope some of these reflections will help other women ask for and get the PRACTICAL help they need alongside medical treatment.

 

It is so clear to me now that I wasn’t a lazy, useless mother. I was a mum who loved her kids very much and was trying her best but was very sick. If you are suffering you need to know that depression is REAL and it is SERIOUS. You haven’t imagined it and it is NOT laziness. It is OK to say you are struggling and to ask for practical help.

 

When I was finally HONEST with professionals about just how much I was struggling with the practicalities of day to day life they were AMAZING. I was completely open with my health visitor and didn’t make anything look better than it was when she visited. Not once was there any concern raised about how my children were being cared for. You need to hear that if this is the worry which is stopping you from asking for help. They could see that I was a GOOD AND LOVING MUM who was UNWELL. All their energies went into helping me get better. An amazing member of the health visiting team visited me every week and helped me to put practical support in place whilst I recovered. I’ll say it again – it is absolutely OK to ASK for HELP. I wish I had asked for practical help much SOONER.

 

My health visitor got me a nursery placement for my little boy at Midlothian Sure Start. It was an amazing place and played a huge part in my recovery. I feel so grateful to them. On really bad days they came to my home, helped me dress and feed my children and came with me to the school. All with NO JUDGEMENT – just kindness.

 

My sister set up a volunteer from Safe Families for Children for me. A wonderful woman Isobel came and helped me twice a week at home for six months. Homelink Family Support is another organisation which provides family volunteers in Edinburgh.

 

We were also fortunate that my husband’s employer was very understanding of mental illness and the effect it has on the whole family. When he was OPEN with them they were incredibly flexible with time off to help me.

 

I was also eventually OPEN with my FAMILY and some close FRIENDS. And they were incredible. My parents came to stay for extended periods of time to help me. Friends also helped me out in really practical ways. One dear friend, who was in a position to, spent every Wednesday with me just helping. Don’t be afraid to TELL people close to you.

 

And LET people help you. I also had to lower my expectation of myself as a mum and made our lives very SIMPLE. My kids didn’t do any extra activities for a long time. And they are NO worse off for it.

 

I also received a lot of advice to ‘take one day at a time’. But a day is a very long, overwhelming period of time when you are depressed. What did really help me however was to think about the day ‘one small task at a time’.

 

I NEVER EVER thought in a million years I would need to use any of these services or ask for this type of practical help. It took a lot of pride swallowing. But I was unwell. It could happen to anyone. It wasn’t my fault. There is no shame in it. And getting practical help alongside treatment played a huge part in my recovery and gave me the space I needed to get better. And I did get better. And I can now once again do all those things that mums just do.

 

If you are struggling with the practicalities of being a mum in the midst of a perinatal mental illness please reach out, ask for practical help and let people help you.

 

Please do comment if you have any other tips that may help other struggling mums.

 

And please get in touch with us here at Juno if you would like further signposting to organisations that can help you in practical ways.

 

–Written by Claire Marsland

“I might not have learned the practicalities of motherhood from Wendy but there is something of her in me; I feel it, behind my ribs. I like to think of it as all the love she never got to give to me. A vacuum should be weightless but I stagger under the burden of it, and I won’t feel complete until I pass it on.”
Erin Kelly, ‘He said/she said

I read this paragraph in a book recently that really resonated with me. Becoming a mother when your own mother isn’t around is heartbreaking, it feels so wrong and so against the laws or nature. I’ve done a lot of things in my life without my mother – all credit to my wonderful father, I never felt like I was missing out on any love or support in any way – but becoming a mother without her there was tough.

Becoming a parent is undoubtedly a life changing experience, most of the factors of your life change and some are never the same again – in both good and bad ways! It makes you consider deeper where you came from and in turn the heritage of your child(ren).

There is the deep longing that they could and should have been here to see your proudest moment – becoming a parent to the most wonderful child. The continuation of you and them. And the thought that they never will is really too much to bare. I would personally say this can be a contributing factor to suffering pre or postnatal illness. It feels totally unnatural for you to out live your parent and for them to be missing for such a big life event.

So while it’s so very hard to become a parent yourself without one or both of your own parents around, I really love this notion of healing through becoming a parent. This “vacuum” of emptiness is something that will never really go away – deep, profound and devastating.

In complete contrast, becoming a mother has been a very healing experience. I too didn’t learn the practicalities of motherhood from my own mother, but I know some of her is in me, being passed down to Ethan. Finding the true me; completed by becoming his mother. I gave birth, fell completely apart, put myself back together again and came out the other side better than before with more empathy, understanding and love.

Mum, My Sarah, this one is for you….

Love Tess x