Surviving Mental Health Issues As A Mum

Kate Evans - 6 Feb 18

Where to Start

I’m actually in a pretty good place these days. These days seem far removed from the dark space I was occupying a couple of years back.

But still, I sometimes get blindsided by the memory.

It seems fitting, then, that I should go on to write this post about my own experiences of mental health struggles. And how I survived Mental Health Issues As a Mum.

Life Before Mumming

It’s fair to say that, in retrospect, it’s often quite obvious to see if you have suffered some sort of mental health issue in the past. Looking back, I clearly suffered from bouts of depression from my teen years onwards.

Initially I was branded as “just being a normal moody teenager” (thanks Mum and Dad, for that particularly useless 70’s style catch-all title). In fact I’d had periods of deep despair, zero self worth and a sense of being trapped in a life that I hated.

That, my friends, is what we in the year 2018 call DEPRESSION. True story.

I found an excellent form of escapism in the form of both soft and hard drugs (disclaimer: not actually excellent for you. Don’t sue me.)

I’m not going to lie. I loved drugs. I did a shitload of them. I had a tolerance level for quantities enough to kill a small horse. I felt happy and connected and free doing drugs.

The problem was that, obviously, doing lots of drugs f*cks with your chemical balances and often makes mood issues far worse.

So… Not really a long term solution then…

Pause for Thought

In my twenties the bouts of hefty recreational drug use became fewer and further between, and had pretty much evaporated by the time I hit 28. As life progressed, I trained as a Mental Health Nurse for a couple of years, which gave me a fair bit of insight,. Then (after dropping out, I was always a bit crap at seeing things through.) I trained as a Counsellor, which shone a light on the skill of self-reflection.

I realised that I was still prone to depression, and that I had a sort of low level social anxiety which kind of threaded it’s way through my day to day life.

I used to duck out of lots of social activities. Whether I was feeling low or not – often I’d just be concerned that I was committing to something I might not enjoy and wouldn’t be able to leave (feeling trapped – that old chestnut).

Things Got Grown Up

I am still not great at committing to social soirees, although these days that’s more due to tiredness, kids, and also habit I guess. One of my friends once referred to me as “Sociably inclined, but utterly antisocial.” Touche!

From my late twenties onwards things were pretty great actually. Met the husb, fell in love and all that jazz. Got a halfway decent job, a house, a dog, started breeding (me…Not the dog… Perhaps I should re-word that bit…)

Then came babies (2 in quick succession!) And a house move, a renovation. A very simple suburban life. My pregnancies were simple. My babies were delightful. I was fulfilled (if a little frazzled) and life was good.

Surprise!

After baby#2 came along and we had our hands full, it seemed we had reached our happy place and completed our family. Two kids (“One of each? Oh how lovely. You are lucky!”) and Ta-Daah! We were done.

….and then I got pregnant.

It was pretty jaw-dropping. I’d had a coil fitted, so even though I’d been bloated and queasy for weeks I didn’t even consider it an option until I was 9 weeks along. In fact we only figured out how far along I was when the GP sent me to hospital for a scan to work out what the hell happened to my IUD.

Having discounted the possibility of another baby, once we’d got our heads around it we were thrilled. We spoke with our kids about it (we’d had a scan to confirm the pregnancy, what could possibly go wrong? The whole ‘wait 12 weeks’ thing was a formality, surely?!) It was wonderful, unexpected, exciting news.

Tales From The Dark Side

I’m sure you can figure out what happened next.

The 12 week scan. The silent, sad looking Sonographer. Being ushered into a quiet room. Meetings with the specialist. Blood tests. Amniocentesis. Phone calls and apologies. And then the wait.

The long, dark, hopeless, endless wait.

In the end, when shitty nature refused to take it’s shitty course, I accepted the offer of medical intervention. I wanted it to be over. At 16 and a bit weeks along, it finally came to it’s shitty end.

I’d moved through those days like it was some sort of unending, awful dream sequence. I was numb, yet permanently on the brink of panic. I’d began endless searches on the topic, hoping to find a magical answer to escape the reality of what was happening to us.

Sadness seemed to seep from my pores. My children were sad and frightened and worried about Mummy being so sad. I cried when I tried to read them bedtime stories.

Somewhere, muted underneath this heavy blanket of despair, I could feel the fingers of guilt. Creeping creeping, creeping. I was not there for them. I didn’t know how to get back to them. I was helpless.

I was also terrified of losing what remained. I’d started to have panic attacks in bed at night. I was convinced that my children, or my husband, or I, was going to die.

I became glued to my phone, trying to find confirmation that we all were safe, endlessly googling non-existent symptoms to make sure I could KNOW. I could KNOW and then I could PROTECT us.

The Penny Drops

My husband; a stoic, practical Glaswegian type, had surprised me with his empathy, and gentle kindness, and understanding through all this. (Clearly I had totes undersold him in the past… Sorry, Pete.) He was supportive and patient through it all, no doubt shell-shocked from the sudden loss himself.

But after several weeks of this mad incessant symptom googling, he lost his shit – “You’re making yourself worse! You need to stop f*cking Googling everything!”

I was mortified…. and a bit indignant.

Mental illness is a fairly egocentric affair, IMHO.

But then, after a particularly rampant Googling session, followed by an epic panic attack where I was convinced I was having actual heart failure, the penny dropped.

Christ on a bike. Invasive thoughts, ‘magical thinking’, incessant obsessive behaviours…. I was experiencing a textbook case of OCD.

Welp… That’s another carriage to hitch to my particular crazy train…

Getting Off The Crazy Train

For me, figuring out what was going on was the key to helping resolve it.

I could see that the OCD was probably the predominant issue that needed addressing. I recognised that a rip-the-plaster-off approach wouldn’t work too well for me. I limited by obsessive behaviours by allowing just a 10 minute window for googling per day. By accepting the self-imposed limit I was in control of it, but knowing I could still access it stopped me feeling panicky.

The panic attacks were harder to address, mainly because the word ‘panic attack‘ is often a misnomer, as it used to happen out of the blue where, on a conscious level at least, I was calm and relaxed.

I practiced mindful breathing exercises, researched methods of redirecting my thoughts, and used a fab app called Headspace which helped me focus.

Although it was really hard, and required constant effort for the first few weeks, things started to improve. The feelings of anxiety and panic still struck me, but it was an ebbing tide.

I focused on my family and kept myself busy with easy, pleasant jobs:- Making the kids Halloween outfits, planning the husb’s surprise birthday party (Yes… Me, the social phobic, no less!)

Gradually, day-by-day, things got easier.

Like Closing a Telescope

After a while I started to realise that things were more or less normal again. I don’t think you’re ever the same after something like that, but I was laughing at jokes and playing with the kids again.

Now, when I think about it, ending that phase of my life was like looking through a telescope. At the time it stretched on, endless and reaching further than the eye could see. But one day, the telescope closed, and there is was. Compacted. The views abstracted in memory.

Over.

Nowadays

A lot can change in two years. I’m really well! I get a little anxiety from time to time, when I’m stressed or tired. But the panic attacks and the OCD are thankfully distant memories.

I started a business, and now a blog. Husb got a snazzy new job.

Baby#1, who was starting Reception in the midst of the dark times, is now a flouishing year 2. Number #2 baby is happily installed in Reception.

And, as though announcing the dawn of a shiny new era, baby#3 – our jolly little rainbow baby, arrived to make us all adore her and steal our sleep.

The Great White Hope

I’m aware that this could sound like the tying up of loose ends, and a convenient happily-ever-after ending. But that’s not why I’m writing this.

I want you to know that you are not alone. You are normal. You are not weak. You are not failing.

Know that you can get out of this. If you are struggling to find your way out, ask for help. Accept help that’s offered. Talk to someone. Share the burden.

Find information, hear other people’s stories, get support.

Give yourself a break. Take one day at a time, and don’t beat yourself up if you have a bad day.

Talking as someone who has been in a deep dark place, and who has seen no way out, I’m telling you that you WILL feel human again.

It will be ok.

You will be ok.

My lovely facebook group is full of  fabulous, kind, non-judgemental Mums. Don’t feel alone, come and join. We can support you.

And if you need more information you can check out this post all about the best resources you can find online, which provide mental health support for Mums.

You can also give me a shout directly too, I’m always just an email away.

Big love Mama,

Kate x

Kate Evans

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