So here we are.

It’s been a while and I’m sorry for that. I guess I lost my mojo a little bit (if I even ever had one). I write like people read this but I’m not really sure if anyone does, oh well, I’m going to write something anyway. It always feels good to get words out.

I wanted to talk about something that has been on my mind for a while, something that is very important to me. Arth’s birth was very traumatic, I still believe it was a very big trigger/ part of developing post natal depression and anxiety. It was not at all how I had hoped/planned and everything that I was terrified of happening, happened.

A big part of feeling that heaviness of feeling “weak” and that is was a “bad birth” I think stemmed from having too many people almost boast “I didn’t have any pain relief at all”, “I had a completely natural birth”, or “my labour was 48 hours long”. This may be an unpopular opinion and I am in no way saying how you give birth and labour should not be celebrated. It is bloody hard. However you do it, you are incredible.

Yes, it is natural. Yes our bodies are “designed” for it. But that does not mean it doesn’t hurt, because trust me it really bloody hurts. If you had a natural, pain relief free, short birth, good on you. If you had csection with allll the pain relief, good on you. It’s not a competition. And sometimes I felt during pregnancy like there was such pressure from others to have a “good birth” how others perceived it to be.

It almost felt like if you had an epidural, or an assisted delivery you were coping out. I felt like during Arth’s labour I needed to try and prove, i don’t know to who, but someone, everyone, that I could do it with minimal pain relief. And that I could do it naturally. Like having help, not being able to push was wrong, made me weak and not cut out for giving birth. Writing it down it now just seems so crazy that I thought that way but I did.

When I was pregnant with George I knew I didn’t want the birth to be anything like Arthur’s. It was so traumatic, I still think about it now. I remember talking to the consultant and she explained after a traumatic vaginal birth, having a second one, if it went well could be quite healing. It could show you how positive birth could be. But I couldn’t get past my fears, who knows if I am lucky enough to have a third baby, maybe I will look into having a natural birth again.

But truth be told, I really believe the planned csection with George helped to relieve so much anxiety. Of course I still went into spontaneous labour because babies often don’t go along with the plan but I still had the calm, controlled birth I had always hoped for. Of course birth cannot always go the way you hope. It cannot always be “controlled” because it is something that has aspects that is just out of our control.

However, you can have preferences, you can explain your choices. Use your voice, if you believe that a csection is important to protect your mental health than speak up. It does not make you weak, it does not mean you are not strong. It doesn’t mean your “too posh to push” (hate that phrase). Epidurals, spinal injections, having pethidine, it doesn’t magically take away all the pain. It doesn’t make you heal faster postpartum, none of those things are magic fixes.

Labour is hard, birth is hard. If you find it easy, if you weren’t in hardly any pain, that is awesome. Celebrate that shit. Because that’s amazing for you and wonderful. But don’t use that against other peoples fears, don’t invalidate how someone else feels. Don’t compare, because we are all different. If someone is scared, if someone has questions and fears, listen. That’s what I try to do. I bring in my own experiences if they ask for them.

I’m real about it. Not to scare, not to make people feel afraid of what could happen but just to be real and honest. If you had a wonderful labour and birth that you enjoyed, you are incredible. If you had a traumatic, hard, unpredictable labour and birth, you are incredible too.

And lastly, just because you didn’t enjoy it doesn’t mean you don’t love your baby, it doesn’t mean you won’t bond together in time. If you need to talk someone about your birth, don’t be afraid to reach out.

Hopefully I’ll be back to write some more soon if you want to stick around.

Love, Kate. X

So here we are, second time around.

So here we are, what a different experience it has been. Despite going into spontaneous labour at 37 weeks I was still able to have the calm, controlled birth that I had hoped for.

The Thursday before going into labour I had a growth scan and was told baby was measuring large, particularly their belly.

After being diagnosed with gestational diabetes this was an indicator that baby wasn’t managing the diabetes very well, despite my blood sugars being well controlled.

I was always booked for a csection due to the traumatic birth that I had last time. I had seen an obstetric consultant from the beginning (a bloody brilliant one). I was consultant led for a few reasons, physically I had a third degree tear last time and lost quite a bit of blood, and mentally I had obviously had very severe PND and anxiety. So I was always consultant led.

Straightaway I was given the choice. I could have a vaginal delivery again. I would need further tests, to test my muscles to check I could Labour naturally. This included a camera probe to check my bum muscles…this was part of my reasoning for deciding not to have a natural birth. My dignity was just about intact again after everything that happened last time so having a stranger look at my bum with a camera whilst I was awake, I wasn’t too excited about this.

Also my pelvic muscles would need to be checked, more tests and probing, this just fuelled my anxiety and made me feel more apprehensive about a natural birth.

The consultant I saw for the beginning half of my pregnancy spoke about how a natural birth after a traumatic one can be quite healing. It can help you feel some closure from the past, help for you to see that it is possible to have a positive natural birth. But for me it just felt too anxiety provoking. The fear of the unknown. I won’t ever forget the absolute fear I felt during Arthur’s birth. I don’t think it’s something I will ever overcome. But this time around, this birth, it was healing in a way. I was scared but it was a world away from before.

I knew what was happening every step of the way. I knew who everyone was. I felt so much more at ease, I felt like everything was so much more controlled.

When they pulled G out, he didn’t cry, he was silent and I was terrified. No sound. But they showed us him, he was perfect, just quiet. They took him for about 10 minutes to give him some oxygen and bit of a poke. That was the first time I held my breath but he was back with us before we know it. First time with Arthur’s birth I felt like I held my breath the whole time. I felt like I was just waiting for the next thing to go wrong. I was constantly waiting for something bad to happen. I often think about it now. I don’t think it will ever completely leave me.

Despite our positive birth, heading home from the hospital after George’s birth I felt like I was just a timebomb. Just waiting for the wave. But it never came. I waited till around day 3 when my milk came in, no wave. I waited till day 5, that’s when I first felt it with Arthur, it never came. A week down the road but still, no wave. So here we are, 1 month in and still no wave. Yes there are moments. Occasional intrusive thoughts, feelings of sadness but it’s nothing like it was before, nothing even close.

I’m not sure how, but I do know taking sertraline protected me. I also know I have had an amazing support system around me, professional and personal. I know I was more prepared this time. More prepared for everything. I know so much more than I did before. I feel like it’s all less of a shock to the system.

I still often feel anxious, often about George feeding, SIDs, how Arthur is feeling. My secret for anxiety? Taking deep breaths. Something so simple which takes me back to that moment. It helps me stop thinking so much, it helps my mind slow down. So simple but really works for me. Like I said before I still have moments of feeling down, feel like everything is a bit grey, a bit dark. But these are moments, they’re fleeting, they don’t stay, they don’t linger. It’s been a completely different experience this time around. I cant praise the incredible professional support I have received enough. The support I have received from my family and friends, who are just wonderful. And those little white pills that once saved my life. Sometimes I wish I could just stop taking them, I wish I could be free of them but they saved me and they continue to save me. One day I hope to not need them. But it’s ok if I do. It’s always ok.

So here we are, second time around, a world away from the first.

Sorry it’s been so long since my last post, but stay tuned for another one.

Love, Kate. X

So here we are, 2 years on.

So here we are, 2 years on. This time 2 years I was on a mother and baby unit going through the hardest time in my life. Some days were darker than others, some days I would bang my head against the wall whilst sobbing and whispering to myself “die, die, die”. Others days I could feel hope, hope that I would go home and hope that I could be ok.

I spent my days hanging out with Arth, Jord and the other patients. Watching movies and TV, going for walks and talking to the doctors. We did classes and workshops to help manage anxiety and low mood. I remember sitting in the group and we were going around saying what we were afraid of, what made us feel most anxious. I broke down and just simple sobbed, saying “everything, it’s just everything”. I was fighting everyday to get through low mood and depression but I was also in the midst of crippling anxiety. Where everything and everywhere I went posed a risk to Arthur.

It was exhausting to try and want to stay alive whilst everyday I was convinced Arthur was going to die. Cot death, childhood cancer, choking on his own vomit, dehydration, bronchiolitis, a freak accident. I was afraid of the world and I was afraid of a life without him. Often I thought about how it would be better if I wasn’t alive. How much easier it would be. How much I didn’t deserve to live and how I didn’t deserve to be Arthur’s mother. I sometimes thought of death as being “free” I think because I was just so exhausted. There are days were I still feel the tiredness from the darkest times. It’s like they are a part of me.

It’s hard to describe postnatal depression and what it does to you. It’s strange to think having a baby caused me to become unwell but having a baby also caused me to get better. Every day I would hold Arthur and he was always my light. I would smell him and listen to his noises, and he would always help by just being there. By just being him.

Times have changed in so many ways but that has always stayed the same; my love for Arthur. A feeling that is stronger than the darkness, the anxiety and the tiredness. Now 2 years on I’m on a new journey, awaiting baby number 2. The anxiety still hangs over me at times. Thinking about what I’m eating, what I’m doing. And the biggest thing as always; babies movements. But I feel so much more in control now. I can feel the anxiety brewing. I can see when I’m spending too much time sleeping. I know the triggers and what I need to do to get out of the dark spiral.

One of my biggest fears is thinking, what if I don’t love this baby as much as I love Arthur? Don’t get me wrong, the love for babe is already there but Arthur is my world. What if when they are here the feelings just don’t compare? What if, I don’t feel the same rush of love I did with Arth? Because what if, what happens last time happens again. I need that feeling of pure love to help get me through.

But there’s not much I can do now right now. I can prepare. Preparing for depression sounds super depressing am I right? (Excuse the pun). I can have all the things in place if something does go wrong. I know the signs and I’m hoping if it does, I will be able to seek help earlier, before I can only see the way out as being taking my own life. Way, way before that.

Most importantly I have the people I need around me. As always Jordan and my family. The ones who know what really happened, who cried beside me and held my hand. My friends who visited me and know what happened but still love me for me. Who never judged and still treat me the same. The professionals who know my past and are there to help protect my future. And lastly, my support from this blog, my instagram, my writing.

So here we are. 2 years on. So much as changed but yet, so much is the same.

Here’s to 2020. I hope it brings you all health and happiness.

Love, Kate. X

So here we are looking back.

So here we are, reflecting on everything that happened, is it strange to say I had some good times on two mother and baby units? With my family and with my friends. And with the other families, as we all went through similar experiences. Of course, I sadly remember the darkest times like nightmares, their embedded in my brain. But there were good times too, there were positives.

Times when I could laugh and smile, I could almost forget for a moment what was happening and where I was. We all got takeaway one night, we sat round the table and laughed and joked. For an outside looking in, we could have been a group of friends having dinner together at someone’s house.

When one of us was particularly unwell we were there for each other, we left each other notes outside doors, cards and chocolate. Little things, but they make a big impact. We could all understand, to an extent, how a bad day could feel like you’d been hit by a bus. We supported each other, we were there for each other.

My family came to see me, they too were always there. We went for walks and laughed and talked. It felt strange because I never wanted them to feel down, I never wanted them to feel sad. With every day and every goodbye, I always felt guilty. It was a feeling that was always there. They were going through it just like I was and I felt like it was all my fault. Of course, now I know it wasn’t my fault. But I will always feel sad about what I put them through.

But we would talk about how I was feeling, how things were going. They were always at the end of the phone and there was always moments of happiness. My friends too came to see me and I realised how truly wonderful they really are. How they accepted me and what I was going through.

I was terrified they would see me differently, terrified they would think bad of me. Of course they didn’t. It felt like everything was the same. We laughed and we took pictures. We smiled and they made me feel like me again. And all these moments were there. Lots of moments and memories I look back and smile, they were on those Mother and Baby units.

We moan about the NHS and shout about the lack of mental health services. How cuts are being made left right and centre. But don’t forget to shout about the good too. Because they will have to listen. Right to your MP, your local hospital, your local newspaper. If you have had a good experience celebrate it.

I know mental health services are struggling right now. I know I may not be here right now if I didn’t have the help from two mother and baby units. Which is why we need to talk about how they incredible they are. There needs to be more available. The NHS is wonderful, but of course it’s not perfect (nothing ever is). But I always remember the good, I will always share it, I always talk about how I think we can improve.

The staff on both Mother and Baby units were second to none. They held my hand, (literally and metaphorically) their words still echo in my brain when I’m having a bad day. Their teaching and techniques are what got me through and are still getting me through.

Stay tuned for another one. Sorry they are few and far between, life with an almost 2 year old is pretty busy.

Love, Kate. X

So here we are.

So here we are. I read something the other day that spoke about how having a mental health illness had become the “in thing”. How it had become fashionable to be mentally unwell and talk about “making it through the battle”. Actually I really couldn’t disagree more. I think it is that now people actually talk about being mentally unwell more. We actually don’t talk about it in hushed tones so much. We don’t say “they were a bit depressed you know”, whilst looking around to see who might of heard. We say “they have depression”.

We know more now about the many mental health illnesses that are out there. To talk about people actually having a negative impact for speaking about their mental health experiences just seems barbaric to me. Yes, feeling down is not the same as being depressed. Being a worrier is not the same as having anxiety. Having mood swings doesn’t mean your bipolar. But as someone who has postnatal depression and anxiety, I cannot even begin to imagine why someone would suggest that people want to have a mental health illness. Why someone would feel people find it cool and trendy? And how anything negative can come from people sharing their stories.

I still have intrusive thoughts sometimes. 18 months on. Can you imagine having thoughts of harming your own child? Your child who you loved more than anything. Your child that you would do anything to protect. Can you imagine having images of them being hurt just pop into your head? Can you imagine making a cup of tea and being terrified they would get burnt, even when they were in the next room? Intrusive thoughts are normal for parents. They are normal for everyone. But what’s not “normal” is having them in your head every single day, all day. You’re not ok if you plan how to kill yourself on a daily basis. You’re not ok if you refuse to put your child down, forever, because you think if you do they will die. I would not wish a mental health illness on anyone.

People talk about it being a journey because it is. Least for me it is. Setbacks and good and bad days. Triggers and overwhelming moments, when you think; “can I really do this?” To be in a constant battle (yes I said battle too) with yourself, with your mind and how your feeling is exhausting in every way. When you find some positive, when you feel just that little bit better, when you find yourself in recovery, why not share your story? Shout it from the bloody rooftops. After I shared my story for the first time on social media, so many people messaged me. People I’d never met, old friends, school friends from years ago. They spoke to me about their experiences and suddenly that very lonely, isolating time becomes just that little bit less lonely. That little bit less frightening.

How can that not be good? How can talking about what we are or have been through not be good?

Yes I know, talking about something isn’t going to change everything. We still do not have enough inpatient beds. Mental health nurses are overworked, understaffed and at times unappreciated. Sometimes you might be on a waiting list for 2 years to get help. GPs still don’t know what to do sometimes when you go to them for help. I know this. I am not completely naive. All this, yeah, it’s crap. But that doesn’t mean we shut up about mental health. It doesn’t mean that talking isn’t beneficial. It doesn’t mean posting a cheesy “uplifting” quote on instagram is stupid. Because actually I believe talking about is helping the change. Because more people are signing up to donate to organisations like Mind and Rethink. More people are becoming volunteers in hospitals. The government are starting to take notice. Because we’re loud. We’re talking. We’re making noise and we’re making a fuss. The NHS needs more money to create more beds. More mother and baby units. To employ more mental health specialists. To allow more employers and employees to go on courses regarding mental health. We need it for more nurses. We need it for more facilities in rural areas. We need it for transport for those who can’t get places. We need more housing, because 75% of those who are homeless will suffer with an mental health illness at some point. In fact, 1 in 4 of us will have a mental health illness at some point in our lives. We have so much more to do, so many ways we need to improve.

So write to your local MP. Donate to organisations when you can. Volunteer in your spare time. But don’t stop talking. Don’t stop sharing your experiences. I won’t. And I don’t think anyone else should either.

Stay tuned for another one.

Love, Kate. X