Dreamt about work again last night. God damn brain. Woke up this morning feel anxious and panicky.
I popped a couple of diazepam in my purse before we went out for the day, because now I have a fear that I'm going to get overwhelmed with a panic attack like the one last Friday whilst I'm out in public. I needn't have worried though, its been such a busy day with friends and their kids that I've not had a a moment to myself to worry about all the things wrong in my life, let alone start panicking about them.
And now, 12 hours or so later, a funny thing has happened. My mood has gone completely in the opposite direction.
I went for a run as soon as DH got home from work. Four miles in the dark with no music on because I forgot to charge my iPod. Just my breathing, feet pounding on the path, the occasional beep from my Garmin to keep me company.
I know I wasn't feel amazing at the beginning of the run, I remember thinking, somewhere during mile one, how bloody shit it is that I have to deal with all this mental health stuff when other people get to live 'normal' lives. You know, the age old question; why me?
But then my mind did a wonderful and rare thing. It argued back.
It waved my beautiful children that I'm getting to spend all this time at home with in my face.
It reminded me that whilst I struggle with my mental health, at least I have my Physical health. That I have a degree of control over whether my illness kills me. So many people aren't that lucky.
It pointed out all my wonderful friends that actually do a really good job of trying to understand an illness that is as easy to explain as the offside rule.
My family, whom whilst not very good with emotional or mental issues, have never deserted me or laughed at me.
And it reminded me of the things I've found this year. My ability to, and love of writing. My twitter family.
I ran miles two, three, and four, feeling positive, energised and engaged and I still feel that way now. Not hyper. Just a contented kind of OK.
And whilst the switch flicking is confusing and frustrating, I think I'm just going to take the good with the bad and make the most of feeling this way tonight.
I'm going to get in bed now and listen to some of my favorite songs on spotify, for no reason other than it's something I love to do and I don't do it enough. Maybe that'll help the switch stay in place for a little bit longer. I sure hope so
Thursday, 30 October 2014
Monday, 27 October 2014
Crying for help
I am starting tonight's blog post sat in my Doctors Surgery waiting room, waiting to review the medication for my anxiety and depression.
Friday morning I woke up anxious, having dreamt all night about returning to work. That's not an unusual occurrence, I dream about that occasionally and it always results in me feeling vulnerable and off balance the next day. However, later in the morning, driving to do a food shop I got an overwhelming need to cry, and a sudden sense of panic and anxiety. I found myself driving along taking deep breaths just trying to calm myself.
Thankfully one of my clients rang my mobile and a brief hands free chat with them distracted me enough for the 'attack' (I'm not sure if that's an appropriate name but don't know what else to call it) to pass.
Food shopping kept my mind off of things and although I still felt weird and panicky I figured it would pass once I picked Sophie up from Nursery and was kept busy running around with her all afternoon.
After lunch though, sat on the sofa feeding Joe his milk, I started crying.
Wrenching, uncontrollable sobbing. The kind where your nose is streaming as much as your eyes, where your head hurts and you want to calm down but every time you so much as pause you feel so desolate and unhappy you start sobbing again.
I just couldn't stop. I paid little attention to the rest of Joes feed, but managed to put him in his baby swing. Sophie brought me tissues looking concerned and asking what was wrong, I told her through my tears that I felt poorly, that it was nothing she'd done and not to worry. I can't tell you how much I hate her seeing me like that, how desperately I don't want to scare her, or upset her, but honestly there was nothing I could do. It was a literal floodgate of emotions and once it started it just wouldn't stop.
I started to go into shut down mode, something normally reserved for when my depression is at it's severest. I huddle up tight in a ball, normally rocking or swaying, close my eyes and sob. That's it, for hours. Sometimes I eventually stop crying but I still sit there doing nothing else. I don't want to interact, I struggle to function, and most scarily I struggle to care.
If Sophie fell over and hurt herself whilst I was in shut down mode I honestly cannot guarantee I'd be able to snap out of it to help her. I had some Promethazine left from the hospital which would've calmed me down, but it always makes me very sleepy, and after crying for so long I'd have been out like a light, leaving the kids to their own devices.
Knowing this, I tried desperately to find someone I trusted to come round and help. It wasn't so much that I thought anyone could do anything for me at this point, as it was that I wanted someone to be there to look after the kids, so I could just be left to it.
My closest friends couldn't be there for various reasons (and to you all, I know you would've been if you could've been, please don't feel bad) and I couldn't reach the family members that I felt comfortable seeing in that kind of state. In the end, out of utter desperation I rang my GP. He wasn't working, another GP was on. That completely threw me and I panicked, hanging up the phone*.
My health visitors number was on the wall, and I glimpsed it out of the corner of my eye. Thank god she answered the phone, and even more that she dropped everything and was with me within ten minutes.
I told her as much as I could, through snot and tears. I couldn't make decisions or answer questions. I just could not function, and thankfully she recognised that. She took over with the kids, and rang my GP*. She booked an appointment for me for that afternoon. She told me to take painkillers for my head and then left me to lay on the sofa, covering my eyes with my arms. My sister rang and I asked her to come over.
I don't remember much for a while after that. Everything carried on around me, people talking, phones going off, kids vying for attention, but all I could do was lay there in the self imposed darkness, trying to calm down. I lay there plotting how, once everyone had left me alone, I'd go to bed to sleep, then wake up in the middle of the night and leave. Just that. Leave.
It didn't matter where to, and I had no reason why, I just wanted to go and be left alone somewhere, not having to deal with, or feel, anything.
Plotting that escape calmed me down. By the time I saw the alternative GP that evening I could communicate without crying, I was out of shut down mode.
He prescribed me Diazepam, a low dose, and advised me to take some that night and whenever required over the weekend but ONLY if required.
I slept like a log that night, no chance to find out if I still intended to fulfil my plans to disappear. I have not felt myself since, and I've feared regression or relapse (two words the health visitor unfortunately kept using when she arrived which was unhelpful for my mood).
BUT I'm proud to say I still know my body & fucked up mind well enough to do what I can to combat and fight my current state of mind.
Saturday morning I woke up in full on 'curl up, sleep all day and ignore the world' mode and I knew I had to do something to stop it. I put soph on the back of my bike and rode round the estates for half hour. Fresh air, endorphins and a giggling toddler worked their magic and I managed to stay out of bed and pretty coherent for the rest of the weekend.
I have now had my medication review with my GP, and we're sticking with 40mg citalopram, with diazepam on hand for any further panic attacks. I think I've mentioned before that there are some hormone issues in my family, and I suffer from very severe PMT. The GP and I suspect post pregnancy hormones for this sudden, light switch, panic attack, and I'm going to start logging my anxiety levels and my periods in a diary to see just how much they correlate.
He did a hypnotherapy session for me whilst I was there and I felt better for it immediately. Calmer, more in control. Soothed.
Now, sat here in bed writing this and reflecting on the past few days, I feel a mixture of emotions. I'm honestly devastated that I went back to being so low, so quickly, when I've come so far these past 3 months. I'm embarrassed because so few people understand or believe how it can happen for no reason. There was no trigger. Just a build up of anxiety, a switch flicked by someone somewhere and boom, I'm a crying, incapable, selfish wreck again.
But I'm also relieved. Relieved that it last hours instead of days or weeks.
And thankful that I've a support network in place of people I can call without fear of judgement or ignorance; dear friends, some family and, of course, Twitter. Full of like minded friends who really do know how it feels, replying to my cries for help & keeping me company until people could get to me, I'd be truly lost without Twitter. Several times over.
I know I'm doing well, I know one panic attack does not a failure make, but I am sick of the lack of control. Of my body doing things to make my life miserable no matter what
I do. I'm not a wallower, I fight, I like to be in control and I do everything I can to help myself. But days like Friday make me feel like it's never enough. That no matter what I do, my mind will sabotage it.
My life is a story made up of two sane steps forward, three crazy steps back....on and on and on and on.
*I have the most amazing Doctor, he manages to show understanding without patronising and you get a sense that he genuinely cares and wants you to be ok. The amount of times he's gone over and above for me, seeing me for hypnosis at the last minute and booking me in for appointments at 6.30 in the morning is amazing. I often wonder how different my recovery may have been, or indeed if it would have happened at all, without his support. When the health visitor rang the surgery on Friday, they were already going to call me back. They'd picked up that I was upset on the phone when I'd rung and hung up, got the number I'd called from and found my medical history. I think that is amazing. My surgery, my GP- they're a bloody credit to the NHS.
Friday morning I woke up anxious, having dreamt all night about returning to work. That's not an unusual occurrence, I dream about that occasionally and it always results in me feeling vulnerable and off balance the next day. However, later in the morning, driving to do a food shop I got an overwhelming need to cry, and a sudden sense of panic and anxiety. I found myself driving along taking deep breaths just trying to calm myself.
Thankfully one of my clients rang my mobile and a brief hands free chat with them distracted me enough for the 'attack' (I'm not sure if that's an appropriate name but don't know what else to call it) to pass.
Food shopping kept my mind off of things and although I still felt weird and panicky I figured it would pass once I picked Sophie up from Nursery and was kept busy running around with her all afternoon.
After lunch though, sat on the sofa feeding Joe his milk, I started crying.
Wrenching, uncontrollable sobbing. The kind where your nose is streaming as much as your eyes, where your head hurts and you want to calm down but every time you so much as pause you feel so desolate and unhappy you start sobbing again.
I just couldn't stop. I paid little attention to the rest of Joes feed, but managed to put him in his baby swing. Sophie brought me tissues looking concerned and asking what was wrong, I told her through my tears that I felt poorly, that it was nothing she'd done and not to worry. I can't tell you how much I hate her seeing me like that, how desperately I don't want to scare her, or upset her, but honestly there was nothing I could do. It was a literal floodgate of emotions and once it started it just wouldn't stop.
I started to go into shut down mode, something normally reserved for when my depression is at it's severest. I huddle up tight in a ball, normally rocking or swaying, close my eyes and sob. That's it, for hours. Sometimes I eventually stop crying but I still sit there doing nothing else. I don't want to interact, I struggle to function, and most scarily I struggle to care.
If Sophie fell over and hurt herself whilst I was in shut down mode I honestly cannot guarantee I'd be able to snap out of it to help her. I had some Promethazine left from the hospital which would've calmed me down, but it always makes me very sleepy, and after crying for so long I'd have been out like a light, leaving the kids to their own devices.
Knowing this, I tried desperately to find someone I trusted to come round and help. It wasn't so much that I thought anyone could do anything for me at this point, as it was that I wanted someone to be there to look after the kids, so I could just be left to it.
My closest friends couldn't be there for various reasons (and to you all, I know you would've been if you could've been, please don't feel bad) and I couldn't reach the family members that I felt comfortable seeing in that kind of state. In the end, out of utter desperation I rang my GP. He wasn't working, another GP was on. That completely threw me and I panicked, hanging up the phone*.
My health visitors number was on the wall, and I glimpsed it out of the corner of my eye. Thank god she answered the phone, and even more that she dropped everything and was with me within ten minutes.
I told her as much as I could, through snot and tears. I couldn't make decisions or answer questions. I just could not function, and thankfully she recognised that. She took over with the kids, and rang my GP*. She booked an appointment for me for that afternoon. She told me to take painkillers for my head and then left me to lay on the sofa, covering my eyes with my arms. My sister rang and I asked her to come over.
I don't remember much for a while after that. Everything carried on around me, people talking, phones going off, kids vying for attention, but all I could do was lay there in the self imposed darkness, trying to calm down. I lay there plotting how, once everyone had left me alone, I'd go to bed to sleep, then wake up in the middle of the night and leave. Just that. Leave.
It didn't matter where to, and I had no reason why, I just wanted to go and be left alone somewhere, not having to deal with, or feel, anything.
Plotting that escape calmed me down. By the time I saw the alternative GP that evening I could communicate without crying, I was out of shut down mode.
He prescribed me Diazepam, a low dose, and advised me to take some that night and whenever required over the weekend but ONLY if required.
I slept like a log that night, no chance to find out if I still intended to fulfil my plans to disappear. I have not felt myself since, and I've feared regression or relapse (two words the health visitor unfortunately kept using when she arrived which was unhelpful for my mood).
BUT I'm proud to say I still know my body & fucked up mind well enough to do what I can to combat and fight my current state of mind.
Saturday morning I woke up in full on 'curl up, sleep all day and ignore the world' mode and I knew I had to do something to stop it. I put soph on the back of my bike and rode round the estates for half hour. Fresh air, endorphins and a giggling toddler worked their magic and I managed to stay out of bed and pretty coherent for the rest of the weekend.
I have now had my medication review with my GP, and we're sticking with 40mg citalopram, with diazepam on hand for any further panic attacks. I think I've mentioned before that there are some hormone issues in my family, and I suffer from very severe PMT. The GP and I suspect post pregnancy hormones for this sudden, light switch, panic attack, and I'm going to start logging my anxiety levels and my periods in a diary to see just how much they correlate.
He did a hypnotherapy session for me whilst I was there and I felt better for it immediately. Calmer, more in control. Soothed.
Now, sat here in bed writing this and reflecting on the past few days, I feel a mixture of emotions. I'm honestly devastated that I went back to being so low, so quickly, when I've come so far these past 3 months. I'm embarrassed because so few people understand or believe how it can happen for no reason. There was no trigger. Just a build up of anxiety, a switch flicked by someone somewhere and boom, I'm a crying, incapable, selfish wreck again.
But I'm also relieved. Relieved that it last hours instead of days or weeks.
And thankful that I've a support network in place of people I can call without fear of judgement or ignorance; dear friends, some family and, of course, Twitter. Full of like minded friends who really do know how it feels, replying to my cries for help & keeping me company until people could get to me, I'd be truly lost without Twitter. Several times over.
I know I'm doing well, I know one panic attack does not a failure make, but I am sick of the lack of control. Of my body doing things to make my life miserable no matter what
I do. I'm not a wallower, I fight, I like to be in control and I do everything I can to help myself. But days like Friday make me feel like it's never enough. That no matter what I do, my mind will sabotage it.
My life is a story made up of two sane steps forward, three crazy steps back....on and on and on and on.
*I have the most amazing Doctor, he manages to show understanding without patronising and you get a sense that he genuinely cares and wants you to be ok. The amount of times he's gone over and above for me, seeing me for hypnosis at the last minute and booking me in for appointments at 6.30 in the morning is amazing. I often wonder how different my recovery may have been, or indeed if it would have happened at all, without his support. When the health visitor rang the surgery on Friday, they were already going to call me back. They'd picked up that I was upset on the phone when I'd rung and hung up, got the number I'd called from and found my medical history. I think that is amazing. My surgery, my GP- they're a bloody credit to the NHS.
Sunday, 19 October 2014
PMT induced rant about PMT
Tonight I am struggling. Actually I've been struggling for a few days now. Anxiety is at a peak, confidence in anything I do is questionable and that old voice in my head telling me how shit I am is back.
I'm certain this is all down to hormones. I'm currently having my 5th period since Joe was born (he's three months old) and PMT has always been a real issue for me. Even during the years when I didn't suffer a bout of depression I've struggled with a severe dip in mood every month. It's one of the reasons I doubt I will ever come off of my medication.
When I have PMT I am impatient, spiteful, hurtful and selfish. I'm teary and emotional - even more so than usual - and I hate myself for it. I hear myself snapping at people, I see myself wanting to cry over something I spend the other three weeks of the month not thinking about and I hate it. I hate the lack of control. I hate that no matter what I do, my body will put me through this every month.
I'm doing everything I can to help myself, I exercise regularly, I sleep as much as anyone with a toddler and 3 month old baby can and I'm taking 40mg of Citalopram a day. What else can I do?
I don't want to feel like this anymore, but more than that I don't want to have to face dealing with it every bloody month. Don't tell me to accept it's the way I am, don't tell me to be gentle with myself or love myself because I can't, not when I'm like this.
I hate the way I look, the way I act. I hate the way I feel and I hate that I'm even writing this crock of self pitying crap.
Hormones have a lot to answer for. I know I'll feel better in a few days and look back on this, probably with a degree of embarrassment. But it's how I feel now, and every month.
And I'm so frigging tired of it.
I'm certain this is all down to hormones. I'm currently having my 5th period since Joe was born (he's three months old) and PMT has always been a real issue for me. Even during the years when I didn't suffer a bout of depression I've struggled with a severe dip in mood every month. It's one of the reasons I doubt I will ever come off of my medication.
When I have PMT I am impatient, spiteful, hurtful and selfish. I'm teary and emotional - even more so than usual - and I hate myself for it. I hear myself snapping at people, I see myself wanting to cry over something I spend the other three weeks of the month not thinking about and I hate it. I hate the lack of control. I hate that no matter what I do, my body will put me through this every month.
I'm doing everything I can to help myself, I exercise regularly, I sleep as much as anyone with a toddler and 3 month old baby can and I'm taking 40mg of Citalopram a day. What else can I do?
I don't want to feel like this anymore, but more than that I don't want to have to face dealing with it every bloody month. Don't tell me to accept it's the way I am, don't tell me to be gentle with myself or love myself because I can't, not when I'm like this.
I hate the way I look, the way I act. I hate the way I feel and I hate that I'm even writing this crock of self pitying crap.
Hormones have a lot to answer for. I know I'll feel better in a few days and look back on this, probably with a degree of embarrassment. But it's how I feel now, and every month.
And I'm so frigging tired of it.
Wednesday, 15 October 2014
Failing to Fake it.
I'm no longer very private or secretive about my depression and anxiety with friends or family, but, if for some reason I choose to, I've always been able to hide it.
With the exception of when my depression is at severest, I am one of those (fortunate?) people that can hide what they're really feeling behind a mask of confidence. I hide my uncomfortableness at making conversation, interminable need to be liked and inability to look people in the eye behind constant jokes and banter.I am loud and sometimes crass, drawing attention to myself in a way that I can control, to avoid any attention/interaction that I don't want or can't deal with.
I've never made a conscious decision to deal with it that way, it's just something I've done since I was a teenager. My default setting when I meet new people, or go to parties and events.
I have a work version of it too - friends I've worked with in the past have called it 'Corporate' me and I guess that's a good description. I could switch into a professional, work like mode for meetings, presentations etc even if I was stupidly anxious underneath it all. Some of that was the same 'faking it' but some of it was my complete and utter faith in my ability to do my job.
You see, since I was first diagnosed with depression at 19 years old I have questioned many things in my life, I have beaten myself over almost every aspect of my personality, decisions, looks and ability, but I have always, unfailingly, believed I was good at my job.
Even if I struggled not to run from a room full of people at a seminar, took every bit of constructive criticism personally, or had nightmares over having to give a colleague bad news - the underlying belief was still there. The bit I did, at my desk, on my own, I was awesome at, and that gave me enough real confidence to fake the rest.
But I've discovered this week that somethings broken the balance - When it comes to work I'm now failing to fake it.
I printed off some leaflets for my new business this week and walked down the high street of my little town visiting small local firms hoping to introduce myself and what I do. Don't get me wrong, I know this was a big challenge to set myself, that anyone would be daunted at the prospect of just walking into a shop or cafe and asking for the owner and having to sell themselves and what they do. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I fully expected the 'corporate' version of me to just kick in and suck it up like it always would have done before.
It didn't. I stumbled over my words, I couldn't think of anything positive to say, and I went into most businesses almost apologetically. After the first few blatantly uninterested people I wanted to cry, and I started to shake with nerves. I forced myself to do some more and I did eventually get one lady who was enthusiastic and friendly, but I walked home disheartened.
What little real confidence I had before this relapse has escaped me. I'm trying to fake it, but without my belief in myself and what I can do, and with my ever growing desire for people not to look at me, I'm failing.
Of all the things I have had to deal with during and after my relapse this one makes me feel the saddest. I always had work before, if everything else fell down around me, if my life was one big fucking mess, I could still go to work and just get on with something that made me feel good. If I can't fake it enough to have that, what do I have left?
I guess this is part of my recovery, I have to figure out a way to rebuild the bits of me that depression chipped away at. The problem is, how do I get confidence without working again? And how do I get work without confidence. Or at the very least, the ability to fake it?
With the exception of when my depression is at severest, I am one of those (fortunate?) people that can hide what they're really feeling behind a mask of confidence. I hide my uncomfortableness at making conversation, interminable need to be liked and inability to look people in the eye behind constant jokes and banter.I am loud and sometimes crass, drawing attention to myself in a way that I can control, to avoid any attention/interaction that I don't want or can't deal with.
I've never made a conscious decision to deal with it that way, it's just something I've done since I was a teenager. My default setting when I meet new people, or go to parties and events.
I have a work version of it too - friends I've worked with in the past have called it 'Corporate' me and I guess that's a good description. I could switch into a professional, work like mode for meetings, presentations etc even if I was stupidly anxious underneath it all. Some of that was the same 'faking it' but some of it was my complete and utter faith in my ability to do my job.
You see, since I was first diagnosed with depression at 19 years old I have questioned many things in my life, I have beaten myself over almost every aspect of my personality, decisions, looks and ability, but I have always, unfailingly, believed I was good at my job.
Even if I struggled not to run from a room full of people at a seminar, took every bit of constructive criticism personally, or had nightmares over having to give a colleague bad news - the underlying belief was still there. The bit I did, at my desk, on my own, I was awesome at, and that gave me enough real confidence to fake the rest.
But I've discovered this week that somethings broken the balance - When it comes to work I'm now failing to fake it.
I printed off some leaflets for my new business this week and walked down the high street of my little town visiting small local firms hoping to introduce myself and what I do. Don't get me wrong, I know this was a big challenge to set myself, that anyone would be daunted at the prospect of just walking into a shop or cafe and asking for the owner and having to sell themselves and what they do. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I fully expected the 'corporate' version of me to just kick in and suck it up like it always would have done before.
It didn't. I stumbled over my words, I couldn't think of anything positive to say, and I went into most businesses almost apologetically. After the first few blatantly uninterested people I wanted to cry, and I started to shake with nerves. I forced myself to do some more and I did eventually get one lady who was enthusiastic and friendly, but I walked home disheartened.
What little real confidence I had before this relapse has escaped me. I'm trying to fake it, but without my belief in myself and what I can do, and with my ever growing desire for people not to look at me, I'm failing.
Of all the things I have had to deal with during and after my relapse this one makes me feel the saddest. I always had work before, if everything else fell down around me, if my life was one big fucking mess, I could still go to work and just get on with something that made me feel good. If I can't fake it enough to have that, what do I have left?
I guess this is part of my recovery, I have to figure out a way to rebuild the bits of me that depression chipped away at. The problem is, how do I get confidence without working again? And how do I get work without confidence. Or at the very least, the ability to fake it?
Tuesday, 7 October 2014
Filling My Cup
Wow what a manic few days!
Some of you already know that I spent last weekend in Leeds visiting friends. It was a big step for me as not only was I travelling alone, but my friend is someone I used to work with and work can be a massive trigger for my anxiety problems. I wasn't sure how I'd feel talking to her about it.
Two hours into the drive up there I started to feel emotional and lonely. I skipped all the sad and romantic songs on shuffle and just had a good cry. I don't know what bought it on, perhaps being alone for so long in the car, without anything to distract myself with, meant that I was letting myself think about stuff that I normally manage to avoid.
It wasn't bad crying, if that makes any sense. Yes I felt sad and tired and lonely, but mostly I just felt I needed a good cry, and it was ok to let it out.
I was fine again after a bit, and apart from a few tears when I greeted my dear friend, there were no more tears for the rest of the weekend. We worked on my business website Saturday lunch time, then I checked into the hotel, got in the big comfy bed with a chocolate brownie and had a snooze! The evening was spent out for dinner and drinks, talking about old and new times, just enjoying seeing my friend again. You spend so much time with the people you work with, and Stephanie is one of the loveliest, kindest, most creative people you could meet. I miss seeing her almost everyday more than anything else about my old job.
After 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep (almost unheard of when I'm at home, thanks to my darling kids!) I had breakfast in my bed, checked out and went for a walk before meeting Steph & her husband for a Sunday pub Lunch, listening to fabulous jazz music.
It was as relaxing, and enjoyable as it sounds. Every hour without the kids wanting something, without housework to do, nursery bags to pack and washing to sort felt like an hour closer to being me.
I love my children. They are so precious to me and I do not begrudge a moment of time spent being their mother. But oh my god it was nice to remember that that isn't all I am. Dinner without a deadline, bed without crying alarm clocks, and time in the morning to put on make up, just because I felt like it.
On Sunday morning when I was alone, wondering the streets of Ilkley, I felt the familiar pang if anxiety and wanted to go hide in the corner of a cafe with a cuppa. But instead I walked and explored. I climbed a hill, looked at gorgeous views and enjoyed the sunshine on my own. That's something the old me would've done, and something I've not enjoyed doing alone since the kids arrived.
I ended the whole weekend with a long drive home, singing along to music in my car, laughing at myself and feeling recharged and re-energised.
I feel guilty for enjoying the weekend so much, but I remind myself of a quote I've seen before and often repeat to my mummy friends:
'It's not selfish to refill your own cup so that you can pour into others. It's not just a luxury, it's essential'
I'm back to normal life now, and have suffered a bit with anxiety and hyperness the last few days probably as a result of the weekends travelling taking it's toll on me. It's ok though. Because no matter how much I get dragged back into tired mummy mode, I've had a reminder of the fact that it's just for now. The rest of me is still there, it's just buried deep for a bit, waiting to come out whenever it gets the chance, and that's good to know. I'm still me.
And if I ever need reminding again? Well I'd sure love to see some more of the gorgeous Yorkshire countryside, and Steph :-)
Some of you already know that I spent last weekend in Leeds visiting friends. It was a big step for me as not only was I travelling alone, but my friend is someone I used to work with and work can be a massive trigger for my anxiety problems. I wasn't sure how I'd feel talking to her about it.
Two hours into the drive up there I started to feel emotional and lonely. I skipped all the sad and romantic songs on shuffle and just had a good cry. I don't know what bought it on, perhaps being alone for so long in the car, without anything to distract myself with, meant that I was letting myself think about stuff that I normally manage to avoid.
It wasn't bad crying, if that makes any sense. Yes I felt sad and tired and lonely, but mostly I just felt I needed a good cry, and it was ok to let it out.
I was fine again after a bit, and apart from a few tears when I greeted my dear friend, there were no more tears for the rest of the weekend. We worked on my business website Saturday lunch time, then I checked into the hotel, got in the big comfy bed with a chocolate brownie and had a snooze! The evening was spent out for dinner and drinks, talking about old and new times, just enjoying seeing my friend again. You spend so much time with the people you work with, and Stephanie is one of the loveliest, kindest, most creative people you could meet. I miss seeing her almost everyday more than anything else about my old job.
After 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep (almost unheard of when I'm at home, thanks to my darling kids!) I had breakfast in my bed, checked out and went for a walk before meeting Steph & her husband for a Sunday pub Lunch, listening to fabulous jazz music.
It was as relaxing, and enjoyable as it sounds. Every hour without the kids wanting something, without housework to do, nursery bags to pack and washing to sort felt like an hour closer to being me.
I love my children. They are so precious to me and I do not begrudge a moment of time spent being their mother. But oh my god it was nice to remember that that isn't all I am. Dinner without a deadline, bed without crying alarm clocks, and time in the morning to put on make up, just because I felt like it.
On Sunday morning when I was alone, wondering the streets of Ilkley, I felt the familiar pang if anxiety and wanted to go hide in the corner of a cafe with a cuppa. But instead I walked and explored. I climbed a hill, looked at gorgeous views and enjoyed the sunshine on my own. That's something the old me would've done, and something I've not enjoyed doing alone since the kids arrived.
I ended the whole weekend with a long drive home, singing along to music in my car, laughing at myself and feeling recharged and re-energised.
I feel guilty for enjoying the weekend so much, but I remind myself of a quote I've seen before and often repeat to my mummy friends:
'It's not selfish to refill your own cup so that you can pour into others. It's not just a luxury, it's essential'
I'm back to normal life now, and have suffered a bit with anxiety and hyperness the last few days probably as a result of the weekends travelling taking it's toll on me. It's ok though. Because no matter how much I get dragged back into tired mummy mode, I've had a reminder of the fact that it's just for now. The rest of me is still there, it's just buried deep for a bit, waiting to come out whenever it gets the chance, and that's good to know. I'm still me.
And if I ever need reminding again? Well I'd sure love to see some more of the gorgeous Yorkshire countryside, and Steph :-)
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