Project Me: Part Two by Hannah Tubb

Foundations and marathons

I re read my last post. It sounds so urgent, desperate and floundering! But that’s how I was feeling – after I’d written that post my mood changed, I felt like a weight had been lifted – I had acknowledged how I was feeling and identified what I needed to do to change that!
   The next step was the list.  I have priorities and responsibilities – these are the things that I’m most likely to resist because I HAVE to do them. I very rarely let myself enjoy them and see them as chores. Work is one of these things and I’m ashamed to say that my family feels like a chore sometimes as well – writing those words down is hard because I don’t want them to be true. I want it to come easy to me like it seems to do for so many others. 
    Therefore, my first step had to be acceptance – accept the job I have and be grateful, except my role as a mother and stop beating my self up for what I’m NOT giving the girls and focus on what I AM already giving them. For my youngest, I know that her idea of a perfect afternoon is cuddling up on the sofa and watching cartoons – as much as I love this as well I can’t help but thinking that I should be doing  something else – housework, baking, craft, educational games etc. etc. So I need to let these afternoons be part of our week and treasure them – this time next year she will be at school and I’ll be wishing I’d appreciated this time more! In fact, looking back at pictures of the past seven years I realised that family days out or days in – were the best times – I found it hard to look at pictures of Isabelle’s first couple of years because I was in a bad place with postnatal depression and again whilst I was pregnant with Charlotte and Isabelle was three – my heart breaks when I look at her and know that I was nowhere near the mummy that I wanted to be at that time, suffering with antenatal depression and again when Charlotte was born! Bittersweet memories – but I know that the memories we are all making together now are precious – I remember so many of the days where these photos were taken because I remember what was behind my smile – the anxieties, self hatred, doubt – seething and churning.  I feel like I’m through those times now and I am so, so grateful for that.

So to recap and summarise . . .

1. Accept that I have to work and have responsibilities and stop fighting them!
2. Enjoy every second with my family and stop wishing that I was doing something better or different!
3. Do more creative stuff!
4. Read more
5. Work on my yoga practice
6. Run the London marathon 2016
Errrrr wait . . . What???

So whilst stripping everything back to foundations, an amazing opportunity arose – to run the London Marathon 2016 for PANDAS! I applied but didn’t tell anyone – I wanted this to be for me, not to prove something to anyone ( although of course the thoughts were there – it makes me more interesting, maybe I will finally lose weight and like the way I look etc. etc.)
It’s forced me to focus, really focus on myself- nutrition, fitness – I’m learning again and I’m a massive geek so I love having something to research!
It also symbolises how far I have come with my anxiety because a year ago I would never have even considered this an option for me!

So my list has been written – what’s on yours?



Beeping Black Dog – by Catherine PANDAS

I’m sat here working through our final wedding music choices.  WEDDING.  I am GETTING MARRIED to a MAN that I LOVE WITH ALL MY HEART, and I KNOW HE LOVES ME TOO.  I’m also currently weaning off my anti-depressants.  Now, here’s a fine example of my bittersweet companion, the old Black Dog.


So, here I am, still in pyjamas, listening to beautiful music and having a fun text exchange about the wedding with my lovely kind fiance.  On the laptop.  Where there are photographs of him and his ex-partner.  Suddenly, there I am, swooping through files, my heartbeat quickening, feeling sick, keep going, keep looking, flicking past faces I don’t know, will never know, seeing smiles that aren’t real, don’t exist anymore, keep looking, keep going, looking for proof that…… HOLD ON.  Proof of what?  Proof that he EXISTED BEFORE ME?!?!???  Really?  This is the Beeping Black Dog, and he’s here trying to spoil my positive feeling.

Now, once upon a time, I would have continued in this chaotic spiral for the rest of the day until it culminated into having a great big useless row with lovely fiance over my own anxious thoughts, but since learning about coping strategies and talking, like really learning to talk about how I’m feeling, I have been able to work out other ways of doing things.  So, instead of carrying on, I closed down the folders and made a meme:



I made a meme, and now I feel better.

A Recovery Story – by The Butterfly Mother


“Postnatal Depression recovery stories.” These were the only words I typed into my browser for weeks. My anxiety was incredibly high, I genuinely thought I was losing my mind. Instead of cuddling my son or enjoying his first smiles, I was scouring the internet for undeniable proof that I wouldn’t feel this way forever.  
Despite what my damaged mind was telling me, things did get better. I don’t feel that way anymore. So I’m posting my own story for any other mums who might be searching for answers now. 
My son was born at 1am on 27 Apr 2013 after 12 hours labour, an epidural and finally an emergency section. They had given me so much anesthetic at the last moment I became “blocked,” meaning I couldn’t move or feel anything besides my head and neck. I couldn’t hold my son for several hours, and I couldn’t feel when he was feeding.  
Looking back, things weren’t right from that very first day. I wasn’t feeling anywhere near the post-birth euphoria I had been expecting. But it wasn’t until 8 weeks later the cracks finally began to show. 
My son had just begun sleeping better, only waking for one feed during the night, but while he slept soundly at last I lay wide awake. The less I was able to sleep, the more I panicked during the day. How can I take care of him when I haven’t slept? What if I drop him down the stairs because I’m so exhausted? What if I fall asleep on the sofa and suffocate him? Of course, with these anxieties running around my mind all day I was nowhere near relaxed enough to sleep when night came around, and so the vicious cycle continued. I was lying in bed for around six hours each night, my heart racing and my thoughts spinning, until my body eventually gave in and I slept fitfully for between 1-2 hours before I awoke with a jolt, feeling sick and panicked once more.  
After 6 days of sleeping only an hour or two a night I burst into tears during a group I was attending at my local children’s centre. The staff were incredible, they calmed me as much as possible and called my health visitor. For the next few days she came by to see how I was, she listened to my fears and heard how I still wasn’t sleeping. I took all the usual advice – bath before bed, fresh bedding, read a book etc – but this only made my sleep worse. The pressure to sleep increased my panic and continued the cycle.  
I was then referred to my local Perinatal Emotional Wellbeing Service (PEWS). This is a fantastic NHS service which, sadly, isn’t available in all Trusts. Fortunately for me, Essex has it and that small team of individuals probably saved my life. Or at least kept me out of hospital. 
After they assessed me I was diagnosed with Postnatal Depression. I had been desperately hoping there was another explanation but deep down I knew it wasn’t only insomnia, I wasn’t eating or able to think straight either, all triggered by horrendous anxiety. PEWS liaised with my doctor (who was fairly useless, more on that in a future post) and visited me at home twice a week. Under their guidance, I found the courage to begin taking a combination of medication (a sleeping aid, diazapam for short term anxiety relief and eventually, reluctantly, an antidepressant).  
The medication firstly helped to get my sleep back on track. I was terrified that the sleeping tablets wouldn’t work but 15 mins after taking my first one I succumbed to sleep on the sofa and my husband helped me to bed where I slept solidly for four hours – a vast improvement from how I was. Each night I would fear the tablet wouldn’t work and each night I slept, for an increasing length of time until my sleep patterns were fairly normal again.  
Despite the improvement in sleep and appetite I was still suffering from anxiety attacks almost constantly. I simply couldn’t function properly. Once the drugs took some effect PEWS sent round their Occupational Therapist who specialised in anxiety management. I still think of this amazing woman as an angel sent to save me. She gave me some basic, CBT-based tools for managing fear which, with lots of hard work and practice, began to improve my mood and functionality.
Eventually PEWS were able to discharge me when an appointment with an NHS therapist became available. Again, I was very lucky to see a CBT therapist who had a lot of experience with perinatal mood disorders.  
One of the most difficult things about this illness is the slow recovery time. In my opinion, medication goes a long way to take the edge off and kickstart your recovery but it can only do so much – therapy is a vital tool for long term recovery. Through therapy I was able to begin to reroute lots of damaging negative thought patterns.  
Recovery was definitely an accumulative process for me. Medication and therapy bore the brunt but there were many other aspects of “self-care” which were vital to me; good, regular sleep; a decent diet; fresh air and a walk every day if possible; supplements; support from family and friends; mindfulness; books and websites like Anxiety No More. And, critically, online support.Postpartum Progress and other blogs, and Facebook groups such as PPD Chat Support have been so valuable to me. Knowing you aren’t alone can help tremendously. 
Unfortunately, even with these tools, recovery takes time and patience, which is the biggest challenge of all. I remember being filled with despair when I read how long recovery can take for some people but the important thing to remember is even if full recovery takes months or longer you won’t be in that acute stage the entire time. The real hell was lessened in a matter of weeks for me. After that it becomes manageable, life becomes more bearable. You feel stronger and safer. You might not be thriving but you’re surviving. 
Parenting is hard and I still feel overwhelmed by it sometimes. I still wonder how I’ll cope. But then I remind myself that I’ve come through the last two years so there’s no reason I can’t keep going, keep striving, keep getting stronger. I also remind myself of all the things experiencing PND has taught me. I know how to deal with unhelpful thinking, I worry considerably less, I don’t sweat the small stuff and I have much more empathy for others. In some ways, I’m stronger. I think I’m probably a nicer, less selfish person. I’m not going to ever pretend PND is anything close to a gift, but there are certainly aspects to my personality and my life which have benefited. 
PND isn’t fair. It’s a cruel and terrible illness. But recovery is possible. If you’re reading this and thinking you’ll never get better try to remember that everyone who has ever recovered once thought they never would. And then they did.

To read more from The Butterfly Mother, please have a look at her blog here

Do I Love My Baby? – by The Butterfly Mother

(Original Content taken from The Butterfly Mother blog)


Yesterday we had the paddling pool out for the first time. Caterpillar had a lot of fun and then wanted to come and sit with me where I was watching from the picnic blanket. I wrapped him in a towel and we snuggled down and cuddled, looking at the sky and talking about the sun and clouds, singing songs and tickling each other. Not an unusual sight for a mother and toddler, but a moment perhaps more significant to me than it would be to someone who hasn’t suffered Postnatal Depression.

At one point my son gave me what we call a “hands kiss” (a kiss on the lips while putting his little hands on your cheeks) and I almost wanted to scream with the love I felt. Screaming may seem a little extreme but that’s how it feels to me – whenever I have a wonderful moment with my son – like I’m consumed by joy and relief. Because, for a long time, it was nothing like that.

As a pregnant woman you hear much about the magical and instant bond you will feel with your baby. It’s a given that you will feel a love for them that is beyond any other emotional connection you have ever experienced. The love you feel for your partner or parents will simply pale in comparison. You’re told that yes, parenting is hard work but the love and happiness you get from your baby will make everything worth it.

I couldn’t help but be excited about experiencing this completely new kind of love. I already felt very bonded to my bump and loved the magic of feeling my baby move inside me, I couldn’t wait until the moment I saw him for the first time and felt that lightening bolt strike me.

The reality was a little different.

Caterpillar was born by emergency section when his heartbeat dropped dangerously low after 12 hours of labour. When he was born they had to whip him off to suction mucus out of his throat. I was unable to feel or move any part of my body besides my head. Twenty minutes later I laid eyes on him for the first time. He was a metre or so away, and pretty blurry as I’d had to remove my contact lenses before the surgery, and I couldn’t hold him as I was unable to feel my arms.

He was so cute, wide-eyed with beautiful skin, and undoubtedly mine as he shared so many of my family’s features. I was so relieved to see he was okay after spending the last few hours convinced he was dying. There was relief and familiarity…but no lightening bolt. No overwhelming protective instinct. No “instant bond.” No euphoria. I just felt tired and nauseas.

For the next eight hours I drifted in and out of sleep, vomited several times, and waited for my body to come back to life. I was vaguely aware of Hubs holding a small bundle in his arms next to me. The next morning when I was finally able to hold Caterpillar I sobbed and told the nurse I felt I was seeing him for the first time.

Whilst in hospital I mainly felt anxious and useless. I assumed motherhood would come naturally but it didn’t. My milk didn’t come in and I couldn’t get him to sleep much at all. Aren’t new mums supposed to want to hold their baby constantly, and never want them to leave their sight?  But when the nurses offered to take him for a couple of hours to allow me to rest I felt only relief.

Back home we began to find our groove but my emotions were all over the place. I would cry every night around bedtime as I knew we’d be up every three hours, if we could get him to sleep in the first place. None of this is unusual, this is how life is during the first couple of weeks with any newborn but in addition to the usual sleep deprivation and steep learning curve I was dealing with a terrifying internal struggle: do I love my baby?

That awful, paralysing, guilt-laden thought kept whispering across my brain with increasing frequency until it got so loud it was all I could hear. I don’t think I’m enjoying this. What’s to enjoy? I’m just tired and drained. I thought these were meant to be the happiest days of my life. He’s so adorable, cuddles are nice but is this really my life now, forever? Oh my God, why am I thinking like this? Do I not love him? Is there something wrong with me, I should be happy to take care of him, shouldn’t I?

I cared about him a great deal, I found him beautiful, and I felt duty-bound to protect him – but that was the thing, it felt like duty, not overwhelming, uncontrollable love.

I believe it was these few thoughts about how I felt about my son and my new life as a mother than sparked the anxiety attacks which led to my PND diagnosis. I wish so deeply that I had known then what I know now.

That not everyone feels an instant, overwhelming bond with their baby. That the first few months of your child’s life may not be the best time of your life. That newborns don’t give much back, but they sure take a lot. That just because your bond isn’t instant it doesn’t mean you won’t have an amazing relationship in the future. That different people are suited to different ages and areas of parenting.

I wish I had known that I didn’t have to worry, that I would fall in love with Caterpillar. That as he grew, and as I got my anxiety under control, I would grow to love and enjoy so many things about him. That slowly, eventually, I would begin to feel overwhelmed by that love. That the love you feel for a child is unique but maybe not in the way you imagine; it’s complicated and conflicted and huge, sometimes so big you think you might explode with it.

I wish I had known that one day, two years later, I would lay with him on a blanket in the sunshine and want to scream with how much I loved him.

Project Me by Hannah Tubb

My name is Hannah I suffered from post natal depression/anxiety and PTSD. My children are three and seven. I still suffer from anxiety. Sometimes I control it sometimes I can’t.
Sometimes I see a light at the end of the tunnel, sometimes I don’t.
I’ve had counselling- some has worked, some has not.
Sometimes I accept my life as it is and I’m grateful for what I have – sometimes I feel like I have a neon sign flashing over my head saying ‘crap mum’ ‘crap wife’ crap everything. This happens a lot. I wish it didn’t because I beat myself up for that as well!

Today I woke up with an overwhelming list of projects in my head that I have to complete or get started on.
My daughters birthday party and then a couple of days later her birthday,
A promotion at work and subsequent responsibilities.
A list of tasks that I need to get on top of in my various volunteering roles at PANDAS. And then there’s my ,ten-year-wedding-anniversary -spa-break-must-look-good-in-bikini’ stress!
The counselling course I’m planning for,
the yoga course I’d like to take,
the perfect organised housewife and baking, crafty, happy, stress-free mum I aspire to be.

My husband suggested I strip everything back to the absolute basics – but I want it all – so what are the basics?!
Besides, if I strip everything back won’t I just be failing at all the things I’ve dropped? I feel as though I’d be letting myself down and be seen as flaky – what is this obsession with wanting to be seen as someone who is busy all the time? because I might be busy but I’m spreading my self so thin that I don’t feel like I’m actually succeeding at any one thing!
So, today I’m starting a new project.  Project ME!
I’m going to strip everything back to the basics – my family, me and work (because I have to).
I need to work on my foundations again before I can start building on top of them.
I need to work out what makes ME happy, (and that means ME not what I do because I want to be seen in a certain way by others.)I have lived my life like that for so long I think it will be hard to prize the two apart.
So, that is my first task for project ME – make a list of things I love doing, and make time for those things!
What things would you add to your list?
To be continued . . .

My Story by Carly Richardson

Before I start I have to say how happy but nervous..scared and emotional I was about sharing my story. Its something that has all been locked up in a box at the back of my head for so long now I almost don’t think about it anymore. But I think that if just one person can gain something from reading this, then it’s absolutely worth me emptying that box at the back of my head again and throwing it all onto paper. Here goes!

I guess I should start back in 2012 when I was pregnant with our 2nd son. It was a very straight forward pregnancy in most ways, I worked through it upto about 35 weeks when I planned to take maternity leave early to spend some time with our first son who was 2 at the time. My job had become everything prior to this, I had started a new job in late 2010 and had totally thrown myself into it working 5 days a week full time. When I went onto MAT leave though things just didn’t feel ‘right’. I suddenly didn’t feel any excitement about anything, whether it be preparing for the new baby or spending time with my son in the lead up to the birth. I also started to have trouble sleeping which really wound me up because I love my sleep! Things took a rough turn when I happened to read a news article about a lady who had developed psychosis and killed her 2 babies. I was absolubtly devastated by the story and before I knew it I had become obsessive about it. I was looking for it on the internet, watching the news stories about it and thinking about it all the time. All I could think was ‘what if that happens to me’? ‘she’s had her 2nd baby which I’m about to do, so its bound to happen to me too’.  Before I knew it I had totally become consumed by this poor lady’s nightmare and terrified myself with the thought it could happen to me too.

From here things deteriorated fast. I woke up one night from a nightmare in sheer panic, crying and sweating totally terrified I would lose my mind and kill my son. I woke my husband who was completely taken aback, as up to now I had hidden all of this from everyone and kept it to myself. I told him my fears and he tried his best to assure me I would not hurt my son or our unborn baby, it was just a nightmare that had really got to me. I went back to sleep for a while hoping I would wake up feeling better, which I did for a period. I woke up feeling okay and tried to do the day as normal, my husband went off to work and I set off to nursery with our son. All I could think though on the journey was ‘what if I deliberately crash the car to kill us both’, what if I lose my mind on the way to nursery’. I managed to drop him off, but on the way back home it got too much and i drove straight to our doctors surgery. I didn’t have an appointment, I was just desperate for a medical professional to tell me I was okay and I wasn’t crazy. I remember trying to keep calm but before I’d reached reception I broke down in tears. I said to the receptionist through my tears and snot that I needed to see a doctor as soon as possible, could she please help me. She looked me up and down (I was 37 weeks pregnant at this point) and said ‘come back in an hour and we will fit you in’. And that was it. No warmth, no compassion, nothing. I often think if I had been that receptionist could I have spoken to a clearly terrified heavily pregnant lady the way she did? No, never in a million years! So off I went back home for an hour, stupidly I didn’t even phone my hubby to tell him, I just led on the bed and cried until I had to go back to the surgery.

I was seen after about an hour of nervous nail biting and trying to keep the tears at bay in the waiting room. I sat down with the GP who was male locum doctor I had never met before. I immediately burst into tears and broke down in front of him. He just stared at me and didn’t say a word. He told me he thought I had depression, but because I wasn’t suicidal it wasn’t severe depression. I begged him to help me, I don’t know what kind of help I was really looking for I just wanted him to say it would be okay and possibly give me a magic pill to take the pain away. I also said I was not sleeping but his reply to that was ‘you’ll sleep eventually’. The only outcome was an appointment with the midwife as she may be able to suggest some relaxation techniques. He then went onto inform me that although he had dealt with depression and pregnancy before as separate things, he had never dealt with them together. Wow, thanks for that! That didn’t make me feel worse at all…

I told my hubby what had happened and he came home from work. He was totally bemused and angry at the way the GP had treated me. He came with me to the midwife appointment and explained to her what had been happening (I was so upset I couldn’t even speak). She came to the conclusion I was just experiencing some anxiety in the lead up to the birth and she would put me in touch with the Surestart Centre’s befriending team so they could help me once the baby arrived. Totally not what I wanted to hear, I just wanted her to say it would be okay too, but of course she didn’t. At this point I had not told anyone but my husband about the scary thoughts I had been having about my son. That night was another sleepless one, so the next day my hubby phoned the docs and told them we needed an appointment immediately. Off we went and saw Mr Compassionate again. This time I felt so much worse and was so much more sleep deprived that I told him about the scary thoughts and said I just wanted the baby out so he could be taken away from me and kept safe. He decided I needed to be seen by the emergency mental health team, so I should go home and wait for a phone call from them. I’m pretty sure that day was the longest day of my life. I wasn’t eating either so felt like utter crap. I remember my husband trying to take my mind off things so suggested we watch the Inbetweeners Movie on DVD…needless to say I couldn’t even stifle a laugh! No phone call came either so I was in total limbo and my anxiety became worse as I was convinced they would section me. I also asked my husband to never leave me alone with my son in case I hurt him. He tried his upmost to convince me that would never happen but I was not for listening.

Finally the next day a phone call came..but not that one I was waiting for. It was a social worker from the child protection team about a report from my GP over thoughts of harming my child. Her exact words to me on the phone were ‘do you have plans to kill your son’? I insisted that no i didn’t have any plans to do that, I was just terrified of the ‘what if’ that happened. She seemed satisfied and that was that. Until the next day a card was popped through the door saying ‘social services have visited. Please phone us urgently.’ Friday night; this was at 6pm. So I spent the full weekend in trauma over this horrible horrible card we had received. In the meantime the mental health team came out and helped me immensely. They were actually a little confused as to why they had been called, as they said it was clear i was suffering from severe anxiety. Just to be told what was happening to me was a huge relief. I got through the weekend pretty well, we went out for the day and I did feel an awful lot better, but still had the feeling of dread about the baby being born. They referred me to a psychiatrist who prescribed anti depressants and some diazepam for the really tough times. He also said id be referred for CBT.

When I spoke to social services they said they had called round to do a home visit due to the report from my gp. We arranged for them to come back the next day. Needless to say neither I or my hubby got any sleep that night. Although he didn’t say it, i could tell he was as frightened as I was at the mention of social services being involved. The social worker arrived 2 hours late for the appointment and said he was there just to follow up the report and see if they could offer me any support. He said he was very satisfied my son was happy and well cared for, he even apologised for any distress caused. What did piss me off though was his parting comment to me ‘you stopped watching the news now then after all this’? Yes, I had stopped watching the news, but was I still terrified that I would have the baby and possibly kill him too? Yes, absolutely.

Skip a day and unbelievably I had given birth to a healthy baby boy weighing 6 lb 4 oz. I had gone into labour spontaneously at 38weeks the day after the social workers visit. I absolutely believe that he came early to help his mummy out. I have a faith in God and I prayed everyday for it all to be over and in some ways my prayer was answered as he came early and very quickly, which was the best thing for me at that time I think, as a difficult delivery may have pushed me over the edge. I was only just on anti depressants at this point, so they had not kicked in fully when I delivered. I had hoped to go home straight away but they had to keep me for one night due to thick meconium during delivery. I was still very scared of being on my own, so to be left at hospital with our newborn was terrifying as my hubby wasn’t allowed to stay with me. I remember staying awake all night just sweating and panicking that we would get home and I would smother him. I don’t know where that came from but it was a very intense fear really scared me. We got home and the first few weeks were tough. I thought about packing my bags and leaving at one point. Just disappearing on my own and leaving the boys with my husband, as the scary thoughts were destroying me and I didn’t understand how I could have such thoughts regarding my own children. We muddled through, with me actually coping really well with hindsight. I was very emotional but I was getting through and slowly starting to feel a bit more like myself.

Before we knew it, our newborn was 10 months old and I was still taking the anti depressants, which had really taken the edge off the panic for me. As I had never experienced mental health problems before, I had no idea the length of time I should be taking them or when i should say i was ready to reduce the dose. I went for my review and saw a new gp. I told her I had been feeling okay so she told me to drop the dose. I remember being a bit wary but thinking well she knows best so i should do as she advises. Naive of me maybe, but I didn’t think it would get bad again, I thought I was ‘cured’. Obviously the reduced dose did nothing for me and I ended up back to square one with awful intrusive thoughts and just the feeling of sheer panic 24/7. Off my own back I went back upto 20mg of my tablets and went back to the gp to tell them I had done this. I saw yet another gp and he stressed the importance of going off my own feelings and listening to myself rather than others. By this point I had not yet heard anything regarding the CBT I had been referred for so I asked the GP only to be told there was no record of a referral on my file. He also asked me if I had been seen by the mental health team again about my postnatal depression. Postnatal depression?? I didn’t have that did I? This may be my own ignorance but I was genuinely taken aback as not one professional had told me i had PND. I thought that this was because i was put on the anti depressants before the baby was born, I was ‘safe’ from it and it wouldn’t occur. The gp told me i was always going to get it because I had prenatal depression. I was really taken aback, but at the same time relieved to have a name for how I was feeling rather than just being an anxious mother.

Not surprisingly I received a CBT referral letter within 2 days of that appointment. I was given a place in a fantastic group especially for mums with pnd. It was a 6 week cbt course with 2 other mums just like me. For the first time in a year i felt normal. The relief I felt from meeting other mums who also suffered with this awful illness was phenomenal. The therapist was an amazing lady who knew the subject of postnatal depression inside out. She was not phased at all by some of the irrational fears and thoughts I shared with her and made me feel like I could be myself again. I cannot recommend cbt enough, it gave me my life back.

That was 3 years ago and I have since had another baby in may 2015….ANOTHER boy! I still take my anti depressants and was so lucky to receive fantastic treatment this time under the care of the specialist mental health midwife. I have friends who understand me and a much greater knowledge about anxiety, depression and intrusive thoughts. They were my biggest battle and for so long made me think I was a bed person because I was having them. I now know that everyone had intrusive thoughts, even people who haven’t been diagnosed with a mental health problem. It was a lot to get my head around, but i now know that if i have a fleeting thought about throwing my son out of the window it DOES NOT mean I am going to do it. I am still on my journey to conquering my anxiety, but I am at peace with that now and try to control it without letting it control me. I want so much for womens mental health awareness to be given more attention. I know I have done a bit of GP bashing in this blog, but i now realise they only have a limited knowledge on mental health so are working with that they know. I just hope that if a woman walks into a GP surgery feeling how I felt, she will be given the information and resources to get on the road to recovery a lot quicker than i did. Never in a million years did i think i would now have 3 boys aged 5, 3 and 4 months and be muddling through as we are. We have some pretty crappy days (my middle son hid my car keys last week and I cried on the hallway floor out of sheer desperation to find them). Without the awful days I wouldn’t appreciate the great days where I’m feeling proud of myself for kicking PNDs arse and actually dropping my son to school on time. My husband is amazing and now seems to ‘get it’. He knows when im going through a bad spell and acts as the ears for listening to all my ‘what ifs’, which, don’t sound as scary when I say them out loud!

I hope you enjoyed reading this and gained some form of encouragement from it.

The Truth About Postnatal Depression and Anxiety by Sarah the Doula

Taken from

I struggle with the concept of talking about my PND because I’m a doula, because there are a lot of people I’ve tried to hide it from, because I feel embarrassed, I feel guilty, and I don’t want to be that negative person everyone has on their friends list. But I’m human, and today is a bad day, so sometimes it’s refreshing to work with the raw emotions and go with it.
Today I sat in the bathroom with my partner after the school run and sobbed. I cried about the guilt, the hypothetical situations I might find myself in in the future, the double life I lead, the ‘what ifs?’, the heavy cloud that lives above my head and the realisation that the cloud is a part of me and it will always be there, weighing me down.

Nearly 7 years ago I was induced and gave birth to my son, then he turned 3. That’s all I remember. I missed 3 years. I remember parts, but I couldn’t tell you what his first words were, when he first rolled over, what his favourite food was, or what we did together. I feel guilty because when he asks me questions about his first few years I have to lie. I don’t have a book of firsts to show him and I don’t have pictures. I have a grey and hazy memory which seems like a dream, almost like life hadn’t started yet. The memories of nothing haunt me, they makes my gut ache and my throat tighten, I’m close to tears 90% of the time. My anxiety is still here, its a part of me now. I can’t function if there is a background noise, I am paranoid, I am delicate and I’m vulnerable. I need to take each day at a time, but so do most people right?

Somehow though, with the help of my family and my partner, I’ve managed to bring up a clever, inquisitive, confident young boy with an endearing and charismatic personality. He is loved by many, including myself, although it may not seem it some days. I would kill for that boy, I know I would. He is my boy, we just have to work a little harder together, which makes our relationship more special. He chose me to grow him and nurture him and thankfully, I haven’t broken him, which is a huge relief.
My blog hasn’t been published for self pity, or attention. It’s been published because PND and anxiety happens, because people need to talk about it, and because living with PND doesn’t mean you’re ‘mental’ or ‘unsafe’, it means the balance in your hormones aren’t quite right, or your circumstances aren’t easy. Go easy on yourself and reach out. You’ve ended up in the middle of nowhere and you don’t speak the language, but you’ll pick it up, it takes a while, but you’ll get there. So speak out, you won’t be the only one.