On Admitting Depression

When it finally became too much to ignore, the effort of saying 'OK, I'm depressed,' was suddenly much less than it had been. And having said it; a lot of good things happened straight away. A lot of stuff is still to get good, or is taking its time to get there. But admitting to being unwell took a lot of the stress off me. And that was really what I needed in the first instance.

See, I already knew that depression was a disease, caused by brain chemistry, not to be explained away with 'just get over it/make yourself happy'. What I struggled with was the idea that *I* was depressed. That I wasn't just failing at life, but something could be causing it.

When I got back my blood test results and I wasn't cranky and exhausted because of Hyperthyroidism or Diabetes or Anaemia (or the 20 other things the doctor ordered tests for), depression was the option left. And it instantly made everything seem clearer; more easy to surpass. I think about myself differently now; sometimes organically and sometimes by conscious effort.

• I wasn't staying up all night because my stupid brain didn't know what was good for me. I had insomnia, which can often be tackled with the right medication.

Secondary to that; I wasn't struggling to raise myself from bed because my stupid brain was keeping me up half the night, but because I was depressed and yes, tired out from probably a year of not sleeping enough - due to insomnia.

• My PMT wasn't some monstrous mood swing I was failing to control, but an aggravated symptom of depression.

• I wasn't being a terrible mother because I didn't care enough to try harder; because dammit, I try hard every day. On the days it works, great. On the other days, I'm not failing, I'm just finding it hard work.

...Like everyone does! Jeez. Depression really makes the line between 'normal daily stress' and 'the End of the World' VERY blurry. Now, I take a step back and look at the situation. Is this worth the battle? Is this my depression talking? Usually those questions answer; No, Yes, and it suddenly becomes a much smaller problem and a much more easily solved one.

• I wasn't getting slow and stupid at work, and certainly not because I wanted to, I didn't want to, but it felt so out of my control. In reality, if I was slipping, it was not so much that anyone else - staff or customer - had noticed. But to me, it felt like half my brain was fighting the other half, and the lazy, stupid half was winning. But that's not me letting myself slip; but the effect of the disease that is depression.

I have educated myself a lot on the physical and emotional manifestations of depression and anxiety. Much of my life that I had assumed was falling to pieces, actually isn't. And if it is or was, it's not because I let it, but because depression doesn't let me STOP it. It freezes me. It does a lot of people.

Now you might think I've just taken my problems and made them medical issues when really they are just me. Think that if it makes you feel good, it didn't do much for me and I know I can, and do, do better now. Thinking I'm the problem sort of paralyses me into thinking I can't fix it. I like me, actually, and I don't want to change unless I have to. The change that will lead to me getting better is to be kinder to myself.

I was beating myself up because my brain just doesn't work how it used to. Maybe it never will again. Maybe that's not my brain anymore.I'm trying to realise my new self, be nice to her, and help her be healthy and well. Sometimes I have to *tell* her to eat. Sometimes I have to *tell* her to go to bed. But I do it more kindly now that something else is to blame, not her, or me, but the disease.

Beginagain

 This is a blog from a mother trying to reconnect with her adult voice, love of words, and skill at copywriting; while raising a definitive Threenager and beginning a journey through depression and anxiety self-management. Welcome. This first post is considerably longer than I intend the rest to be, but it gives a background to what this blog will be about: Motherhood and Mental Health. And Advertising. You may think it odd that I want to include this in my relatively normal 'Mum vs Depression' blog but I feel that my degree and interest in Advertising influence all corners of my life, from how I approach parenting to how I do my job and entertain myself.

Many moons ago, I was a thinking, working, cleverer-than-thou Advertising student with a blog, a Book, and a shiny future full of shiny trophies and world-changing ideas. Written in my final degree year, that blog was full of the expectations that I would be RICH and IMPORTANT and QUALIFIED FOR LIFE.

Upon finishing my degree, I returned home to discover I was two months pregnant. That unexpected delight is now 3 1/2. After a couple of book crits and meetings in Edinburgh, in the worst winter for decades (pretty much imprisoning me in my house - or at least it felt like it), and with the sort of pregnancy sickness that Just. Never. Ends exhausting me... I had been trying to reconcile motherhood and Advertising, but came to the conclusion that I would not be able to achieve my expected motherly bliss (Oho, the naivety) with that kind of demanding career. I opted to put copywriting and searching for a city job on hold, at least, and concentrate on getting out of my student overdraft and getting a flat big enough for 3.

I worked for a local consulting firm as a PA throughout pregnancy. I attempted after maternity leave to return there, but was uncomfortable putting my 8-month-old in nursery and after taking him to work failed spectacularly, I quit and took a further 5 months off. Living off one wage and Tax credits is a struggle, and having no car, living half an hour's walk from anything useful (shops, park, mummy groups et al.) took it's toll and I began to once again feel imprisoned. When he was 14 months, I returned to the job I had enjoyed while studying - waitressing in a gastropub. It comes easily to someone who enjoys making other people happy, it pays money, provides another occupation for my brain, and one that could - at least in theory - be forgotten about totally when not actually working. Finding a balance between being a parent to my son and being a functioning member of society was and is still one of the hardest struggles of motherhood.

One big benefit of waitressing is that you work a lot of nights. When I first started, my son stayed home with daddy and I worked evenings and weekends only, about 16 hours a week. After a few months, he started nursery 2 afternoons a week which I used to relax. I added 2 lunchtime shifts when I felt comfortable sending him to nursery for longer days; and gradually built up to a 28-35 hour week depending on the season.

Then life started to take it's toll. Exhaustion that had previously been attributed to waking at all hours of the night with a baby/ toddler never waned. I had gradually become almost a stone and a half lighter and dropped 2 dress sizes compared to pre-pregnancy (a healthy, slim UK 10-12). I was never hungry and regularly simply 'forgot' to eat - all day. Anxieties that had previously been pushed to the back of my mind or dismissed with ease became all consuming.

I was sick many times over the first 2 winters which contributed to my weight loss and anxiousness. It put strain on my job and I stopped seeing local friends (mainly old school friends). The mums at the mummy groups I went to were not welcoming bosom buddies as one hopes; but cliquey and full of the small-town bitchiness I had so far avoided in life. Uni friends were hundreds of miles away and I had become on 'like-the-occasional-Facebook-picture' terms with people I had, 2 years previously, spent up to 8 hours a day with.

At first my concern was the tiredness and sickness. I thought I had SAD as it seemed to only manifest in winter. Initial conversations with my GP included things like trying to get out of the house more, eating green vegetables and drinking less caffeine and more water. I got a flu shot the next year, which kept the bugs at bay, and continued to 'muddle on through.' In my head I was becoming more and more fraught. I realised I was getting worse and not better as this past spring rolled around, and procrastination period later, sought help from my GP again. At first, I requested blood tests to see if I had an underactive thyroid. I was tested for many other things along side that, such as anaemia and diabetes, but they all returned negative. Becoming slightly desperate and realising that I had left it too late, In May I agreed to start medication while waiting for a therapy place.

And that brings us almost up to date.

If you made it this far, well done and thanks for reading. Coming next, my experiences at the beginnings of admitting depression and starting a road to recovery (hopefully!).