I’m sharing a post that my dear friend Lizi posted last night. It’s from her blog Through Accepting Limits which you can find here. Lizi has four year old twins, J&L. They’ve been in our lives for only a year but it feels like we’ve known them forever. I strongly suggest you read and devour every word on her site. You’ll be glad you did.

When I Grow Up, I Want to be Like My Children

About six months ago, L started to notice that J was “different”. She asked why he sometimes ignored her when she was talking to him. She asked why he always needed to repeat his daily scripts as we passed certain points when we were out in the car. She asked why he clamped his hands over his ears and shouted during tannoy announcements in supermarkets. She asked why it would sometimes take J a few minutes to answer a simple question; why he could not cope with making choices; why he would lay in bed screaming in the early hours of the morning; why he was obsessed with meerkats. She asked a lot.

At the same time J listened to L’s questions. Her enquiries meant that his difference, his “strangeness” was being pointed out to him. And whilst he made no comment I could see he was absorbing L’s questions. I saw the anxiety and confusion flicker across his face as L reeled off the ways in which he failed to behave like “normal” preschoolers. And I knew that my reply: “Because that’s just what J likes to do!” wouldn’t cut it for long.

So that’s when I first considered the idea of introducing the term “autism” to my 3-year-olds.
I initially broached the subject by gently introducing the concept of “disabilty” to them. L had only recently noticed that one of the presenters on CBeebies is missing the lower half of one arm. We had discussed some of the things she might find difficult and how others might be able to help, both practically (offering to tie her shoelaces) and emotionally (not saying mean things to her). And suddenly L’s world changed. Difference was all around her. She was, inevitably, full of questions. Why did that lady need to sit in a chair with wheels? Why did that man sound funny when he talked? Why did that big boy keep hitting himself on the head? Why did those people need sticks to walk? She very quickly grasped the idea that sometimes there will be part of someone’s body that doesn’t quite work the way it should, or work like everyone else’s. She understood that it might make life a little harder for that person, and that we should all do what we can to be kind and helpful to each other.

We talked about the infusions I do each week and she grew to understand that part of Mummy’s body doesn’t work like everyone else’s either – but that you can’t see it. L learned what an immune system is, and shouted angrily at her “fighters” to “make those germs scram” when she caught a cold. And finally we talked about J. I explained that whilst J’s body works fine (I’ll save the explanation of hypermobility for another day!), he sometimes thinks and feels differently to others. We revisted all of L’s “whys” and she started to put the puzzle together. J shouts in the supermarket because he hears everything really loudly and it hurts his ears. J sometimes ignores her because he can only think about one thing at a time. J screams in his bed because his brain isn’t very good at going to sleep. And gradually I introduced the word “autism”. At first it was hard to explain such an intangible condition. But then L would start to ask “Did J do xxx because he is autism?” (I still can’t get her to say he has autism!). Sometimes I would reply “Yes, I think J probably did xxx because he has got autism”. And sometimes I would reply “No, I think J did xxx just because that is what J likes to do”. Again, J listened and absorbed. And as autism by its very nature likes facts and answers, rather than intangible questions, J seemed at peace with the answers that were emerging.

And of course, we talked again and again about how much we love J, and how the things that make him different also make him very, very special. I knew I had overdone the “J’s autism makes him special” when L tearfully insisted that she is “a little bit autism” too. I didn’t protest too hard. We’re probably all a little bit autism after all.

And as time has gone on, “autism” has become just another word in J and L’s ever-increasing and hugely impressive vocabularies. It is simply another descriptive term. L has got blue eyes and curly hair, is very little, and loves to sing and make pictures. J has a wicked laugh and autism, is great at reading, and loves shapes and tickles. Sometimes J will refer to his autism and a little more often L does. Occasionally I have found it very useful in explaining J’s own behaviour to him, when he seems confused by his physical and emotional responses to different stimuli. But mostly no-one in our house mentions autism because no-one needs to.

I did not take the decision lightly to tell my children at such a young age that J has autism.

After I had done it I worried constantly about whether it had been the right thing to do. Their response reassured me to a certain degree. But it was a conversation we had today that finally left me in no doubt that I had done the right thing.

A little boy, B, has recently joined J and L’s class in nursery. B has autism. I know very little about him, but it is clear that he not at the same point of the spectrum as J. He is non-verbal and it seems that his autism is notably more severe than J’s. In the car on the way home from nursery today J suddenly said “Let’s talk about B!” I asked what he wanted to tell me about B and he said B had kept opening the classroom door today. I remarked that this was funny – B likes opening doors and J likes closing them. J said “Yes, B is like me!” A split second later came L’s inevitable question: “Is B autism?” “Yes” I replied, “I believe B has got autism”. “Oh!” said L. “That’s why he doesn’t talk!” Bearing in mind J’s verbal communication skills are excellent I was surprised she had made this connection. L went on to explain all the autistic traits B displays during an afternoon at nursery. I have to say her diagnostic observations are impressive.

Then L told me B had pinched her today. She said it hurt. I thought about my response before saying that I didn’t think B meant to hurt her or be naughty, but he still needed to learn that he mustn’t pinch people so L must tell the teacher if it happens again. Then L said something that brought tears to my eyes. I have reproduced her words as faithfully as my memory allows:

“Poor B” she said. “Maybe he wanted to be my friend but didn’t know how to tell me. I don’t mind that he pinched me. He probably knew that I would be kind to him because I know all about autism. If he does it again I will say ‘No B, pinching makes me sad. Do you want to play instead?’ Do you think that will make him happy Mummy? It must be very upsetting to not be able to talk or to tell people what you want. Maybe we should have a play date with him”.

Then J, who had been quiet for some time, added: “B has got autism like me. I will be his friend”.

If my children go on to climb Everest and win Nobel prizes, I can’t imagine ever being prouder of them than I was in that moment. At four years old they have openly understood and accepted difference and, through their own volition, considered ways to embrace it. They have shown empathy, compassion and kindness. The thought that B will grow up remembering the two children who offered to be his friend rather than shying away from him fills me with joy.

I have learned an important lesson today. I have been so busy trying to change the world so that everyone is loving and accepting and understanding towards J, I forgot that he has it in him to be all of that for another.

A year ago I could never have imagined being grateful for J’s autism. Now I am just starting to realise how many gifts it has given us. And the greatest of all is that it has made my children into the kind of people who wish to befriend a boy who might otherwise remain friendless. What parent could ever ask for more?

The debate concerned parenting books; the suggestion being that parenting books are responsible for stifling the natural instinct and intuition of parents. Callers of all ages made their points, with some arguing that allowing babies to “cry it out” is the only way to get a baby to sleep through the night. Others argued that Gina Ford’s ‘Contented Little Baby’ routine was both the work of the devil and equally the only possible option for raising a happy child. Several parents from older generations pointed out that none of these books and regimes were available “in their day” and their children turned out alright (even though, when pressed, at least one admitted that her children didn’t sleep through the night until the age of five).

Few topics polarise people as much as parenting. There are so many factors and variables along the rocky road that is parenthood and it’s such an important job. Nothing magnifies irrational thought as much as sleep deprivation and this is where parenting books come in. They can feel like a life-line when your instinct and intuition seem to be failing you.

The one thing all callers had in common was their passion. They all felt so strongly that they were right.

Had I been put on-air this morning, my point would have been this:
“Why does your way have to be the only way?”

Nobody on this particular radio show was able to appreciate that what works for them may not for someone else; all children are different and what works for your first child may not have the same effect on your subsequent offspring. Others may do things differently from you, and that’s fine. It doesn’t mean that they’re wrong or that you are, either.

The main topic of this phone-in was intuition, which I think is a really interesting point. The suggestion was that anyone following a routine from a parenting book was ignoring their own common-sense and instinct. The reason I felt compelled to join this debate was that this view is so incredibly black and white.

What if your intuition is telling you that you need help? Why ignore the wealth of information in books and online? What if you are seriously questioning whether you were over-looked on the day that maternal instinct and common sense were handed out? What’s so wrong with using a crutch?

I admit that I’m somewhat of a parenting-book-junkie. Especially when Madam was born, in the early days and during the onset of what turned out to be severe post-natal depression, I was desperate for help. I bought book after book, determined to shoe-horn my little baby in to a routine that would get her through the night. Looking back, what I really needed was to feel in control. Anyone who’s ever had a newborn will know that control, hormones and little babies don’t usually go hand-in-hand.

The start of my darkest days coincided with trying to fit Madam in to Gina Ford’s routine. I just couldn’t seem to get her to “obey’ the timings that Ms. Ford insisted upon. I felt like an utter failure. Several of my peers had successfully implemented Gina, yet I simply couldn’t make her routine work. I think my baby was four weeks old. Had I been thinking rationally at the time, I’d have realised that either this routine wasn’t for us, or that we’d have to try later when the baby was a bit older. Perhaps I’d have taken some tips or ideas and found my own way. But I wasn’t thinking rationally. I was desperate. I bought several other books, determined to fit my tiny little baby in to some sort of schedule: to make me feel back in control of the situation and in hindsight, my life.

My fixation on routine was in all likelihood something for me to focus on. Of course I now realise that putting so much emphasis on getting little Madam in to a routine was causing me to miss out on so many joyful moments. I even felt resentful of her at times. Of course, much of this is closely tied in to PND. Also, thinking back, the control issue was also probably magnified by my inability to breastfeed her (more on this topic soon). I looked to parenting books to help me regain control as I felt completely unprepared for the spiral that my life had seemingly become.

With this in mind you’d think I’d be firmly in the anti-parenting book camp. But this is not the case. Not at all. My situation was extreme and I am in no way suggesting that any book was responsible for my depression. I did find a routine that worked for us (from Tracey Hogg’s ‘The Baby Whisperer Solves All Your Problems’), and Madam did sleep through the night from eight weeks. I say this not to brag, but to show that with perseverance I found something that worked. For me, the stress of implementing a routine was negated by the rewards. Getting the baby to sleep through the night as soon as she was ready helped me to feel more in control and made me more capable of seeking help for myself. I genuinely don’t believe that she’d have slept as early as she did without the routine.

I’m occasionally asked my views on Gina Ford and her routines. I would never dream of saying “Oh my God, Gina and I don’t get on at all, she nearly sent me insane. Steer well clear if you’d like to avoid taking up residence in a padded cell!”. I realise and accept that all children and all families are different. The reason there are so many books, ideas and baby products on the market is that there is something to suit everyone. I can only offer my own experiences and share what did and didn’t work for us. I try very hard to stick to point number five in my Mummy Kindness Manifesto:

I will only offer advice when it’s asked for. I will do so with love and without judgement.

When it comes to receiving parenting advice, experience has taught me to filter advice and to keep an open mind. It is perfectly acceptable to glean useful nuggets of information from an assortment of media and to disregard what doesn’t speak to or work for you.

There is no reason why reading parenting books should stifle our parental instincts or intuitions. If we have peace with and faith in our own choices as parents, there’s no reason why we should feel threatened by someone else’s different approach. I think this goes for all aspects of life, really, not only parenting. We all simply want to do our best for our families. Hopefully we can all continue to listen to our own instincts and at the same time respect and accept that others are doing the same, differently, and that’s fine too.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”
― Fred Rogers

Yesterday three people died and over one hundred were horrifically injured when two bombs exploded at the Boston Marathon. I watched the news in shock with my heart racing. I just can’t understand what would make someone feel that an act of terror like this is justifiable.

It seems that every day there’s more and more hurt, pain and bad news. For someone like me, who’s already prone to anxiety and panic, it’s almost enough to make me become a hermit, never leaving the house and relying on Internet shopping to keep my family sustained. I’m not really even kidding.

This morning I had a couple of child-free hours and as I drove to the Westfield shopping centre in East London all I could think of was terror explosions and how one minute you can be going about your business and the next…well, I can’t begin to imagine.

I mean, marathons are charity events. Bombers targeted ordinary, kind and charitable people.
Day after day we hear horrifying stories of pain and devastation all over the world. Each seems worse than the last.

This morning on Facebook someone shared a picture of a man in Boston with most of his leg missing. The image is seared on my brain. You can’t just “un-see” something like that.

It’s almost enough to destroy your faith in human nature altogether.

But where will we be without faith in human nature? What will happen if we all believe that the entire world has gone to shit and that no-one cares any more? That there’s no good left?

We simply cannot let our hearts be hardened by the sadness we see in the world. We can’t just accept that bad stuff happens to good people and do nothing about it. We can’t believe that the human race is tainted by Evil. We can’t let the sadness of an atrocity like yesterday distort our view of humanity.

We (or I) simply must remember that a minuscule fraction of the world’s population are truly evil. But not the majority. If this was not the case, the human race would have destroyed itself thousands of years ago. We never would’ve evolved this far.

Each of us are but one person, but together we’re a force to be reckoned with. In my view, our only option is to Be The Good.

It’s up to us, friends, to put the Good back in to everyday life.

“Those who are crazy enough to think they can change the world usually do.” - Steve Jobs

You see, we can’t single-handedly stop terrorism, cure cancer or prevent natural disasters. We can’t heal the sick or turn back time. But we can Be The Good. We can love harder for every heart-breaking news story we see. We can be a little bit kinder. We can make charitable donations if possible. We can give blood. We can donate time. We can just be nicer to people. More patient. More friendly. We can smile at strangers and hold open doors. We can let someone in to our lane in traffic. Even pack an old lady’s shopping at the supermarket. Anything really. Any random act of kindness will do. Think of it as killing evil with kindness.

Can you imagine what a difference it would make to humanity if we were all just a bit nicer? Kinder? More loving to our fellow human?

I’ve said before that I believe our children learn more from our behaviour and from watching us interact with the world than they do from any lessons we deliberately try to teach them. It’s up to us as parents and as citizens of the human race to lead by example. Not to let the bad in the world pollute all that is good. To show our children how to put the ‘human’ back in humanity.

If enough people commit to undertaking even the smallest acts of kindness we can collectively help to restore the world’s faith in human nature. Each smile at a stranger could make somebody’s day. It’s as simple as that.

I don’t normally ask this, but I’d really appreciate if you’d share this post. I want as many people as possible to see it. One at a time we can change the world, we really can.

I hereby resolve that for every heart-breaking news story I see, I will try a little bit harder to do good. For every sad article I read I will remember that I may just be one person, but I can change the world, one smile and kind gesture at a time. We all can.
We can, and we must Be The Good.

All pictures credited to the Brave Girls’ Club

One of the questions my therapist asked me to consider is what I feel makes me “good enough”. Even though I wrote a blog post on this topic a couple of weeks ago, I still can’t put my finger on what, specifically, makes me “good enough”. But at the same time, I can’t think of anything that makes me not good enough, either. Perhaps being good enough is not something we can quantify. Like the meaning of life. It’s different to everyone and it may even change on a daily basis.

With this in mind, I’ve been thinking a lot about the tenth point of my Mummy Kindness Manifesto:

“I will not compare my insides with everyone else’s outsides.”

The simple fact is that pictures we all post on social media are the carefully edited highlights of our daily lives. Of course they are. Not many of us will happily share photos of our children mid-meltdown and ourselves au-naturel with frizzy hair and no make-up. Yet most of us use these images as a benchmark for the so-called perfection that we feel we need to achieve. I said in my last post that I feel perfection is a bit of a myth, and a dangerous one at that. We can blame our lack of perfection as the reason we may “come-up-short” against the goals we set ourselves. If only we were cleverer/prettier/thinner/wealthier everything would be so much better.

Nobody’s life is perfect.

Even the mother who seems to have it all will be comparing herself to someone and aspiring to be better. Imagine a world where we stopped comparing and remembered that social media pictures are really just a mirage. Where we remind ourselves that perfectly-put-together mum who sometimes makes you feel like a dishevelled frump has her own issues going on. Imagine if we genuinely started to remember that we don’t need to compete with each other, and we’re all doing our best.

No-one’s life is perfect, and not every moment is photo-worthy. But if we can find a few moments a day where things are good, I genuinely think we’re winning. No-one sails through life (and especially not motherhood) without a succession of tantrums, tears, snot and stress. Stopping every so often and realising that the kids aren’t fighting and for once there aren’t crumbs under the sofa is a mini victory, some days.

Of course there are many beautiful, amazing moments but they can easily get lost in the madness and the busy if we’re not careful. I’ve been making a conscious effort to stop and take in some of the lovely moments as they happen, and to try to remember them last thing at night. This has really helped me. Rather than thinking of what I haven’t got done today or running myself down for the things that went wrong, I’m trying to give myself credit for what I did get done. I might not be giving deep, joyful sighs at the wonderful day we’ve all had, but overall, there is usually something to smile about.

So I’m going to share some pictures that I’ve taken during the Easter holidays. Lots of them have been shared on my personal Facebook page as they’re full of smiling, joyful kids and happy me. Some of them haven’t… I wonder if you can tell which are which?

Madam and Me. All made-up and profile picture-worthy.

Madam and me. Make-up free and mid-meltdown.

Yours, truly. Fully made-up complete with falsh lashes and pout. On my way to a wedding.

Yours, truly. At home this morning. Keeping it real (am I SERIOUSLY sharing this picture?! Have I LOST MY MIND!?)

Playdate for ten at my house.

Cakes we made.

However, Madam spent much of the baking time (in fact, too much time in general) doing this….

Look, world. See all the fun, crafty things we do?

My children are perfect, you know. Always so well behaved…

Look at my perfectly adorable, smiling child. See how happy she is, all of the time?….

… Or not, as the case may be.

Oh look! How adorable, she painted her own toe-nails!!

…. Oh bloody hell!!

And did you notice my lovely, tidy house in the pictures? I didn’t include this, on Facebook though, did I?

So here’s a snapshot of my life. Warts, spectacles, tantrums and all. And you’ll notice that I’ve still Instagramed all of the imperfect pictures. I’m not that brave!

So next time you’re comparing your life with someone else’s, even mine, remember that we’re all the same, deep down. We’re all fighting our own battles and projecting our own little mirage to the outside world. Cut yourself some slack, I’ll do the same, and let’s remember that good enough is enough, thank you very much.

PS, as always, I’d really appreciate your help sharing the Mummy Kindness via my Facebook Page, so please do like it here

What are your views on real-life versus social media perceptions? I’d love you thoughts so please do leave a comment. Thanks!

Lately, when I get comments from my lovely readers, kind words of encouragement or even congratulations I find these words incredibly difficult to read. I find reading complimentary messages extremely uncomfortable. I know deep down, that the reason for this is that during my darker times, I find it almost impossible not to completely discount and ignore anything positive about myself.
I have simply got to stop doing this.

You’ll be pleased to know that in the past two weeks I’ve started feeling much more like myself again. Coming “out the other side” always seems to result in me feeling a little shell-shocked and contemplative. So I’ve taken the time to read back through the messages of support and try to digest them, to take them on board.

My readers are a very supportive bunch indeed. In my darkest hour you congratulated me on my bravery and honesty. You pointed out that I can’t right all of the wrongs in the world, but that I am a force of good. You told me (correctly) that brighter days are coming. You are proud of me and most of you have never met me.

Writing those things down myself makes me cringe. But I am sharing them, because I need to know that they are true. They. Are. True.

On my birthday last week I asked you to share some of the things that you’re proud of about yourselves. I loved reading your responses. You spoke of your pride at getting stronger and stronger despite getting continually knocked down. You told me about your inner strength and resilience. You are so proud of the little people who you’re shaping and moulding. You ask for help when you need it. You are kind and you are loyal. You recognise these strengths in yourselves and you shared them me.

In reading the attributes you like about yourselves, if I’m truly honest with myself, I see many of those characteristics within me. But I find them very difficult to accept. I struggle with seeing myself as worthy. I discount positives.

I write so much here about kindness. To ourselves and to others. But I, for one find self-kindness really difficult. Much of this will be driven by my ongoing struggles with depression but some of it has simply always been there, simmering away under the surface.

Here’s what I’m trying to say and trying to remind myself and my readers:

I am Enough
You are Enough
We are Enough


We don’t need to be perfect. In fact, I truly believe that perfection is a myth. You never really achieve it, like chasing a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. It just moves away a bit further, the closer you get.

Compassion and Self-Kindness

I think most of us could really benefit from practicing more self-compassion. If a friend came to me, for example, and told me that she felt she was failing as a mother, because her children eat too much processed food and spend too much time on the iPad, I’d remind her that those are just two small pieces of the parenting puzzle. I’d tell her that her children had lovely manners, were kind and considerate, shared nicely, were always a pleasure to have at my house. That my children always look forward to play-dates with her kids. I’d remind her that she’s doing a great job.

See, really, the friend I just mentioned is me. These are some of my worries. I should not be beating myself up. I need to be as good a friend to myself as I am to my friends. I would never berate them for allowing their toddler to happily sit with an iPad whilst she gets a few important jobs done, for example. I need to practice more self-kindness.

Dr. Brene Brown defines Self Kindness as “Being warm and understanding towards ourselves when we suffer, fail or feel inadequate, rather than ignoring our pain or flagellating ourselves with self criticism”.

We need to treat ourselves as we would our friends. We need to be more compassionate to ourselves and remember that We Are Enough.

Every little thing we do as parents has substance. It is important. WE are important. I am important. We matter. Very much indeed.

The endless laundry keeps our children are clean and warm. The cooking (that they often turn their noses up at) keeps them sustained. The cleaning gives them comfortable and safe surroundings. It all matters. The stressful school-runs and fighting to zip-up coats on moving children. It matters. The stories and the picking-up of toys and clothes, the endless wiping of noses, bottoms and sides, it matters. We matter.

What we do, day in, day out is so important. We do so much. We are partners, parents, siblings, daughters, friends, colleagues… the list is endless. We matter. We Are Enough.

If we don’t start believing this, we will in all likelihood never feel clever enough, pretty enough, slim enough, rich enough, (insert your own inadequacy here) enough.

I hereby resolve to tell myself, each day, several times a day, that I am Enough. There will always be more cleaning to do, there will usually be a load of washing in the machine that needs to be re-run as it’s been in there for three days and is starting to smell. There will always be something to iron. I will usually be wearing odd socks. Still, I am Enough, and You are Enough.

In her book ‘The Gifts of Imperfection’ Dr. Brown quotes Christopher K Gerner:

“A moment of self-compassion can change your entire day. A string of such moments can change your life“.



Rather than berating myself for all that I haven’t achieved today, I am going to practice reminding myself of all I have done.

My children are (usually) happy and content. I am proud of my marriage. I have amazing friends. I am a good friend. I am a good wife. I am a good mother, sister and daughter. There is food on the table, a roof over our heads and love in our hearts. We are healthy, and I am grateful. I am enough. You are enough.

We may be stretch-marked and muffin-topped. We may have dirty floors and mis-matched underwear. We may have disorganised cupboards and un-painted toe-nails. We may have frizzy hair and baby sick/snot/banana down our tops at all times. We are Perfectly Imperfect, my friends, and We are Enough.

PS…

I’d love your thoughts on this, so please leave a comment below!

Images credited the the Brave Girls’ Club
As always, please help share the love by liking the Mummy Kindness Facebook page here


]]> http://mummykindness.com/2013/04/01/enough-already/feed/ 9 mummykindness 20130401-130907.jpg 20130401-130752.jpg http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/26/birthday-party-2/ http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/26/birthday-party-2/#comments Tue, 26 Mar 2013 08:32:05 +0000 Mummy Kindness https://mummykindness.wordpress.com/?p=214 ]]>

Today is my birthday!

It’s 7.40am and rather than enjoying a lie-in, I’ve got a blog post swimming around my head which needs to come out!

I’d like you to leave me a present today and in doing so give yourself some love.

I’d like you to please have a think about something you like about yourself and/or that you’re proud of, and tell me about it in the comment section below. I’ll be stopping by all day to read your messages and soak up the kindness.

If you’re a regular reader you’ll know that I’ve been having difficulty lately listening to positives about myself. I love the thought that, on my birthday, lots of you will be taking a quick moment to think of something you like about yourselves.

You will be asked for your name, but you don’t need to give a real one. You’ll also need to enter your email address but that won’t be made public. Even if this is the first time you’ve ever left a comment, please share here today!

If, like me, you worry that you’re either tempting fate or showing-off by speaking (or writing) these thoughts out loud, tell that inner-voice to pipe down! My party, my rules!

Right… here’s mine….

I am very proud of my family, by marriage, my blog and my business. I sometimes like my hair. I am a very loving person, a good mummy and a good friend.

There. That wasn’t so bad!

So take a deep breath and please do share yours. Thank you so much!

Rachel
(aged 34 today!)



Huge thanks to Glennon Melton at Momastery for inspiring this post on her birthday last week.
PS… if you’d like to share the kindness further please like my Facebook page here.


]]> http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/26/birthday-party-2/feed/ 22 mummykindness 20130326-082414.jpg 20130326-082344.jpg http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/16/truth/ http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/16/truth/#comments Sat, 16 Mar 2013 22:45:38 +0000 Mummy Kindness https://mummykindness.wordpress.com/?p=88 ]]> “The moment we begin to fear the opinions of others and hesitate to tell the truth that is in us, and are silent when we should speak, the divine floods of light and life flow no longer in our souls.”

Elizabeth Cady Stanton (November 12, 1815 – October 26, 1902) in her speech to the National American Woman Suffrage Association, 1890.

Truth. This word means a lot to me. I’m having to face a lot of truths at the moment. Truth can be painful. Speaking truth can leave you feeling vulnerable. Vulnerability is frightening. Truth can be terrifying.

But fearless truth telling can heal. Not only myself, but others who hear (or in this case read) it.

The truth of the matter is, my depression has been back and there has been absolutely nothing that I could do to stop it. No amount of late night over-thinking, crying, pretending, talking or remaining silent has managed to keep the Black Dog from my door.

So I am going to share my truth here. It might be painful to read and to write, but if nobody talks openly about taboo subjects like this, more and more people will suffer in silence. If one person reads this, and in doing so feels less alone, or seeks help it will be worth the emotional effort that writing a post like this involves.

Each time it returns, my depression seems to have mutated. Like a germ that’s become immune to antibiotics. Like something from a zombie film, lurking where you least expect it.

Seven months ago my biggest problem was anxiety. Crippling, physical, exhausting anxiety. Talk-based CBT helped this, as did medication, and now it’s not such an issue. This time around the relapse has involved a lot more paranoia and the darkest of thoughts. Feelings of being worthless, a burden, a disappointment.

Depression is a very cruel illness. It robs you of the ability to take on board any rational advice or listen to logic. You just can’t believe anything good about yourself at all. You seem to feel too much of everything and at the same time, not enough. Nothing makes sense in my experience, when it comes to depression. Thoughts which to any other person are ridiculous, horrifying or absurd seem perfectly acceptable. During a conversation with a friend who was once sectioned for her own safety, for example, I felt that perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing to happen. At least there would be rest. And quiet. And help.

Last week I had a long conversation with my doctor. He increased my medication and referred me for more Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. During my assessment I answered several questions which gave a picture of where I am on a depression scale. Despite all of the feelings I’d been battling I was still crushed to hear that based on the answers I gave, I’m considered to be seriously depressed. The fact that I felt surprised by this news is ridiculous as I’ve been living with this for weeks now. But the truth is, I keep expecting someone to tell me that this has all been a mistake, I’m just a bit tired and no, I haven’t actually got a mental illness after-all.

One of the doctor’s questions covered suicidal feelings. Not a conversation I ever expected to have. But I answered truthfully. My truth is that whilst I would never, ever put my family through it, I can, at this point in my life, understand why people do choose to end their lives as a result of depression. I’m sorry if this is painful and shocking to read, but this post is about truth.

I am speaking my truth here, in the hope that saying this things aloud (or on screen, as it were) will banish them away. In my darkest moments, I truly believed that the world would be better off without me, and that my husband and children would be better off with a different wife and mother. I feel I should stress again, before anyone calls an ambulance, that at no point did I ever plan to act on these dark thoughts. There are too many people whom I love for me to ever do that. But what I am saying is when I read news stories about women who’ve ended their lives, I can understand the feelings of desperate desolation that must have driven them.

After leaving the doctor’s, feeling very fragile indeed, I messaged a good friend who has personal experience of depression herself. I explained my feelings to her. Her response contained the following wise words:

“Please try not to be heartbroken- we both know depression is always there in the background and it’s inevitable that there will be relapses throughout our lives. What’s important it how we deal with them”.

She went on to commend me for getting help. Her message was of great comfort to me at a time where I just wanted to take to my bed and howl.

But here’s the thing. Each time my depression comes under control again, I think it’s gone forever. When it returns, it comes as a massive shock to me. In writing this I realise how ridiculous this sounds, but it’s the truth. I can’t seem to accept the fact that this may in all likeliness be something that comes back again and again throughout my life. The thought terrifies me. I can’t really even bear to think about it.

As I write this, I am thinking about the people who I know, who may read this. What on earth is possessing me to write down my very darkest thoughts and share them on the internet? What will people think? Will it look as it I’m attention-seeking? But then I re-examine my reasons for this post. I am writing not only to help myself, but to try to help others. Not just those suffering from depression themselves, but those trying to support loved ones going through it.


I “came out’ about my depression through this blog. Before doing so, only a couple of people knew about it. My closest friends weren’t even aware. They sent me incredible messages of support once they’d read my first post. But I admit, and so will they, that after that it became somewhat of an elephant in the room. No-one liked to broach the subject and I couldn’t seem to bring it up. I began to feel paranoid that I’d alienated myself from my friends, who were becoming used to reading my inner thoughts rather than hearing them in person.

I find the subject far easier to write about than to speak about and I’m very good at putting on a brave face to the outside world. But last week, on the insistence of a close friend, my friends and I finally had the conversation. I struggled not to fall to pieces in a busy restaurant whilst discussing it. They offered support and suggestions. They were relieved and so was I. I hope that next time (and I really hope there is never a next time) I’ll be able to reach out to them more and let them in.


I sometimes wonder whether I actually feel too much. Too much of other people’s pain as well as my own. At the moment I have close friends going through horrendous divorce, serious ill-health and parental cancer. I spend so much time worrying about them whilst feeling incredible guilt for not being a supportive enough friend. Because at some point, like this past few weeks or so, I can only focus on myself and my family. I have to put our needs first but that feels so selfish. I have to concentrate on myself more and stop worrying so much about others.

Yesterday my friend’s one year old daughter broke her ankle for no apparent reason. The photo of her in her cast was enough to have me feeling low for an entire morning today. Other people would of course worry about a baby in distress. But for me, it seems to consume me. I internalise it and find it hard to switch off the worry. I suppose this is something for me to address once the therapy resumes again.

I’m really struggling with whether or not to publish this post. It still feels to raw and I’m worried about upsetting my family and friends. I’m also worried about what acquaintances will think.

So I’ll share this quote, to give myself a bit more courage:
“Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind”
Bernard Baruch (Often incorrectly attributed to Dr. Seuss, apparently).

So, if you’re a friend or acquaintance of mine and you’re reading this, don’t feel awkward when you see me next. I’m determined to get through this again and raising awareness is part of the process for me, it seems. In writing this I can feel a few subtle sparks of positivity somewhere deep inside, some flickering enthusiasm building slowly. It will be OK again. I will get through this again, bit by bit with the support of my loved ones. I have asked for help, and of that I am proud.

Before I hit publish, I’m going to take a deep breath and remind myself once again of my reasons for sharing this. To help myself to heal, and to help heal others.

If you’re reading this and you’re suffering, please do get help. Speak to someone. If you’re worried about someone, please offer support. Only by being supportive to one another can we break the stigma and help one another. And that’s the Truth.


All pictures credited to the Brave Girls Club


]]> http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/16/truth/feed/ 41 mummykindness 20130316-223452.jpg 20130316-223603.jpg 20130316-223721.jpg http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/10/to-the-mummies/ http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/10/to-the-mummies/#comments Sun, 10 Mar 2013 12:04:12 +0000 Mummy Kindness https://mummykindness.wordpress.com/?p=84 ]]> To the yummy mummies
To the slummy mummies
To the tired mummies
To the happy mummies
To the silly mummies

To the always-late-mummies
To the doing your best mummies
To the little-bit-sad mummies

To the Nanas, Grandmas and Grannies
To the aunties
To the step-mums
To the mother-in-laws

To the like-a-mums
To the mummies of multiples
To the struggling mummies
To the mummies-to-be
To the want-to-be-a-mummies
To the mummies in heaven
To the single mummies

And especially to my mummy.
Happy Mother’s Day.
You’re amazing and wonderful and very very special indeed.




]]> http://mummykindness.com/2013/03/10/to-the-mummies/feed/ 0 mummykindness 20130310-120330.jpg http://mummykindness.com/2013/02/27/easier-said-than-done/ http://mummykindness.com/2013/02/27/easier-said-than-done/#comments Wed, 27 Feb 2013 14:30:50 +0000 Mummy Kindness https://mummykindness.wordpress.com/?p=78 ]]> I feel the need to write this down so that hopefully I’ll feel better afterwards. I have a knot of emotion in my chest and I need it to go away. Whilst it doesn’t feel as if the Black Dog is looming, I do feel as if I good cry is on the horizon.

The past month has been very tough. My PND relapse episode lasted a full fortnight and immediately afterwards followed two weeks of the usual childhood illnesses that come with winter time. I don’t recall my last good night’s sleep.

Now, even in writing this, I feel the need to apologise to the millions of other parents out there who have children who don’t sleep. It comes with the territory, I know. But it feels like I’m the only one staring at a computer screen on the verge of tears.

But then I remember that others don’t have the monopoly on exhaustion. I am entitled to feel how I do. I’m not alone in feeling this way. It’s OK not to feel OK sometimes, remember?

Sleep deprivation does magnify things, and when I’m feeling a bit emotionally fragile, this is even more apparent.

You see, Monkey has been behaving like a cross between a surly teenager and a Tasmanian devil for the past couple of weeks. It has been meltdown central in our house and I have heard lots of “I don’t like you, mummy. I don’t want you. Go away from me”. I do know these are not his true feelings. He is three and a half. I’m the one he runs to when he is sick or hurt and I know he loves me. But still, words like this cut like a knife to my heart.


I know that Monkey feeds off my energy and I’m pretty sure my energy has been off-kilter during the past month. What this boils down to is I feel his behaviour is my fault. But if my energy causes his meltdowns and his tantrums cause me to feel even worse, how will this stop? It’s a vicious cycle, surely?

There are lots of strategies I employ to cope with meltdowns. I like to lead by example by not shouting over him when he is losing it, as I don’t think that teaches anything. In fact I prefer to drop my voice very low when he is screaming and shouting. I try to head the tantrums off-at-the-pass if I can and will intervene if I see one coming. This often works. I also like to use humour to distract him from a diva strop, and I’ve been known to return from the shops on a make-believe broomstick to prevent an outburst. But sometimes nothing works. I guess sometimes he just behaves like a normal three and a half year old boy, who is recovering from a nasty virus and several nights of broken sleep.

Even in telling you these tricks and strategies I realise that I am trying to prove something. I am trying to show you, dear readers, and remind myself, that I am a conscientious parent. I’m demonstrating that I am not a bad mum. That I’m not modelling aggressive behaviour and in doing so creating a future menace to society.

I’m trying to tell myself that my own struggles are not damaging my child.

I don’t think there is a parent in the world who has not had to deal with a meltdown from their child. I know that it is normal, developmental behaviour. I also know lots of parents of children with special needs who cope with far more difficult situations and make it look easy.

I suppose what I really need to do is read back through my previous posts, have a word with myself, take some of my own advice and practice what I preach. So here goes…

“I will be true and authentic and not pretend all is perfect at all times”. Check.

“I will always remember that I’m the best mum for my children, that I know them better than anyone else. I will discount any thoughts that suggest otherwise”. Hmmm. Perhaps I need to read this one a few more times.

“I will remember that it’s OK not to be OK sometimes”. Yes.

“I will be kind to myself.” Easier said than done, though, isn’t it?




]]> http://mummykindness.com/2013/02/27/easier-said-than-done/feed/ 9 mummykindness 20130227-141032.jpg 20130227-141436.jpg http://mummykindness.com/2013/02/18/expectant-expectations/ http://mummykindness.com/2013/02/18/expectant-expectations/#comments Mon, 18 Feb 2013 11:57:13 +0000 Mummy Kindness https://mummykindness.wordpress.com/?p=75 ]]> I recently asked an online group of mums what advice they would give if they could send a letter back in time to their first-time pregnant selves;

“I’d tell myself to ignore the midwife who told me I’d be unable to breastfeed my baby because I’d had a caesarean. I bitterly regret listening to her advice, which I now know was totally inaccurate.”

“Please don’t bother with the colour-coded, detailed birth plan. What a waste of time. I felt such a sense of failure when I eventually had an epidural. I so wanted to have a natural birth and ended up with an emergency c-section. I still blame myself for not being able to do it without drugs”.

“I wish I’d had the confidence to ignore the pressure to breastfeed. I had so many strangers hands all over my poor boobs in those early days. The health visitor put so much pressure on me to breastfeed that I literally felt like I was being ‘milked’. It really affected how I bonded with my baby as I felt so resentful. I’d tell myself to listen to my instincts and trust my gut”.

How different our expectations are from the reality of pregnancy, birth and the early years.

What saddens me is that the feelings of disappointment and failure by these women (and myself) could have been diminished, if not avoided, if only we were more realistic in our expectations.

Of course I’m not suggesting that every birth is difficult and horrible, but let’s face it, very few births play out exactly as expected. Friends who planned beautiful drug-free water births had emergency c-sections, and a dear friend of mine who had planned on taking every drug available to her ended up suddenly delivering her daughter on the floor at home.

Ante-natal advice on breastfeeding is plentiful, but far less support is available for mums who bottle feed. Those unable to breastfeed can be left feeling inferior and inadequate against their lactating counterparts. Many women expect breastfeeding to be a beautiful and nurturing experience but sadly find the reality very different indeed.

Dr. K is a new mum who has kindly shared her story with me.

“I did not enjoy my pregnancy at all. Far from the blossoming, glowing, Mother Earth person I expected to be, I had significant health problems throughout, high blood pressure, a number of pre eclampsia scares, carpal tunnel syndrome and feet that became so oedematous I had to wear special shoes for the last 3 months of pregnancy. Then there was the weight gain. Society places huge pressure on women to look slim. I felt I should resemble a waif with an egg attached to my abdomen, not the whale I became.
I accept that it was my own expectations of myself to breastfeed that caused me to get incredibly emotional in those early days. I felt like a failure. Being unable to breastfeed made me feel utterly ashamed until a senior midwife pointed out that whether breast or bottle-fed my baby would gain weight and grow”.

It’s not just over-thinkers like me who feel like failures if things don’t go to plan. (Watch this space for my own breastfeeding story). Dr. K had a very difficult pregnancy, birth and feeding experience. Even extensive knowledge and medical training didn’t align her expectations with what eventually came to pass. Even doctors feel frightened and often disappointed with themselves in their first days as mothers.

Another doctor, Dr M also shared her experiences with me;
” Those first few months of having a newborn baby were the most difficult of my life, but at the same time, you adore this new baby and all you want to give it is the best. If someone had told me how hard it would be, I’m sure I’d never have done it.”

I don’t think I know one mother who could honestly say the newborn days were what she expected and I think we underestimate how formative the early days are on how we view ourselves as mummies.

My theory is that even from as early on as pregnancy, we set expectations that are altogether too high. Detailed birth plans, for example, are setting us up to feel like failures from the moment we give birth. Perhaps strong pressure to breastfeed when it simply may not work for us only serves to make us feel inadequate from the off.



My view is that if we were all a bit more realistic with our expectations from the very beginning, we may realise and believe that our worth as a parent is not determined or measured by whether we managed to deliver a baby naturally or breastfeed exclusively for the first year (or countless other factors).

I think that there is definitely room for improvement when it comes to ante-natal care. Women need more information on what to expect in those tough early days as a new mum. Some organisations are fantastic and some aren’t. Similarly it can be a bit of a lottery as to whether you get a supportive Midwife or Health Visitor who will look at your situation in isolation and not just tow the party-line.

Dr. M further illustrates this point; “NCT and antenatal classes are partly to blame because they don’t tell you how hard the reality of having a newborn baby is. They focus on the delivery but what we really need to hear is ‘what do I do with this baby once I get it home?!’ Maybe they don’t want to scare us but I definitely believe there should be much more realistic ante-natal advice.”

There are also some fantastic postnatal groups out there, and I truly believe that they are equally important as ante-natal classes. I think so many of us could benefit from postnatal groups in which mums are encouraged to be really truthful with one another and where competition is actively discouraged. Two groups who have contacted me can be found here and here. If you run a postnatal group and you’d like to tell us about it, please feel free to leave a comment below with a link to your website.

A bit more honestly with our fellow new mums can go so very far. Admitting that those early days are tough, that breastfeeding can be both beautiful and excrutiating, that sometimes you wonder what-on-earth you’ve got yourself in to goes such a long way.

Now I’m not for a second suggesting that we accost every pregnant woman we see, terrify her with birth horror stories and bombard her with unsolicited advice. I don’t think this will help anyone.

However, sharing our experiences with truthful sensitivity can help new mums feel less like failures and more like true, authentic women who can only only do their best each day.


My letter to my thirty year old, newly pregnant self four years ago would say something like this:

Dear You

Mazeltov on your wonderful news!
You won’t enjoy pregnancy very much, but that’s OK. Lots of women feel like this too.
Several people will say you’re the biggest pregnant woman they’ve ever seen. Try not to be offended. It’s true.
Please do try to rest. You can’t stock-pile sleep as easily as you can lay down fat stores (sadly), but it will be several years before you feel properly rested again.
Keep an open mind about your birth. I don’t want to scare you, but when the midwife tries to send your husband home on the night that they induce you. Please don’t let him go.
Also, don’t bother buying any newborn clothes, there’s a very big boy in there.
Another thing… disposable knickers come up really small. Buy the biggest size you can find and avoid a very embarrassing shopping trip to Mothercare for your father-in-law.
It’s OK to sometimes feel a bit envious of friends who don’t have children yet and how they will sleep uninterrupted tonight. Everyone feels like this sometimes, but no-one talks about it.
If the house is too full of people sometimes, please politely ask them to leave. Allow your new family some private bonding time.
Oh, and you don’t know this, but there is such a thing as an over-stimulated baby. This is why he will sometimes scream for no obvious reason when there have been too many visitors.
Keep an open mind when it comes to feeding your baby boy and hold on to that for the next few years. The most important thing is that he and you are happy.
Please don’t compare yourself with other new mums. Do what works for you and let them do the same.
You will be the best mummy for your children and you will know them better than anyone else. Please remember this and have faith in yourself.
Love
You

I’ll leave you with these fabulous words from Dr M:
“What I’ve learnt having had two children is that it doesn’t matter how they are born, only that they are healthy. It doesn’t matter how they are fed, only that they are loved and looked after to the best of our abilities. Our worth as a parent is determined by how much we love and nurture our children, however we may do that”.


I’d be so grateful if you’d please “like” Mummy Kindness on Facebook to help spread the kindness far and wide.
I’m also on Twitter @mummykindness and I’d love to hear from you.
As always, please leave me a comment below with your thoughts.

All images are credited to the Brave Girls Club
An enormous thank you to the two brave and fabulous doctors who told their honest truths to a total stranger for the benefit of others.


]]> http://mummykindness.com/2013/02/18/expectant-expectations/feed/ 11 mummykindness 20130218-113744.jpg 20130218-112645.jpg 20130218-112828.jpg