EQC, you asked us to trust you with our biggest assets, with our futures, and with our children’s futures. I’m heartbroken and exhausted.
Every year around this time a fog of depression starts to curl around my brain. An unshakeable sense of doom and an overwhelming understanding of my own mortality fills my head and makes my heart heavy with dread. I seem to lose the ability to cope, wanting to curl up in bed and sleep through it. to wait for the feelings to pass.
Nothing could have prepared me for a 3-year-old boy, so I’m writing this as a tale of caution. A PSA if you will. If you’re expecting a baby and there’s a chance it could be a boy…read on. And thank me later.
Tired. Tired, tired tired tired. I am so tired. Tired. Tired
Here’s when my boobs are up for discussion…
This time three years ago, I sobbed as I lay on the bed in the birthing suite, waiting for you to finally arrive. My waters had broken 36 hours before and I was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. You were stuck, head turned and cord wrapped around your neck. Dad had been given a pair of scrubs and a hair net and was ready for me to be wheeled into surgery. I was frightened. You weren’t supposed to be here for another 6 weeks! Luckily, surgery wasn’t needed and at 8:40am, Sunday 15 June 2014 after nearly 4 hours of pushing and Read More
Reading or memorizing, either way this kid amazes me. I love how he loves his books!
I vividly remember the first time I swore at my mother. I was 14 years old, viciously hormonal and desperately wanting to meet up with my friends at the local pool. They were waiting for me to arrive so we could waste the day, flirting and giggling and pushing out our non-existent boobs while we pretended that we weren’t interested in the swarms of boys that would follow us round. Mum and I had been at it for over an hour and I was in typical teenage hysterics, made worse by the calm but firm stance my mother had infuriatingly taken early Read More
Depression for me isn’t a feeling. It’s a state. I never felt depressed. If I’m being honest (which is what this blog is all about), when I was at my absolute worst, I didn’t feel anything at all. I didn’t feel joy or happiness. I didn’t feel fear or anger. I didn’t feel hope or excitement. The scariest part? I didn’t even realise how bad I was until I was able to look back and see it with some clarity. Coming to the realization that requiring antidepressants didn’t make me a bad mum, a liability, a failure or a Read More
Holy shit the video is YUGE!